#I get upset at the mere idea of abandoning all I made

[glitchyko]

Well, now that it’s confirmed without a shadow of a doubt that Flyingbark is no longer working on LMK, I gotta admit, I’m feeling pretty crushed. I adored Flyingbarks animation, the amount of little details and love and care you could feel in their work. It was so inspiring to me. It makes me want to practice and pursue my dream of being an animator.

That’s not to say I’m just going to drop Lmk and never touch it again because a different animation studio is working on the show. I love Lmk dearly, I have been so inspired by this show, it’s stories, and characters. I have made stories and ocs of my own that I love so much for this show because it inspired me. But it wasn’t just the animation that did that.

I’m going to watch season 5, and I’m going to keep an open mind going into it, I’m not going to just abandon something I love because of a change in production.

[zhongrin]

𒆙 morax

part 6/8 of ⎡∞ / 𝟔 𝟎 𝟎 𝟎 ⁺⎦, a zhongli 2023 birthday event

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

𖧷 tags ┈ minors dni, gn!reader, afab!reader, biting/marking, cockwarming, choking but not really, edging, dirty talk, cervix fucking but not really ‘fucking’-, i don’t know how to tag things help

𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓊 ❬ masterlist ❭ 𐫱 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭

“𝓁ord morax! must you keep branding me with these marks?!”

morax blinked owlishly as you barged into his little office. he would have immediately beheaded others who would dare act so boorish, but your presence - nevermind the fact you were glaring at him - would always be welcomed into even the most private corners of his life, so he merely leaned back on his golden throne, abandoning the papers waiting for his approval as he gazed at you like you were the whole universe. his cor lapis-lined tail coiling behind the chair thumped lightly on the ground as he spotted the tokens he had so graciously placed on your skin.

“…. yes?”

the honest answer seemed to have made you double back. you could tell from his clueless expression that he bore no remorse for his actions.

“i must beseech you to restrain yourself. the adepti dare not even raise their heads when i talk to them!“

“but… unlike minerals and other inorganic materials, your skin heals, so naturally i must renew the imprints every now and then. i cannot fathom what made you so displeased? i have taken precautions so the process would be enjoyable to you at the very least… or are you saying that the act was not pleasurable for you after all?”

you had to resist the urge to facepalm, but you couldn’t help the natural reaction of your cheeks starting to sizzle with warmth. morax’s gentle smile lilted into a slightly cheeky grin, and he beckoned you to come over. you both praised and berated yourself inwardly when you obeyed his command like a faithful pup, knowing to seat yourself on his lap.

“are you not proud to bear the proof that you are mine, my dear? if it truly upsets you, i… will try my best to reign in my instincts. but you know how i always seem to lose myself in the heat of the moment…,” his kisses journeyed from your temple down your neck and shoulder, a silent plea for leniency.

it would have been a sweet and innocent gesture if his hands hadn’t wandered above your silken robes.

“my lord….”

“mmm… i’m sorry, darling, it’s the dragon instincts,” he nuzzled lovingly onto the junction of your neck, and you quickly felt both the heat and his arousal rise. quite literally, that was. “your smell mixed with mine is just too tantalizing to ignore. to illustrate, would you be able to pass by a banquet full of your favored delicacies without salivating?”

“perhaps not, but i would be able to refrain from devouring the whole banquet like some greedy buffoon,” you faked a reprimanding tone, eyebrows raised.

“which proves that you are, in some ways, stronger than me,” his arms tightened around you, geo-lined appendages sneakily slipping beneath your garment to rub your inner thighs, before trailing over your dampened underwear, “though it seems to me that you’re putting up a front…”

you were torn between rolling your eyes or blushing in embarrassment, “perish the salacious thoughts. i came straight from the bedchambers, my lord.”

“ah, so these are both your arousal and the remnants of our passionate love last night? how delightful. no wonder you smell like the most fragrant and mouthwatering delicacy in the whole teyvat,” he pressed his lips on one of the hickeys, staring in contemplation at your body nestled on his lap, an idea brewing like the freshest tea in his mind, “say, darling… i know you’re tired, but won’t you at least let this lovestruck lizard steal a morsel from the figurative banquet? just a little arrangement to tide me over until the moon graces our nation.”

“….. i will consider your proposal; enlighten me.”

you really, really should have thought twice about making contracts with a dragon.

seated snugly on top of your beloved’s lap after he had - far too easily, much to his delight and your fervent embarrassment - eased you onto his cocks, his non-dominant hand poised to lightly rub your abdomen, right on the bulge indicating the way he was all nestled inside your tight heat. his other hand had long since left your hip and was in the process of writing some kind paperwork to ensure the construction of what shall be a prosperous harbor sometime in the far future would be going smoothly — or something along that line. he might have sort of meandered about it as he worked, but alas, you were too distracted to actually listen to his words, clenching and squirming like a bunny in heat instead.

morax hummed. momentarily, he set his pen down against the polished sandbearer wood of his desk. his slender fingers reached up to lightly brush and wrap around your throat. your breath hitched, heart soaring like a hummingbird, cunt trembling. he wasn’t even putting any pressure ー just a light touch. a warning. and yet the message was there; even more pronounced with the verbal warning whispered right beside your ear.

"mind your manners, darling."

you nodded with a whimper, gulping and feeling his fingers lightly caressing your pulse point before they detached themselves from your heated skin to curl elegantly around the pen once more. the deity resumed talking as if whatever happened was a delusional wet dream you conjured out of desperation this fine afternoon, but this time, you ceased squirming. he gave you a soft kiss on your nape as a reward. pride permeated your veins, your eyelashes fluttering and fists clenching in an attempt to control yourself.

"not to fret, your patience will be rewarded," he purred, deep and velvety and smooth, his breath tickling your skin, burning your nerves and sending your arousal lurching. perhaps you should have begged for him to relent to his depraved desires and devour the whole banquet instead.

the hand on your tummy trailed upwards to settle on your chest, palming idly before rolling a painfully hard nipple between the calloused pads of his fingers, the gentle movement a complement to the cold sensation of his rings pressing onto soft, sensitive flesh. sparks bloomed like fireworks and slick trickled down your stuffed pussy. yet still, you obeyed with trembling thighs; the only body part moving being your walls, squeezing around his cock, wishing for it to move and bully your sweetest spots with hard and precise series ofー

"so well behaved for me...."

you swore you heard him chuckle.

"my good mate."

he graciously bestowed you a new mark on your neck and a teasing little thrust, just enough for the two heads to peck your cervix like a teasing lover, savoring the enchanting wail falling from your lips.

“oh, this archon can’t wait to utterly ruin you tonight.”

𖧷 𝓂𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 ❬ taglist ❭ ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[padfootagain]

Your Song

Hello! Today we’re answering a request sent by an anon: “Heeey! I got this idea last night for a Ben imagine and it’s so cute that I know you’re gonna kill it. Listen, what about a singer reader writing a love song for Ben??? Like, you are working on your new album and Ben keeps asking you to show him a glimpse of it. He’s just super excited (we love a supportive boyfriend) and you keep telling him to wait, so it’s the single release day and at 12am (that’s the time music release on spotify, right?) he grabs his phone and he listen to the song and he’s just so emotional that you wrote the song about him!!! Like, there’s a specific moment when the lyrics just hit him and he’s like “is this about me?“ JUST IMAGINE. Honestly, I think that writing a love song to someone it’s one of the greatest gestures of love if you are a musician. I’m just a hopeless romantic 💗💗”

Thank you so much for the request! I hope you like what I’ve written for you!

Also, apologizing for the bad poetry of the lyrics…

I hope you all enjoy this cute fic! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Ben Barnes x reader

Warnings: Extreme fluffiness

Summary: You’re a singer, and your new album is about to come out. As he listens to the first single for the first time, Ben suddenly realizes who your songs are about.

Word Count: 2048

Ben Barnes’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Ben was overexcited, to say the least.

Perhaps it was a little ridiculous to get so excited at his age about something as mundane as a song, but then again, he enjoyed simple pleasures in life. And he also had a more important reason to be excited about this piece of art: you were its creator.

A new song coming out was always a bitter-sweet experience. There was the excitement of the release, the relief of the abandonment of something you had worked so hard on. But there was the apprehension of reactions as well, the worry that it might turn out to be a terrible fiasco.

This time around though, you seemed happier than usual about the release, your team had noticed the changes with ease. They all thought it was because of your relationship with Ben, about the fact that it was the first time some of your music was coming out while he was by your side, encouraging you and looking at you with all the pride in the world held in his gaze.

And it was true that his kind words and his support towards you were the main reason behind your calm behaviour. But there was also excitement and tenderness this time around, because of the meaning behind your single.

After all, this song was about Ben.

You had refused to let him hear it before it would come out. You were strict on this decision, no matter how many times he had pouted at you and given you his most adorable puppy eyes. No matter what he tried to convince you, your answer remained the same:

“Not yet. You’ll listen to it when the world does.”

But tonight was the night. Ben was struggling not to fall asleep before the clock would strike midnight.

You laughed at him as he yawned once more.

“You should go to sleep, darling,” you admonished, but Ben shook his head, blinking his tiredness away as he focused again on the page of his book.

You were both lying in bed, your backs resting against the bedpost and your comfortable pillows, side by side under the warm covers, both of you reading.

“I want to listen to your song as soon as it comes out. Do you know for how long I’ve been waiting for this? And you over there… being all secretive…”

“Me?” you answered, summoning your most innocent tone, which made him merely roll his eyes.

“Yes, you. You’re lucky you’re unbearably gorgeous, or I would be very upset about all this.”

“Oh, but my natural charm gets me out of trouble, then?”

“Obviously. What else could it be?”

“At least it makes things even between us, as I find you too charming to ever be mad at you for more than five minutes.”

He grinned at that, rewarding you with a peck on the lips.

He glanced at the time again.

Ten minutes left. He heaved a sigh and put away his book. Instead of reading, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer, and you easily yielded, melting against him.

“I’m so proud of you for releasing your music,” he mumbled against your temple. “I’m so happy for you, darling.”

“You haven’t even heard the song yet. Perhaps it’s terrible.”

“Not a chance! I know how talented you are. I have no doubts it will be wonderful.

You grinned up at him, your smile unbelievably tender.

“Thank you, for believing in me this way.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, love.”

You let his hand wander under your t-shirt, rest against the warmth of your skin, right across your ribs, his thumb tracing circles there.

“If you hate the song though, you need to tell me,” you ordered, but Ben merely rolled his eyes.

“I will most definitely not hate it.”

“You need to promise!”

He heaved a sigh, but promised anyway.

“You are being absolutely ridiculous.”

“Perhaps. Still, I want you to be honest with me.”

You were surprised by Ben’s tone when he spoke again. The coldness in it didn’t match the tenderness of his embrace.

“Well, you didn’t tell me why I couldn’t listen to it earlier so…”

“It wasn’t ready! And I want to be here. And… I wasn’t ready. It’s difficult to release a song. You know how it feels, you’ve done it too. It’s unnerving, in a good way, but it’s still difficult. You’re letting a little piece of yourself go, show the world something you’ve made out of your own heart… it’s tough, to be vulnerable like that.”

“I know, love. I’m sorry, that was uncalled for.”

He kissed your forehead to make amends, and forgiving him was so easy… as easy as breathing.

You cuddled and stole kisses for a while, until Ben’s phone rang, an alarm blearing across the quiet room.

“MIDNIGHT!” he cried, overexcited as he reached for his phone.

You laughed fondly at him.

He hurried through Spotify, finding your page with ease. You both lied down to listen to the song, sharing some earpods, staring at each other with your cheeks smudged against your pillows. You reached for his hand before he would play the song for the first time.

“Ready?” he asked, and you nodded, a shy smile on your lips.

He pressed play, the small triangle turning green and with it the first notes of a love song ringing through your ears.

He was grinning already, pride shining in his dark eyes as he stared at you, listening closely to the intro.

And then your voice was there. Airy, flying high as if to reach for stars, a warm sound perfectly fitted to the lyrics, to the rhythm, to the words you spoke. And he loved it, every second of it.

And it was a love song, it was easy to guess. He listened to the first verses with a smile on his lips, without thinking too much of it. But then, the chorus came, and he frowned hard. Or rather, he was too taken aback to think or breathe and slow down the racing pace of his heartbeat.

Cause there you were by the beach on a summer breeze

Dark eyes darker than the night and

Laughing so much we couldn’t breathe

So that’s what being happy means, holding your hand?

You and the waves and the remnants of cheap beer

You blushing under a streetlight like

You’re afraid I don’t want you near

But you’re everything I’ve ever wished to be mine

You and your accent and the way you pull on

All my heartstrings and now all I can sing is your song

He stared at you, the light of your bedroom shy and quiet, like the night outside. From a proud smile, his expression turned into one of confusion, although it was tainted with hope.

Because the first night he told you he loved you, you were in Malibu, after buying beers at a small bar by the sea.

And for a moment he pushed the thought away. Of course; he loved you, and he knew you loved him but this… you couldn’t be writing about him…

But then the song went on, your voice was back, and details piled up, reminiscence of times shared together, and there was no more doubt to have by the end of the next verse.

I was afraid when you flew across the globe

I was too used to be the one

Running off and letting things die

I was almost surprised when you called the first time

Midnight and lights everywhere and your voice

Rambling about a day wearing someone else’s life

You could have forgotten all about our night

It was strange to be someone else’s choice

Even if it took us three tries

To connect the screens and our lives

You in a green hotel room

Me alone in my bedroom

By then, Ben had tears in his eyes. Because that was you and him. When he left to work on a project in Canada a few months into your relationship. You had confessed that you thought he wouldn’t fight for you, but he did. And that night, when he called, there was such a terrible wi-fi in his hotel room, it took him three tries and fifteen minutes to finally be able to hear and see you.

The chorus played again, and Ben reached for your face, palm spread across your cheek so he could draw patterns on your cheekbone. He let his first tear fall at the beginning of the bridge.

I apologized because I wasn’t used to this

Being treated right and falling asleep

In arms that didn’t hurt when they held me

Not sure how to handle this but I’m trying honey

Writing real love songs are never easy

Still if it’s yours I guess I’ll make it

Turn it in my mouth until it sounds sweet

Like your voice in the morning

The way I love you too much to speak properly of it

One last chorus and then the guitar and piano grew quiet. There was no beat anymore, and Ben didn’t let another song start. Instead, he turned the music off, reached to take off the earpods and put them away. Not a word passed his lips. He dried his wet cheeks on his sleeve, lying down again, in the same position, on his side so he could face you.

“Do you like the song?” you asked in a shy whisper, and Ben laughed, shaking his head as if this was the most ridiculous question you had ever asked.

Still, even if he knew the answer already, it was hard to believe it. So, he asked, just to be certain.

“Is the song about me? About us?”

Slowly, you nodded.

“You wrote a love song about me?” he asked, voice shaking with emotion, and it was your time to shake your head at him as if he was silly for asking such question.

“Of course, I did. Who else could I write about?”

“I don’t know.”

But before you could reply, Ben was leaning closer, holding onto your cheek once more so he could pull you to him and kiss you until none of you could bear the lack of oxygen and the pounding of your hearts.

“I love you,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes still closed. “I love you so much, Y/N. And I’ll always love you. I’ll always be here.”

“I love you too. And well… I take it that you liked your song.”

He laughed at that, holding you close, so close it should have hurt but it didn’t. It never did with him.

“I loved it. Thank you, it was perfect. You’re perfect.”

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

Taglist : @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic

[hypnoneghoul]

Mushy May Day 15. Standing up for them - Dew/Everyone

WC: 1065

Copia makes a mistake by yelling at Dewdrop.

Notes: Sorry I made Copia an asshole, needed to for this one, I am (typically) team Copia loves his ghouls. It also doesn’t match the prompt that well, but it was actually a neglected wip and I wanted to make it work with today’s prompt.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Today’s practice was going totally and absolutely awful.

At first only for Dewdrop, but his sour, upset scent started affecting everyone, as well as that new fucking Cardinal and all his speeches and reprimands.

Dewdrop, who had a serious fucking issue to deal with, having undergone a whole elemental change barely two weeks prior, could barely stand or think, so very far from recovering. 

Yet the Cardinal didn’t care.

There was no doubt about his stand, that being he was an ignorant asshole, as he conducted the elemental changing ritual on Dewdrop himself and was well aware of his both mental and physical fragile, at best, state.

“Ghoul, did you practise even a minute in the last weeks?” the Cardinal hissed, just as Dewdrop’s fingers fumbled over the frets in one of the newer song’s solo, again. It was, approximately, the third time he yelled at the poor ghoul in the span of the last fifteen minutes, and Dew was on the verge of breaking down. ”Do you seriously care so little about the upcoming tour and-”

“Shut your fucking mouth already!” Aether growled, or more like screamed growling, and the whole room went quiet, filled with a buzz of the amps only.

“Ghoul, how dare you speak to me-” the Cardinal said after getting over his total shock at Aether’s outburst. Not only the human was shocked, all the ghouls were, Dewdrop the most.

Aether never got angry.

Aether never yelled.

“First of all, I have a name, you know,” the quintessence ghoul announced, putting his guitar down and slowly approaching the Cardinal. “We all do, actually, and the least you could do is fucking learn them.”

The Cardinal was now terrified, realising that an actual Hell Beast, a demon, was mad at him. While it would spur on any other ghoul, Aether didn’t care about the human’s fear, he wanted him to understand.

“Second of all, Dewdrop here,” Aether motioned his head in Dew’s general direction, not breaking eye contact with the Cardinal, “was fucking destroyed by you, your stupid idea, because for some reason you thought that a water ghoul just couldn’t play lead. You have zero idea what you did, stupid human.”

The quintessence ghoul was now towering over the Cardinal, his barred fangs just mere inches before his face. He could rip his throat out in a moment, and everyone present knew that perfectly well. The rest of the ghouls abandoned their instruments, ready to aid their packmate should it be needed.

“You better not expect me, or Dewdrop to do fucking anything for you, you filthy rat,” Aether hissed having his hands clasped behind his back, barely containing himself from actually killing the man. “And when you realise we are not your tools, your toys, then maybe, just maybe, we can cooperate someday. For now, don’t you fucking dare even look in Dewdrop’s direction again, or you won’t look at anything else ever again, as I will claw out your disgusting eyes.”

Aether straightened then, the Cardinal shaking, frozen in place. The Quintessence ghoul turned on his heel, getting back to Dew. He stood mouth agape and eyes wide at this display of Aether’s protectiveness over him, his love for him, holding back tears. He took the bigger ghoul’s outstretched hand and let himself be guided out of the rehearsal room.

The Cardinal partially regained his composure after a few minutes, the rest of the ghouls still not moving from their spots, “I- I think the rest of us should-”

“Fuck, you’re such an idiot,” Swiss laughed, getting down from his platform, predatory spark in his eyes and all his shiny fangs on full display. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, if not by Aeth, then me.”

Swiss shook his head at the human’s stupidity and walked up to Rain, grabbing his hand to get to the door. 

“Be careful around the water, now,” the water ghoul leaned down to whisper into the Cardinal’s ear as they walked past him. “You never know who commands it.”

And then both Swiss and Rain were gone, the Cardinal’s heart beating so loud he barely heard the threat. He was still stuck in place when the two air ghoulettes moved from behind the keyboards, walking down the stairs in his direction.

“You don’t even realise how easy it would be for you to suffocate in your sleep, do you?” Cirrus growled, head tilted to the side, sparks of rage in her yellow eyes.

“Would be a terrible shame,” Cumulus sighed, gifting the Cardinal with the sweetest smile.

And then they were gone too.

The Cardinal let out a breath he didn’t really realise he was holding, forgetting about one of the ghouls lingering in the shadows of the practice stage. He turned his back to it, frantically wiping his face with his hand, as if it could wake him up from this dream-like event.

He didn’t notice the earth ghoul creeping up behind him until a massive hand on his throat turned him back around.

Mountain lifted the Cardinal up, just enough that he barely kept his toes on the ground, and he still had 20 inches on the human, partially letting go of his glamour.

“You choose your next steps very wisely now, Cardinal,” the earth ghoul hissed, eyes glowing bright green. “Don’t think about running with it to Imperator. She cannot send us back to Hell all at once and believe me, I will not hesitate to turn the whole Abbey to sand if either you or anyone else even thinks about doing something to hurt any of my pack. You live on credit after what you did to Dewdrop, and the next mistake will be your last.”

Mountain squeezed the Cardinal’s throat just enough for him to lose consciousness for a moment, and dropped him to the floor, himself leaving the room.

He made his way to the common room, coming across an already formed cuddle pile, Dew being squeezed between Aether and Rain in the middle. Mountain knelt before the small ghoul overwhelmed with the love his pack had for him, and cupped his cheek with one of his hands, “You’re safe, Dewdrop.”

“We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, you know,” Rain whispered into his ear, the little ghoul chirping happily.

“I know,” he sighed. “Thank you. For standing up for me and protecting me.”

“Always,” six ghouls replied.

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

Shocking discovery of the day: I can actually read extremely well, with real feeling, while my brain is thinking about something else entirely!

Today I was sitting out by Ryoga’s, cold as heck actually, and had just started reading to Mom. The wind and traffic on the highway were making hearing her tough for me, so I was glad when she was ready for me to read. **

One sentence into reading…BANG!

I paused reading to tell Mom I’d been startled by gunfire, not from the more usual directions but across the highway. But as I was telling her it was followed my more shots. The nature of them made it clear it was neither violence nor hunting, merely target practice. I mentioned wondering about it, but went on reading.

Oh boy did I wonder! For over an hour there were bouts of gunfire, each time it would jolt my brain from what I was reading.

Now while I was perfectly safe from the gunfire physically, the direction it was coming from was the problem. It obviously wasn’t the Mini Mart and it didn’t sound quite right for in town (where shooting is theoretically illegal anyway). Because of the river there are only two houses, a small landing a family owns, and our boat.

Our boat. I do NOT want anyone using our boat as target practice! People have already vandalized it before and smashed one of the portholes. The idea of it getting riddled by gunfire after my parents and grandfather worked so damn hard to build it upsets the hell out of me.

I have lots of nightmares about the boat. Dreams of the boat breaking lose and me desperately trying to save it, often involving a ton of swimming. Dreams of the boat sinking. Dreams of the boat smashing into things. Dreams of the boat being tossed by a storm half way up the river bank. Dreams of waves overwhelming it.

Last night I woke at 4am to a nightmare of waves, trying to desperately swim to a line as three massive waves crashed over me one after another, only to surface at last as a precursor of a tidal wave sucked all the water away. i’d abandoned the boat to frantically get my family to run up hill before the water hit, knowing the boat was as good as lost and terrified for their lives.

I’d read on, try not to think about it, get back into the words, and BANG! BANG! BANG!

The river is below, we are on a very high bank with the other side of the river wide, perpetually wet, swamplands. Did the sound seem like it was level with me or down the hill, by the river? Would there be an echo if it were actually be the river, or would that effect be lost since I was so far away and on the high land?

The shots would stop and I would resurface to find myself reading right along. My brain would try to catch up with the story I’d been missing, while still going along reading.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Where was the sound coming from? Had it moved? Was wind shifting it or were they on a boat or were they wandering around to somewhere else to shoot? Could they be at that landing shooting, and if they were were they shooting at our boat? If they were in a boat drifting down it was too cold for then to be at the monstrous local practice of snake shooting, besides sensible snakes would have fled by now…

With the pause I was startled to find myself reading a character’s words with incredible feeling and nuance, as good as most actors could. I had no idea what the hell was going on in the story. I was hearing myself reading.

I got back reading normally, accepting half a page was gone, when BANG! BANG! BANG!

I should go to the boat. I should go and look. I could stop anything from happening, chase off people maybe. I could just relieve my mind by finding out it was nowhere near the boat. I must go!

I hate checking the boat. It floods me with guilt, dread, grief, and anxiety. I never know what I will find, but I know it will be out of my control and that I won’t know what to do about it. I will be reminded of all those happier, hopeful days, of the people I loved, and how much I continue to fail them. It ain’t fun.

And then there would be a pause and I’d have not missed a beat reading.

And so it went, this tug of my brain in two directions. I’d be in full performance mode, and then more shots would turn my consciousness to worry and figuring out what I should do. And yet I kept reading!!!

You know I’ve heard of actors or singers saying they sometimes were thinking about their shopping list or what to have for supper while they were performing, and I was always baffled. How can you do things involving one set of words while thinking about another?

Apparently it does happen!

So, good to know. I can read to Mom while freaking out without disturbing her experience. Considering my reputation as “reading with real feeling”, I would hate to disappoint her….

(In case you are wondering, I think I did find the source of the shooting. I went to investigate and found that one of the folks that lives in the house next to our drive down to the river out in the empty area beside it. There were certain indications that he had been shooting, including the bag he had slung on. Certainly he acted very squirrelly when he saw me. I called over hello, and raised his hand in a half wave while nearly doing a pirouette to avoid eye contact and return to the house. Tellingly the shooting there was no more shooting.

I dunno about the boat though. I went part way down the hill, saw it was still there, and realized emotionally I wasn’t up to going all the way. Stopping the shooting and being seen going down the hill would do.)

** Current book: The Truth by Terry Pratchett

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 7

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: ~3.5k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5][Chapter 6]

[ao3 version here]

Uncomfortable is the silence after the storm. It bears a heavy weight where, after all the tears, sweat and blood, a new reality existed and a survivor waded through the mess damaged; unadjusted to the environment. Which made carrying on difficult. People always left so many parts of themselves behind in the destruction.

   Being native to a region of torrential downpours, Emma Darcy had been born during a storm and, as such, she drifted through it all like driftwood. Broken, but still floating. Other than the first immediate sign of shock, from the outside looking in, the idea of her closest friend being involved in a string of murders didn’t seem to trouble her the slightest as her body went from lab room to car to standing back while a front door was banged down and a search warranted in an empty, dust-filled, all-american, white picket-fenced home. When in truth, she only didn’t want to register the possibility. She stood stiff during the motions and put her nose to the grindstone. Doing what she did best: working. Even when there wasn’t much work to be done in an abandoned abode, she worked. Silent and listening, obeying when ushered to wait outside after finding an empty children’s bedroom, and dropping an old family portrait, their toothy grins taunting her with a life she couldn’t have. An accident, the fractured glass on hardwood floor, she swore, but it was Crawford’s recommendation she step outside, get some air, he said.

    And air she got. The kind left behind by April showers, musky like a man’s cologne; earthy from trudged dirt; mouldy, clogging the particles in whatever it touched. There she sat, forced to stop drifting with the front porch bench acting as her anchor, black trousered legs restless, hands itching, and her eyes scouring over an email on her mobile phone. Endless echoes slathered tasteless tragedies atop tantalising thoughts so wriggling and alive that Emma refused to breathe. See, the problem with storms is never realising when they’re over, the rush still coursing through pulsing veins.

    Emma, stormy native Emma, had no clue as Will approached that it was over – to her, it never did. Instead, they would simply pile on, the water levels rising closer and closer to dangerous heights.

   “There’s no body,” said Will with solemn a tune or sorrow to his tone, meandering under the awning.

   She regarded him with a tentative stare, the sun outlining his slack form in that worn-a-thousand-times, crinkled khaki jacket.

   “Which means…” His hands idled at his side.

   “I know,” said Emma, “no need for us.” Or him . ‘Him’ being Hannibal, who had followed along like some omniscient force. Theirs were the only bodies in the immediate vicinity, dragged and dressed up for an expectant funeral. There being no death to parade, they were left to fester in the front yard.

   Stiff and beaten-browed, Will applied caution when sitting down next to her; not too fast, not too slow. Just enough so as not to upset the delicate wooden frame as his mere presence threatened a splintering. He rested his elbows on his jeans, back hunched, sweat rubbing off his palms in a contemplative motion, and it was then Emma noticed the signs of someone taking upon the job of breaking news for the first time in Will Graham – the breaking of bad news, brother to ice-breakers; no one likes them. “There were no signs of a struggle, the doors locked, her neighbours know nothing and given that the house appears abandoned,” he explained, making no attempts to mask the statement he prepared to state.

   “She’s gone, isn’t she?” asked Emma, ripping off the bandaid herself as she sunk into her seat.

   He tilted his head down in confirmation. “It’s likely that when we do find her, Alexandra Bennet will be brutally mutilated.” Just as the others had been.

   “Amy, her daughter. What about her?”

   “Well, The Ghost Writer doesn’t allow sneak peeks. If she’s not with her father, then…”

   Neither soul dared finish the sentence aloud, lest it make the unthinkable more true than should be. Both aware from an earlier debrief about Alex that she had divorced Johnny less than a year ago and won full custody over their child. Even then, it was unquestionable with not a single missing persons report that Johnathan Bennet (originally a Wilde before he took Alex’s surname unannounced), ex-husband to Emma’s former editor, the once medical student turned graphic designer, a man who lived in the same state and knew where Alex lived was a leading suspect, which forced the pair to sit in their questionable doubt.

   For once, Emma let herself breathe. It was all she could do. Deep, long breaths. Petrichor air filtered through her lungs like saltwater, each mouthful burning.

   “Were you close?” Will ventured to speak. The silence being more uncomfortable than talking.

   “We were .” That word which solidified the past felt all too real. Before, every previous mentioned ‘ were ’ was a dashing hope of fixing something fond. They were friends once, so maybe they could be again. But now they were friends, and Emma could not undo the damage she caused. Death was permanent and hope non-existent.

   A price to pay for taking too long.

   The push and pull; the way waves lull and strike, how, even without looking, that motion is conveyed on the wind, a force whipping across the faces of those who listened closely. “I’m sorry,” said Will uncontrollably.

   “Don’t be. You haven’t killed her.”

   Regardless, he felt as if he did, having ended an entire existence with the uttering of a truth. He was no different from the killer they chased. A sour taste accumulated on the end of his tongue, rancid, distasteful. “We don’t know that.” Denial spouted from him in an effort to be rid of the taste. “She’s missing, not dead, not yet.”

   “Maybe.” Emma attempted the same, pouring it like a salve over a tumour.

   But the sour lingered, and the burning burnt (what is it they say about denial? It makes fools of the truth).

   Their bodies reminded them with senses they couldn’t ignore. 

   This was reality, and it punished Emma through an unfillable pain. A hole had formed in her chest that equated to the loss of a function. Life pumped poorly; part of herself had been torn from her and the figurative hurt rubbed salt in the wound, searing, scorching, scarring. She wanted it to stop. Pain taking its hold, it slipped through vowels as she spoke. “C-Can we just change the subject, please?” she peered over at him through the gaps of her caged fingers rubbing her tensed forehead.

   Under her gaze, Will tensed. He hung his head the way a shamed dog does and almost uttered an apology but thought the better of it. The guilt kept to himself. The things he’d done dug raw flesh, nails marked pink crescent moons on his skin, and sheepish locks of hair fell around his face – shame, people called it.

   Seconds passed. Nothing uttered, only breathed. Never had she been this way, so vulnerable . At least, not this close up, the mouth somewhat agape in that innocent manner while too trembling to be innocence. Plump and ripe for the cutting table.

   This was guilt.

   His? Hers? The killers? It’s not so clear, and it’s not so sure where any of them end. They weren’t so dissimilar, one mimicking the other. Silence from one rippled into equal silence. Infinite, like an endless hall of mirrors. Bouncing back and forth. The longer either looked, the harder it became to recognise the point of origin. Though Emma could be sure of one thing as the pressurised silence increased: “You’re terrible at this, the consoling stuff, you know that?” She looked away from him now, stifling the urge to laugh away the awkwardness.

   “It’s been established.” Will brought a hand to the back of his head. “I’ve heard being friends with the person usually helps.”

   “Which we aren’t, but you’re still here.”

   And here he was indeed, sitting and ardently listening, not an inch of wanting to leave in his bones. Friends do that best. Then again, they also can look you in the eye. Will Graham didn’t. But associates aren’t in the habit of knowing you so well or caring to break news delicately. If they weren’t associates or friends, what were they? What was she to him? It got her questioning. She hadn’t much experience with this and she doubted he did either.

   Steepling his fingers above his lap in contemplation, Will asked, “So, what do not-friends talk about during situations like these?”

   This. This she knew well. All those years of forced polite conversations finally proved useful. “Family, mostly. Do you have any?” She leaned forward, lowering her guard as he radiated perplexion, forehead scrunched.

   “That’s a bit personal for not-friends.”

   “I’d argue there are far worse things I could ask,” Emma retorted. “Besides, it’s what normal people do. Talk about life, family, and shared experiences. Singular emotions and actions bind our seven-billion-strong species. This is how we deal with our circumstances. It’s how we feel not alone. That’s the point of this, Will.”

   “Well, we’re not normal ,” he snidely remarked.

   “Neither is this conversation. Just… indulge me, please.”

   He let his shoulders roll limp, acquiescing. “My parents. I have parents.”

   “Alive?”

   “In a way.”

   Where others might have been confused by his vagueness, Emma recognised the resentment and regret picking away at loose threads. Her hands couldn’t help but do the same to her rolled ruby sleeves as her expression went slack. “I get what you mean,” she admitted aloud, and his face turned to hers. “Even if they’re not physically there – for whatever reason – there’s that distorted version of them you greet in the mirror every day or glimpse at in memories on steamed windows or notice when pouring a cup of coffee in the same manner they once did. Our DNA, our blood and bones carry them wherever we go. They continue to live through us, whether we want to or not.”

   “You make it sound impossible to be ourselves,” he commented after seconds of thoughts where he reconsidered if anything he had ever done was his own action.

   Emma had always known that nothing was her own. “Because for some of us, that’s how it is.” Her parents taught her that. They had even given the pills to numb her to the idea. The very ones that washed down well after a storm, kicking in when all had stilled. Discomforting and comforting at the same time.

   “Anyway, that’s just what I tell myself to cope with what my parents left behind in their wake,” she diverted, swift on the search for less of a downer topic, “I’m sure whatever you do to cope is saner.”

   “I don’t know about that.” Will gave her a strained expression, doubtful.

   “Yeah? Prove it.” A short smile pricked her lips.

   His chest expanded as he drew a breath so he might face judgment. “Strays,” he answered. “I… pick up strays – dogs, not cats.”

   Emma’s head tilted to the side. “Oddly specific. How many?”

   “How many are they’ve overtaken half the floor in my room?”

   Her eyes widened. She wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but who was she to judge him for the fact. “That’s a lot for one person.”

   “It’s really only six. Though, like I said, not entirely sane.”

   “I’m not sure either of us are qualified to know what is or isn’t sane.”

   “True.”

   They couldn’t deny that, not even the littlest bit, or when they wished it weren’t true. It was who they were or who they were becoming, and all they could do was share a chuckle while the gap between them stifled and thinned, something only they would ever be able to share with another. Strange circumstances had that effect on ‘strange’ people (Hannibal would argue against the word. She knew that. Nevertheless, it felt adequate at this moment).

   Will lifted his head where the setting sun lit up the darkened features she had grown accustomed to knowing. “But I don’t regret taking them in,” he said softly, no more than a whisper, like a forgotten prayer. His dogs being one of the last sacred things in his life, a light through the windows of the bone church where the storm had carried them off into. A light, a hope, that you’re desperate to hold on to because it makes you feel normal while the darkness seems tempting. Normal people stand in stained-glass light where the sun calls to them. People such as those two hid in the catacombs, the night and its moon beckoning them deeper, and Emma knew then the extent of their… confounding connection.

   Never had she seen him under a different light till here. She had opened him up like one of her father's fish, guts on display, and saw a chance. A chance for herself. It did not mean, however, that the fear of oneself should so easily go away. She would need to find her sun. “Hey.” slowly, easing her aching muscles, she got up. “At least now you know how to talk normally with someone should the need ever arise, Special Agent Graham ,” she teased the last words while washing the metaphorical blood off her hands in her mind.

   “ Now I know how to talk with you.” Those puppy-dog brown eyes stayed her way as he spoke, more sure in whom he had gotten to understand.

   A facet of her, anyway. Emma couldn’t risk letting another get too close.

   She smiled – genuine this time. Warm, even – at the man too full of empathy and an avid dog person, and for once, not the reflection of darkness that waded like ocean fog. A parting gift for the gentleness he exposed from both of them. “It’s my time to leave. But, thank you, Will. You are more than what you think you are,” she said, uttering a truth she dared not repeat, and with that, Emma turned her back. She departed. Until halfway down the steps, Will spoke up again. “What would I be if I told you to step back?”

   “Selfish; selfishly good,” she answered after a brief pause. He cared about her, in some weird capacity it seemed, and her face softened, the smile dropping between words. “The sun to my moon, that’s what she meant to me, Will.” What came out from her felt tired. Tired from the storm in her mind, which had thrashed her around close to beyond her limits, tired after years of failed solutions. “I owe this to her.”

   Fresh wounds are often the rawest. When Will saw her through the over-the-shoulder glance, raw is how he would have described the sullen, dark-circled eyes and the scruffed sleeves and disjointed wisps of hair. She may be used to storms and their bad news, but this is close to her breaking point. Emma Darcy was desperately afloat, ready for a drowning, and this might save her lest it be her undoing.

   “Then I won’t stop you,” he told her. Even if it went against his better judgement. 

   Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too late to step in when things became bad. Hopefully, someone would be there to save her, someone who would save them both.

[thedenofravenpuff]

Love Thy Art - A Ramble

Just a lil ramble I need to do, enjoy the wall of text, yo How we view our own arts are often time as our own worst critics. And it comes in many layers. No matter how amazing an artist is, you'll often see them complain how their piece never turn out exactly how they want to. We see artists compare themselves to others who are just as critical of their own art. We see people openly cringe at their older art, from before their current levels of improvement. We see people act like people with more experience than them just means they are naturally more talented and not merely more practiced. And don't forget those people always mentioned incredibly talented artists who are younger than themselves while showing a different skill level. How we view our own art always differs in many ways. One in particular that makes cringe at our own work, is our own expectations. We view the world around us and can't help but compare. We view so many styles we can't help getting inspired and think up ideas from all these influences and get upset when the resulting piece doesn't match the mental image, because we were stuck in a different style than we are practiced in, when thinking up the idea. Why am I rambling about this? Because I've noticed a change in my own view as of late. I still see all the flaws in my art, I still note how the results differs from the original idea. Yet. I love looking at my own art. I love staring at anything new I've created and just go "Wow, I made that." In no means to be full of myself, but to be appreciative of what I'm able to do. I have no reason to compare myself to other artists. They work through different mediums and styles they trained up to do differently from what I can do. And vice versa. Are there things I wish I could do too? Oh yes, absolutely. Only solution is to get off my lazy arse and actually learn it, take the time to practice. If I'm not willing to do that, then why whine about it? Just enjoy what others create and admire the work they put into something they so eagerly share with everyone. Art is such a beautiful medium and I love how I'm part of it. I'll even look up my old art to enjoy and go "Wow, I made that years ago. I was at that artistic level back then," because sure it's a vast difference in skill than I have now, but I still remember the praise and joy that came from sharing that art back then. I remember the characters and stories behind each piece, that makes it all a special part of my journey. I remember each step in honing my skills and adjusting my style. The jumps I had to make between fandom interests, change in fixations and what sources I had for inspiration and references. All culminating to what I can do now. Every new piece I make, I enjoy looking at. Even despite the mistakes and flaws I see and recognize, they are all just little whoopsies I'll know to look out for better next time. I love uploading my art on different platforms because I get to look at that new piece a few extra times for a purpose. I love getting comments cuz I get to skip back to the art to look at it again real' quick before replying. I like looking up my own art real' quick to share again on discord for old references and jokes being brought up again, or to use as reference when drawing a continuation. Maybe it's a result of forced hiatus and art breaks due to my health, where I just got so desperate to draw again that I'm just so grateful I love everything I create, now I can draw once more. Maybe part of re-uploading tons of old art onto this site when I abandoned DeviantART, letting me on a journey down memory lane to really appreciate all I've made to make it to where I am now. Maybe it's just the maturity of growing old. I dunno. Whatever it is, I find it welcoming. Just... relaxing and enjoying what I can make, stressing less over how bad or good it is. I have no tricks or tips to reach so appreciation of your own art, but I wish it upon everyone I know as well as everyone else! Yeah we are our own worst critics to push ourselves to keep learning and better ourselves even more. But we should also just go "wow, I really made that" no matter the skill levels we demand of ourselves. It makes it so much more fun to create, when we can also just enjoy it. Far too many whine how they hate their art and skill level, people who keep comparing themselves to others with different styles, who gets a complex whenever someone younger is shown as more successful.. And that's valid. You cannot just turn a switch in your brain and magically change how you view these things. But maybe take a few moments to sit down and just go "Wow.. I really made that" without all the comparison, now and again. Instead of cringing at your old art, agree with yourself there will always be people still going "Wow, that's so cool" when they see it even today. And know it was all part of the journey to how you draw and create now. Just something I wanted off my chest for a while, admitting to some self love I'm very grateful for. Art is amazing, and you are all amazing too, so keep at it!

[bi-bard]

Confrontations - Connor Rhodes Imagine (Chicago Med)

Title: Confrontations

Pairing: Connor Rhodes X Reader

Word Count: 1,600 words

Warning(s): drugging, attempted murder, mentions of murder

Summary: (Late Season 4) After a bit of tense interaction with a colleague, (Y/n) wakes in a hospital bed with all the time in the world to put the missing pieces together.

Author's Note: Y'all, this plotline was batshit. Obviously, I had to write something for it.

flashbacks marked by italics

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I had never been more confused than I had when I woke up in a hospital bed.

I had no memory of really anything for the last several hours. It was bizarre.

I pinched the bridge of my nose as I woke up more. I felt like there was a weight sitting on my head.

When I moved my hand away, I made eye contact with April. She walked in immediately.

"Hey," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Not great, but I'm not in any pain," I replied. "What happened?"

"Well, we aren't sure," she explained. "You were dosed with something, but none of us have been able to figure out how it got into your system."

"Am I okay?"

"We're getting it treated," she nodded. "I'll be right back. There are a lot of people worried about you."

I grinned, "Thank you."

"It's my job," she waved me off. "Relax. Please."

I nodded.

As she walked out, I turned my head to the side, looking at my monitors. I tried to think about the last day or so. What the hell had gotten me there?

The first thing I could remember was walking into the doctor's lounge in the E.D. I had just received some good news and I had been looking for someone.

Connor. I was looking for Connor.

"You look happy," Connor had noted as soon as he saw me.

"I am," I had replied. "Remember that patient I was having a hard time with? Been in the psych ward for ages?"

"Yeah?"

"We finally made some real progress, and he's getting discharged."

"No way," Connor had smiled at me. I nodded. He walked over and pulled me into a hug. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I muttered, hugging him a little tighter.

I stepped back, about to ask about his day when the door opened. Ava stepped in, freezing for a moment when she saw us.

I had known the history between Connor and Ava. Connor and I had been friends for years, so I saw a lot of it firsthand. I felt bad for her. So much had happened so fast. But I still saw the pain that Connor had been dragged through. It broke my heart.

"Hey," I waved, wanting to keep a good work relationship with her. She was good at her job, she deserved respect for that.

"Hey," she mumbled, seeming tense at the mere sight of me. She looked at Connor. "I just needed a consult."

"Alright," Connor nodded before looking at me. "I'll see you later."

"Sounds good."

As he walked out, I expected Ava to immediately follow him. She didn't. She stepped toward me. I immediately noticed the dark look in her eye.

"You need to back off," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry," I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"You heard me," she gave me a tense grin. "I see you and Connor. I need you to back off. Don't be another obstacle for me."

I could've asked a million questions in that moment. But I didn't. I just nodded at her. I tried to maintain her calm mood. If I upset her, I had no idea what the consequences would've been.

I furrowed my eyebrows just as Dr. Charles walked in.

"Hey," he said as he walked in. "How are you feeling?"

"Is every person going to ask me that," I chuckled. "I'm fine."

He nodded, "Good, I'm glad."

"Has anything happened while I was out," I asked. "Are my patients okay?"

"Oh, oh," he nodded. "Everyone's okay. You had one patient worried because you two were meant to meet today."

"Oh, no," I ran a hand over my face. "Poor girl. I gave her this assignment to help her cope. She must feel like I abandoned her."

"I took care of it."

"Thank you," I grinned. "Is she okay now?"

"I promised an update on your condition."

"So that's why you're here," I pointed at him.

He held his hands up for a moment before chuckling, "I should let you rest."

"Thank you, Dr. Charles."

He grinned and nodded before heading out.

I tried to relax into the pillow. My hand fidgeted with the blanket as I tried to put more thoughts together. Had I done anything truly out of the ordinary?

No. Nothing.

Well, no, that's not right. Something was different. Something that stuck out to me. What was it?

I had been sitting with my food at one of the tables in the hospital cafeteria. I was looking over a patient's file when there was a coffee cup placed in front of me.

I looked up from the cup to see Ava standing in front of me. I raised an eyebrow at her. She just threatened me a little while ago, what was she doing?

"I wanted to apologize," she said. "What I did earlier was not okay. You didn't deserve to be treated like that."

I grinned at her, "Oh, thank you."

She nodded, tucking her hands in her pockets, "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "We're okay."

"Thank you," she replied before turning and walking away from me.

It was the coffee.

It was something in the coffee.

That was the only thing that was different from my day-to-day activities.

I felt my breath speed up as I tried to even consider the chance. Ava seemed a bit obsessive, yes, but murderous? That just... There was no way.

April walked by my room.

"April," I said, getting her attention before she could get too far.

"Hey," she replied. "Connor said he's going to come down as soon as he can."

"Okay, okay," I waved the statement off. "I need... I need you to promise me something."

She seemed worried as soon as I spoke. Her eyebrows furrowed.

"What's going on," she asked.

"Do not let Ava in this room, please," I explained. "I... I need you to promise me."

"Why?"

"Please just promise me."

"Okay, okay," she grabbed my hand. "I promise."

"Thank you," I muttered, leaning back against the pillow. "Thank you."

April nodded again before leaving the room.

I spent the rest of the day on high alert. I gripped at the blanket and kept scanning the walkway just outside the door.

I saw people muttering more and more to each other. Drama moves fast in the hospital. I walked out to the desk, seeing Maggie at the computer.

"We were going to help you out-"

"What's going on," I asked, ignoring her.

She froze up.

"Maggie."

"It's Ava," she replied. I furrowed my eyebrows. "She... She slit her own throat."

"What?"

"In front of Connor."

"Holy shit," I whispered. "Is she okay? In surgery or anything?"

"She didn't make it."

"And Connor?"

"Shaken up but she didn't hurt him. He went home."

I nodded. Thank God.

"My papers are all filled out, can I-"

"I'd be angry if you tried to do anything else," Maggie cut me off. "You are not driving yourself."

"I've got them," Dr. Charles was walking out of the hospital. "I'm heading out for the day."

"I can't ask you-"

"Good thing you aren't asking," he said. "Come on. You need to get home."

Dr. Charles was quiet as he listened to me list off directions to my apartment building. He made sure I made it to my door before leaving, wishing me well.

I placed stuff on the couch and had been getting ready for bed when there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see Connor on the other side.

He looked tired. There were bags under his eyes, his hair was messy, and his shoulders were slouched forward. I stepped to the side and let him walk in. I closed the door behind him.

"Maggie called when you went-"

I stepped forward and hugged him tightly. He slowly hugged me back.

"They told me about Ava," I mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

"T-Thank you," he stepped back a bit. "She... she was the one that killed my dad."

"Oh God..."

"There's... There's something else," he sighed. "When I confronted her about my dad, before she... before she hurt herself, she confirmed that she was the one who dosed you."

I nodded, "I... I kinda figured that out. The coffee she offered me was the only super different part of my day."

"I'm sorry-"

"You didn't do anything wrong," I stopped him.

"I'm leaving the city."

"Oh? Forever?"

"It's looking that way," he replied.

He reached forward and grabbed one of my hands. I looked down as he ran his thumb over my knuckles.

"I almost lost you," he muttered.

"I'll try to not let it happen again," I tried to joke in the hopes of relieving some of the tension in the room.

He chuckled.

The room fell silent for a while. Not long, maybe half a minute. But it felt like an eternity.

"Come with me," he said at last.

"What," I asked.

"I want you to come with me," he pushed. "I want to be with you. I... I love you."

I felt my heart almost stop in its tracks.

Connor looked ready to backtrack. I wrapped my arms around his neck as I kissed him. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer as he kissed me back.

I slowly pulled away, smiling at him, "I love you too, Connor."

He smiled back and pulled me into another kiss.

I leaned back and rested our foreheads together.

"Where are we going," I asked.

"I... I don't know yet," he chuckled. "Somewhere nice."

I nudged his nose with mine as I agreed, "Somewhere nice."

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Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[velvetcloxds]

ALL TO MYSELF | S.B.

Pairing: roommate!sirius black x roommate!fem!reader (sort of modern au)

Word count: 1.4k

Warning: none that I can think of, tis not my best but the ending made me happy

Summary: living with the marauders is fun until you and sirius fall in love with each other and threaten the entire dynamic of the group

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“Alright, what are you doing?” Remus accused almost out of nowhere, confusion sifting onto Sirius’ brow as he washed another plate, frowning as he settled it on the rack.

“The dishes?” he pondered out loud as he grabbed another plate from the counter where Remus has taken it upon himself to organize the mess by category.

“Don’t be daft, I’m talking about Y/n, what are you doing with Y/n?” he explained with a sigh, leaning back against the counter to offer a clear look of distaste as he thought about the copious amount of flirting that occurred during at the dining room table.

“I’m not doing anything with Y/n, Moony, no more than you and James, I assume,” he scoffed, turning with his hands still in the water to counter Remus’ glare with a challenging glare of his own. “Why do you ask?”

“Don’t do that,” Remus sighed, arms folding over his chest as he shook his head. “James may be his blissfully oblivious self, but I’m not too much of a fool to notice the way you’re acting around each other, I was this close to suggesting you get a room halfway through dinner, so don’t try and tell me you’re not trying to get her into bed,” he explained and Sirius merely shrugged, continuing his work on the plate that sat at the bottom of the sink, hoping that his nonchalance fooled his friend, or annoyed him enough to leave the conversation at that.

Because as always, Remus was far too clever for his own good. When Sirius and you started toying around with the idea of a relationship a few months ago, the pair of you knew that Remus would be the hardest to hide your ruse from, few things slipped past his marvelous sense for sniffing out Sirius’ bullshit. The problem, of course, was that you two were getting reckless the longer your secret remained a secret, it was so easy being together, being a couple, it got away from you sometimes that you were meant to be anything but.

“Just some casual flirting amongst friends, I’d do it with you too, if you weren’t so damn serious all the time,” he countered with a grin, drying his hands as the sink cleared of water. “Calm down, would you, you know I’d never try anything with her, for goodness sake, Moony, it’s Y/n we’re talking about.”

“Exactly. It’s Y/n. Sweet, kind, general representative of all things good in this world, Y/n,” Sirius nodded along to the words as Remus paused. “You’re the furthest thing from subtle, Sirius, have always been. So instead of trying to talk you out of this, I’d simply remind you that this girl deserves so much more than being another one of your conquests,” Sirius’ jaw clenched at this, mind somewhere between being upset with Remus for thinking so lowly of him but also wondering if the very thought had ever crossed your mind. “You got that?”

“Loud and clear,” Sirius breathed with a faux smile as Remus delivered a light pat to his shoulder.

“Good. Leave the pot, James burnt the sauce, so it needs to soak, I’ll wake up and clean it before Y/n discovers it,” Remus teased with ease, as if the conversation before was but a light chat between friends. “Good night, Pads,” he added with a hidden yawn, accepting the silent nod of agreement from Sirius before scurrying off to bed.

Sirius’ steps were determined, he knew you were waiting for him in his bedroom. It had become a little reward at the end of another criminally busy day to find his girl settled upon his sheets wearing one of the shirts he’d left abandoned in his closet, a select few being reserved for you alone. This had quickly become the best part of his day, the moments he didn’t have to hide the way you made him feel, the way you somehow shifted his entire world upside down with the smallest of gestures, the sweetest of moments where you were doing nothing other than being yourself. There was not a minute he wasn’t longing for the bits of time he got to have you as his. Though this time his mind was racing, he’d half-expected Remus to be the one to understand the feelings he had for you, expected him to support the way you stole bits of his heart as the days passed. He hadn’t expected him to sow seeds of doubt that would sprout within an instant.

He couldn’t fight the smile that met his lips as he entered his room, the smell of your shampoo overtaking his senses as his eyes searched for you, smile growing as you surprised him by wrapping your arms around his waist, leaning into his back as you sighed contently.

“You’re late,” you noted with another sigh as his hands found your own. “I was scared you’d decided to cuddle up with Remus instead,” you teased softly, and Sirius scoffed.

“From what I remember, Moony kicks in his sleep, I don’t think it would be much of an upgrade,” he told you with a slightly hazy tone, making quick yet gentle work of guiding you around him to be able to meet your gaze.

“Hi Siri,” you whispered, looking up at him in a silent plea for him to kiss you, having waited long enough by your standards. He leaned down gently, hand settling on your neck as he pulled you into the kiss, lips moving carefully, much like they did after you admitted your feelings to each other for the first time, like he was trying to convey some unspoken message to you and you had no idea what it was. You moved to the tips of your toes as your hands cupped his face. “Are you alright?” you asked with your breath still chasing after you when you pulled away, Sirius’ brows furrowed as he looked down at you. “Sirius, talk to me,” you encouraged, his other hand now moving ever so softly up and down your back.

“I wanted you to know,” he began, chest against yours as you leaned into him. “I know my track record with girls has been anything but perfect and I know that trusting me with your heart couldn’t have been something you took lightly, especially with everything we’re risking here,” his fingers tightened around your neck as he spoke. “But you should know that you mean more to me than any of those girls ever did, more than I could explain really. You’re not just another conquest for me, is what I’m trying to say, you’re real, we’re real.”

“I know that,” you nodded as your thumbs stroked his cheeks. “Trusting you with my heart was the easiest decision I’ve ever made, Sirius Black,” you explained, and he laughed lightly, almost relieved as he pulled you up to wrap your arms and legs around him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you giggled as he nuzzled his head into your shoulder, your hands tugging lightly at the stands of his curls as he did so. “I love you,” you whispered into his hair and you could almost feel the smile that danced on his lips.

“Love you too, angel,” he replied as he started leading you to the bed, wondering hands tickling your sides as he walked. “Shh, you don’t want to give us away now, do you?” he mused and you braced for impact as you stumbled onto the bed still tangled in each other’s arms.

“Hmm, I don’t think so,” you mused as his lips found yours once again despite the less than comfortable position. “Think I’d like to keep you all to myself for a little while longer,” you teased, lips practically losing feeling from smiling so brightly when he graced you with another messy kiss.

“Oh, you’d have not a single word of objection from me, darling.”

all fandoms taglist: @oliverwoodmarrymepls @scandalous-chaos

harry potter taglist: @wrongilbert @saintlike78 @mirclealignr @scarlet-prey @fandom-life-12 @queen-asteria04 @natashxromanovf @cupids-crystals @justreadingficsdontmindme @thehalfbloodedwitch @sarahisslytherin

[ilalos]

Worth it (Anthony Bridgerton x reader) Part 2/2

Summary: Your arranged marriage to Anthony seems fine, until it doesn’t.

Warnings: marriage, implied sex, angst-ish, fluff, pregnancy, crying, if you notice anything else let me know :)

Word count: 2.5k

The season passed in a blur with countless flowers and conversations that filled you with expectations about your marriage to the Viscount, you truly felt like love was around the corner for both of you and it was a matter of time for that corner to be turned. He was everything you had expected and more, you could tell he was wary about letting you in but didn’t want to push him so you let him open himself to you at his own pace. The had been some stolen looks, kisses on your knuckles that had lasted a little longer than they should and hand a bit lower than what was acceptable when you danced. To say the courting had been successful was the understatement of the season in your opinion, by the time the wedding day came you were counting down the minutes before you finally became Lady (y/n) Bridgeton.

Your wedding ceremony was short and the carriage ride to Anthony’s bachelor townhouse was even shorter. The wedding night had come with a surprisingly low amount of events, your virginity had been taken the sweetest of ways, with many kisses and whispered promises of pleasure that came true. By the end of the day, you were as happy as can be, laying on your husband's chest, feeling his heartbeat slowing down and smelling the sweet vanilla scent of his skin.

When you woke up the next morning the bed was empty and he had already left to work in his study back in the main Bridgerton home. He didn’t return until late in the evening and you were waiting for him so you could have dinner together.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” he said while taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s nothing, I like that we are finally spending some time together”

Anthony just nodded and continued eating in silence.

“How was your day?” You pushed for conversation, you had been alone all day and could really use some conversation with someone different than your maid, who was terrified of speaking freely.

“It was busy” he answered simply “how was your day?” He asked after seeing the face you made at his short answer.

“It was also very busy, I reorganized the books in the library, had the kitchen staff do an inventory on the pantry, and send the maids to the market to get some flowers for the table tops” you narrated proudly, hoping he might appreciate the way you ran the home.

“Good to see you’re settling in, darling” his small praise made you smile a little.

“You don’t mind that I changed some things?” You asked somewhat concerned by his silence.

“It is your home, you’re free to do whatever you please with it,” he said dismissively.

“It’s our home, Anthony, I want to make it perfect for you too”

After dinner, he walked you to the bedroom and after a couple of heated kisses you fell in his arms once again, the pleasure he gave you was addictive. Despite his cold attitude towards you in other aspects of your life, it was in the bedroom where you felt hopeful for a future where you both might learn to truly love each other, and then he would sneak out every morning making you feel like a worthless whore.

And so your days continued like this, every night was filled with passion and every day was lonely. You couldn’t even go to the Bridgerton home, you had been taught that a married lady was not to go out without her husband, so your heart slowly filled with sadness as you spent day after day alone in the townhouse. Anthony was none the wiser because he simply thought you enjoyed being by yourself, so it never occurred to him to invite you to his family’s home or anywhere else.

A month into your marriage you found out you were with child. You were extremely happy and Anthony had shown himself to be happy as well, but then that night he didn’t come home for dinner and didn’t make an appearance in your bedroom. He was more and more distant until four months had passed and he disappeared for two full weeks before you saw him again.

It was on the day of your birthday, and he had only gone to your room because the butler told him you had been very sick that day. When he entered the room he found you seating on the bed hugging your knees close to your chest, your eyes puffy from crying and silent tears still streaming down your face. You weren’t upset he had forgotten your birthday, you had never celebrated it so it didn’t matter he didn’t remember it.

“What happened? Is everything well? Is the baby-“

“Your child is quite well, Lord Bridgerton” you interrupted in the coldest tone he had ever heard from you “to what do I owe this joyous visit?”

“I apologize for my absence, I have been very busy” he answered measly.

“I figured out that much, husband” the word was said with venom.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked offended, you had never treated him so coldly.

“I am upset with myself” you started with a pained chuckle “I don’t need you to try and comfort me because you did nothing wrong, that is the reason for my anger” a small sob escaped your lips “I was taught to be a good wife, that my only job was to give my husband heirs and to keep the house running and I understood that and I didn’t fight it because at least I would have children to fill my life with love and a husband who at the very least would acknowledge me and my efforts”

“I-“

“I don’t want you to feel like you should change or apologize, this is not your fault, I feel miserable because I filled my heart with hopes and dreams of love but that’s just not how life is, at least not mine” you harshly wiped your eyes before finishing “I understand my place now, I’m nothing but a child-bearer for you and that’s fine because you didn’t even pick me in the first place” you got up from bed and opened the door for him “please leave me alone, I will be fine”

“I can’t just leave you here alone, have you even eaten today? In your condition-“

“Your child is perfectly well, my lord” your tone had turned icy once again “please go, I am tired and want to rest”

Unable to do anything else, Anthony left the room and went back to his family’s home. His mother had insisted for him to take you there that night, but seeing your state he didn’t even bother asking if you wanted to go. When he got there he was surprised to see the dining room fully decorated, his whole family dressed in their best clothes, even Daphne and Simon had paid a visit.

“Where is (y/n)?” Asked Violet.

“She’s not feeling very well” answered Anthony looking at the table that was filled with all his wife’s favorite food “What is happening? Why are you all here dressed as if you are attending a ball?”

“Anthony, please for the love of God almighty, tell me you didn’t forget your wife’s birthday!” Violet couldn’t keep his composure, how could Anthony be so clueless.

“I-I’ve been so busy lately supervising the building of the new house, it didn’t even occur to me that it was her birthday” Anthony felt terrible, as he should.

“It’s bad enough she doesn’t like us, son” Violet sighed, seating on the table “And now she thinks we don’t care for her birthday”

“Where did you get that idea, mother?” Daphne couldn’t help but ask “When she writes to us she says wonderful things about our family”

“Then why hasn’t she visited since the wedding?” This time it was Colin asking “Mother sent a tea invitation shortly after they got married and she never showed up, sent a poor letter apologizing but did not explain why she didn’t show”

“I might have an explanation for that” Simon spoke up “My aunt was a terribly strict mother, taught her that a wife was nothing more than a child-bearer and had no liberties like men do, for example: going out unaccompanied”

“Has she been out of the house since you married, brother?” asked Eloise, turning to face Anthony who was still frozen at the doorstep.

“I don’t believe so” he entered the room and sat defeated “I just thought she enjoyed being at home by herself, god!” he rubbed his hands down his face.

“I can’t believe it, the poor thing” lamented Violet.

“She hasn’t left the house in almost half a year” concluded Benedict.

“And here we were, refusing to visit thinking she had rejected mother,” said Colin.

“I would like to clarify, I never agreed with losing contact with her over one missed invitation” added Eloise, gaining the glares of everyone present.

“It matters not what we thought nor does it matter what has happened in the past” began Violet “right now I want you to go pick her up and bring her here, she deserves to be celebrated, especially after everything we put her through,” she told her eldest child, pushing him to stand and go to the door.

Anthony mounted the carriage and urged the coachman to hurry home and as soon as he got there he ran up the stairs to your room and burst through the door, jolting you awake.

“I am so sorry, love,” ha said kneeling on your bedside “I never knew you didn’t leave the house because you thought you couldn’t, you are free to do as you please, darling” he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles “I didn’t mean to make you feel trapped in your own home, and I am sorry if you felt like I abandoned you” he caressed your face and wiped some tears that had fallen without your notice.

“You did abandon us,” you said, trying to pull your hand from his grasp with your other hand protecting your belly.

“I was merely supervising the building of our new home, I was hoping I could surprise you before the baby arrived” he explained, now seating by your side “I can’t possibly ask my family to leave their home but I know how much you love that house, and so I chose to build a similar one not too far from here”

“You are building me a house?” You asked incredulously, hardly anything could justify his absence but this was in fact a reasonable explanation.

“Yes, love” he once again caressed your face “A home for our family” at that your eyes filled with tears, this time from happiness.

You sat up and wrapped your arms around his neck, crying with your face buried in his shirt. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the top of your head and shushing you softly to calm down your cries. You spent a while holding each other until he suddenly broke you two apart, remembering his family that was still waiting for you both to show up.

“My beautiful wife, I must take you out of the comforts of your bed” he began, apologetic “My family is expecting you in their home to celebrate your birthday with a lavish dinner”

“Heavens! You should’ve started with that” you ran to your door and called out for your maid “I don’t think I have a dress for such occasion, non that would fit me now, that’s certain”

You opened your trunk and began taking out your chemise and all other items you had to wear under your dress in such cold weather. You took off your nightgown not caring Anthony was there, he had seen it all before, after you had put on your chemise your maid ran in and help you put on the rest of your garments and helped you squeeze your small baby bump in the dress you had worn for one of the first balls you attended when Anthony was courting you. She put your hair in a quick updo and even managed to coerce Anthony into putting on your stockings and your shoes while she did your hair. With all that rush and hard work, you managed to be ready in under an hour and still made it to the dinner at a reasonable hour (half past 9 is reasonable, right?).

At the Bridgerton home, you were welcomed with warm embraces and merry wishes on your special day. You all sat around the table and ate the feast that had sadly grown cold. Colin didn’t seem to mind as he devoured everything in sight, prompting Violet to chastise him softly. You, however, ate small bites because the pregnancy had caused your stomach to be upset easily and you didn’t wish to offend anyone by running out of the room to empty your stomach. Anthony watched you eat and held your hand atop the table, smiling as he watched you laugh and converse with his family.

“Is the food not good enough?” Asked Violet seeing your plate almost full.

“It is just perfect, my stomach has just been iffy since the start of the pregnancy” you answered smiling apologetically, Anthony choked on his wine because he realized at that very moment that he had forgotten to tell his family about your condition.

“You’re with child? Those are wonderful news!” Exclaimed Violet with a large smile “When did you found out?”

“Four months ago” you turned to glare at Anthony “I assumed your son had told you”

“How could you conceal such joyous information from your mother?” Violet then noticed her eldest daughter had become quiet, as well as her husband “Did you know, Daphne?”

“I was aware of it, yes” Daphne admitted ashamed “I too assumed Anthony had told you”

“You assumed my eldest son had told me about his wife’s pregnancy and I had decided not to mention any of it in our letters?”

“I-I’m, yes?” Benedict and Colin snorted with laughter hearing their sister’s answer.

Violet only shook her head with a small smile, her children were truly a wonder. Anthony was nervous that you’d get mad at him for not telling them, but one look at your laughing face told him he didn’t need to worry.

Later that evening you both laid in bed after yet another passion-filled encounter, your breathing slow and even making Anthony think you were asleep. He was caressing your naked back with feather-like touches, kissing your sweaty forehead every few minutes.

“I love you” you sighed, kissing his chest “You need not feel the same, I just want you to know how I feel”

He took a shaky breath before answering.

“I also am in love with you, darling” he placed a finger under your chin and tilted your head so you’d look at him “sometimes I’m scared of just how much I love you” he kissed you slow and deep, pouring all his love into the action.

The kiss was unlike any other you had shared before, this one was full of promise and hope. It filled you with love and certainty, you were now sure that no matter how difficult the road to Anthony’s heart had been, even if you didn’t want it at first, it had all been worth it.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. If you like it let me know.

Tag list:

@alaizaaa02

@awesomebooklover17

[merakiui]

Okay I had a thought for the android au what if failed albedo/subject 2 was a failed android that didn't turn out the way Rhinedottir wanted and was abandoned and shut down and later tossed away until eventually reader stumbles upon him and takes him to their house out of sympathy but little does reader know is that part of the reason he was cast aside is because he had developed unfixable obsessive yandere tendencies in his code

Oh, good idea!!! And being around you, always talking to you, getting to know you, living with you has only made these tendencies of his even worse. It starts small enough until eventually he refuses to let you go out, gets upset at the mere mention of other people, and will find all sorts of ways for you to be conveniently unavailable for plans you’ve made with friends or family or coworkers.

Just stay with him. The two of you are such good friends. You don’t need anyone else. Besides, you wouldn’t want to abandon him like his creator did, would you? He knows you’d never do something as heartless as that.

[mhysa-leesi]

му вℓσσ∂у ναℓєηтιηє

{Gif Source} {Gif Source 2}

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers 𝒳 (femme) Reader 🩸.

Summary: "Steve Rogers is madly in love with you and he'll do anything for you to see that--no matter who gets in his way."

Word Count: 4,765 (Sorry, this is a long one!)

TW‼: Non-Con, Smut, Stalking, Yandere Themes, Murder (Description of Side-Character Death), Blood, Description of Gore, and Strong Language. 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI‼

AN: This story contains adult and dark themes, please do not proceed if you are under the age of 18 or if ANY of these warnings upset you! I am not responsible for your media consumption–you and only you are. Also, I used one of the prompts from (@the-modern-typewriter) to describe a character's death, ALL CREDIT GOES TO THEM. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

AN Cont.: If you or anyone you know has been a victim of sexual violence, please reach out for help. I do not condone ANY of the actions described in this story, this is merely a work of FICTION.

The first love letter was delivered on a gloomy Friday afternoon. The clouds above the city were dark and full of frigid torrents of rainfall. Gold and scarlet autumn leaves whispered against the chilly winds as acorns scattered about; rolling and cracking underfoot as you made your everyday walk to work. You had chosen to stray from your usual route that day, deciding on a new corner coffee shop instead of your normal stop.

You remembered that day clearly, as if it had happened just yesterday. The new coffee shop was a small, hole in the wall with plastic vines of ivy and fairylights rimming the framework of the inside. You ordered rich and dark coffees, with creamy oat milk for you and your coworkers, and an apple pecan oatmeal cookie for yourself.

Your workday was seemingly the same as any other. Pam was gossiping with Susan, and Scott was hiding from Mark, your manager, in the breakroom. You remember you were seated at your cubicle when things turned, staring at the rain against the window, and tapping your pen against your notepad, when you were startled by the mail carrier. He handed you a single, pink envelope with a heart stamp on its flap and left with a mumbled “you’re welcome”. You frowned as there was no return address or other name besides yours. You had opened it anyway.

You remembered how your frown had deepened as your stomach dropped. The paper trembled in your hands as you stared at the small heart sketched at the bottom. You frantically looked around the office for any sign of a joke, hoping to see one of your coworkers giggling at your shocked reaction. But everyone had their noses deep into their screens, typing away at their work. You turned the letter over, looking for a name or a clue as to who had sent it. But it was blank.

And you remembered how you had crumpled up the letter and tossed it as you refocused and finished the rest of that workday.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Weeks passed before you got another mysterious love letter delivered to your desk, a small bouquet of roses and baby’s-breath with it. And again, you crumpled it up and threw it away; leaving the flowers in the breakroom. You had made a mental note that day to talk to the mailman about the delivery of these letters.

For a time they stopped and you thought you were out of the woods or thought your secret admirer had lost interest at the very least. But you were wrong. Your third envelope had been waiting for you in your mailbox when you had gotten home from work one Monday evening. You didn’t bother opening it as you sent it straight to the garbage.

You were growing paranoid and antsy as you constantly looked over your shoulder. You’d freeze every time you came across an envelope, even if it was just your monthly rent notice or bank statement. You had refused to live like this, in a constant state of anxiety and fear, so, that’s how you found yourself moving into a new apartment across town.

You were met with months of peace, you were finally readjusting to life before the letters. You had even moved in with someone you had been seeing from your new job, Chris. He was perfect, someone straight from a romance novel; tall, dark, and handsome, with a taste for adventure and romance. You were happy with him--you were in love and had long since decided that if Chris were to ask you to marry him, you’d say yes in a heartbeat.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today was your anniversary with Chris, and the two of you had an entire evening planned. Dinner at your favorite restaurant, a surprise showing of your favorite movie at the corner cinema, and then home, where you’d give him his gift. A red lacy lingerie set with fuzzy handcuffs, and a silk blindfold to match.

Your heart skipped and your stomach alighted with butterflies as you touched up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. The evening had been absolutely perfect and it was about to get even better. You stepped out into the bedroom, dressed in nothing but red lace and a bathrobe. A spritz of perfume here and a mint there, and you were ready to go surprise your man.

You walked out into the living room and seductively leaned against the wall, watching as he poured two glasses of red wine. He turned and froze, swallowing hard as he abandoned the drinks on the kitchen counter. You smirked as he pulled you to him by your hips, instantly locking his lips to yours. He looked down at you through his eyelashes, his deep brown eyes darkened with lust, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to your lips once more.

Your eyes closed and moaned as he peppered kisses along the curve of your neck, tilting your head back to give him better access. His hands roamed your body hotly, squeezing and caressing your dips and curves. Chris entangled his hands in your hair as he moved you to the counter, lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. He pushed your robe down your shoulders to reveal the red lace hidden underneath, and with a groan, he bent to trace the rosette lacework that covered your breasts with his tongue. You hummed and wrapped your legs around his waist, your hands running down his back to toy with the bottom hem.

Chris gently pushed you down to an angle as he kissed down your body, stopping just below your navel to wink up at you. You bit back a laugh as you wiggled your hips impatiently as you leaned back on your hands. With your fingers splayed against the wooden countertop, your touch met something smooth and waxy--like the waxy seal of an envelope. You reached behind you and grabbed a pink envelope, with a wax stamp of a heart on its flap. Your heart seemed to stop as you stared at the envelope in your hands.

You vaguely felt Chris’s lips on your inner thighs, kissing and nipping at your skin. When he heard no reaction from you, he looked up, his brows furrowed and eyes full of questions.

“What’s that?” he asked, “You wrote me a love letter, too?” he winked as he reached for it.

You jerked it away from his grasp, your heart hammering in your chest as you ripped open the flap; ripping the waxy heart in half.

P.S. You should really lock your windows, doll. You jumped off the counter and ran to the windows, each one was locked--except for one. You locked it and double-checked its strength, fighting against the lock as you tried to open it.

“Babe? (Y/N),” Chris said sternly, snapping you out of your trance.

You looked at him now. You didn’t know what to say, you couldn’t think of how to form the words. You wanted to say everything was fine and okay, but it wasn’t--it was far from it. Whoever had been writing and sending you these knew where you lived now, and that scared you. After months of trying so hard to move on from this, you felt as if you were right back at square one again.

The rest of the night was unclear to you. You moved like a zombie, your brain on autopilot as you crawled into bed to hide under the covers until the morning sun rose. Chris asked questions, of course. But you had no answers for him. You had no idea who had been writing them and had absolutely no clue how they had found you again.

Chris had suggested going to the police, but what could they do? No one had physically harassed you, and although creepy, the letters weren’t threatening. And not to mention, you had thrown away most of your evidence. You were at a loss. Chris was supportive, always there to comfort you during the night when you were restless, but that never kept you from feeling alone.

Your paranoia increased tenfold by the end of that week. You changed your daily routine every few days, hoping that’d throw your stalker off your trail, but it never did. They always seemed ten steps ahead of you, whereas you struggled to even think to keep up with them. Your breaking point was reached on Sunday evening as you met with one of your old friends from high school for breakfast-dinner--an old tradition you two had decided to revive for the night.

Things were going good, and you even dared to forget about your own issues as you cut into your syrup-soaked pancakes. Madison was telling you about her newest fling and how good he was in the sack, and you genuinely found yourself happy to listen to the vulgar details. After painting you a vivid picture of her sex life, Madison excused herself to the restroom; leaving you alone with your pancakes and empty cup of iced coffee.

You saw a head of electric blue hair and you perked up. Your waitress came with a smile and handed you a paper cup of steaming coffee and a single napkin.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” you said with a polite smile.

“A gentleman ordered this for you,” she winked before walking away.

You frowned as you looked at the writing on the napkin. Refusing to even acknowledge the cup of coffee in front of you.

Your mouth went dry as you stared at the familiar handwriting. Brown dress, he knew what you were wearing--he was here. You shot to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, as you looked around frantically, ignoring all of the judgemental looks and hushed whispers you were getting.

“You okay, (Y/N)?” asked Madison, her brows knitted in concern.

“Yeah,” you lied, “I just… I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll call you later, Mads.”

You dug through your wallet and gave a twenty to your waitress on your way out, only stopping to yell over your shoulder for her to keep the change. You practically ran home from the restaurant as your anxiety started to settle in your bones, making you heavy with unease. You called Chris, but were only met with his voicemail. The elevator ride up to your floor was tortuous as you watched the floor numbers slowly light up one by one until finally, they stopped at your floor. You panted as you slammed the door shut behind you, sliding the lock and chain in place as you dropped your head to rest against the wooden frame.

You sniffled as the words from his letter were seared into your eyelids. You just wanted him to leave you alone, you didn’t know what you did to catch his eye, and worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop. You choked on your hiccupped breaths as tears streaked down your cheeks. When you finally calmed down you switched on the lights and finally turned around…

You stared at Chris in horror. Blood drenched the entire living room, his corpse sat limp in a chair like a broken, bloody doll. His throat and wrists had been slashed. You tried to hold your hand over the open wounds as you screamed for help, but no matter the pressure you applied, the blood still gushed and seeped through your fingers, oozing down your arm, and dripping from your elbow. The gore of it all brought waves of nausea that went beyond physical retching, the sickness you felt was indescribable. But the smell, the smell was something much worse. Metallic, iron, copper… Your ears started to ring. You couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. You could only stare at the bloodstain on your hands and scream.

You left that following weekend, abandoning the big city to move back in with your parents and younger sister. You spent most of your days locked in your room, hiding from the world under the comfort of your blanket and drawn curtains. Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months. You’d look at yourself in the mirror and cry as you no longer recognized yourself as the woman you once were. You knew it was time to move on, but you couldn’t, not when you’d see Chris’s bloodied body every time you’d close your eyes.

You started small by taking baby steps toward your recovery. It started with family meals, then a cashier job at your local supermarket, shopping trips with your mother and sister. Then you eventually graduated to therapy, where you’d stare at a forest green ceiling as you reclined on the chaise longue. Therapy helped and it was admittedly one of the better moments of your monotonous days, you felt heard, seen, as you walked through your own thoughts and nightmares. Your appointments even inspired you to reach out to Chris’s parents for closure, to go with them to visit their son’s grave. It was bittersweet, leaving behind a bouquet of roses for the man you had loved so deeply instead of a kiss goodbye; but it was something you knew you’d have to come to terms with. It wasn’t your fault, that was the mantra you’d tell yourself when you’d catch glimpses of his blood on your hands.

Before you knew it a year had passed since the incident, and in that year, you had not received one letter. You had made a resolution for the first time that New Year’s Eve as you waited for the midnight ball to drop. You told yourself you’d forget, to start fresh, and become an even better version of yourself. You were a flower that was fighting against all odds to blossom.

You cut your hair, got bangs and highlights. Saved up for a brand new, off-the-lot car. And moved into a cozy apartment with your sister. Things were looking up for you and you truly believed that you had finally found your way out of the woods. But life had a habit of playing cruel tricks on those who were naive enough to believe such a thing.

It was mid-February, just a few days before Valentine’s Day, when things started to go to shit. You had just come back from the gym with your sister when you saw it. A pink envelope with no return address or any other name besides yours, with a wax seal in the shape of a heart on the back flap, sat on your pillow. It felt like it weighed a thousand pounds as you held it in your hands. You debated on throwing it away, on pretending you never received it. But you wanted to know what more this twisted bastard could have to say. You ripped it open and read.

You didn’t hesitate as you ripped the letter to shreds, throwing the pieces into the garbage with an angry grunt. Delusional piece of deranged shit, you thought. You raked through your brain for the millionth time since your first letter, trying to figure out who the fuck could possibly be the sender, but you came to the same conclusion you had been coming to for years--nothing. It was agonizing, not knowing who your torturer was. It was your shadow, how could you not know who was living in it? But, no matter how hard you thought, you kept drawing blank after blank.

Your sister comforted you with a glass of wine and dumplings from the takeout place up the street. She was going out tonight, but offered to stay home with you instead.

“No,” you shooed, “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.”

“You sure?” she frowned, “It’s no big deal, Girls Night is every Friday night, I can always go next week.”

“I’m fine. Go and have fun for the both of us,” you said as you waved her away.

She left a few minutes later, dressed in heels and a short skirt. You ate the rest of the dumplings and finished the bottle of wine before calling it a night. You undressed down to your underwear and threw on an oversized t-shirt and plopped down onto the bed with an unceremonious bounce. The wine coursing through your system made it easier than usual to fall asleep, and the next thing you knew, you were in a deep sleep, dreaming of a life with Chris--of a life without the letters. It was one of those good dreams you wished you’d never wake from.

Which was why you were so annoyed when a loud noise startled you awake. You looked at your phone and the time read “1:00 AM”, you frowned, it was too early for your sister to be back already. You padded along the hallway, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you called out for her, worried she might’ve passed out drunk on the floor or something. You stopped as you reached the front room--the very empty front room. Your heart started to pound as you stood frozen, staring at the empty room before you. A shuffling from behind caught your attention, then. And against your better instincts, you turned around slowly to see a shadowed silhouette of a man standing at the end of the hallway.

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, just staring dumbstruck at the man. With every step he took toward you, you took one back. Inching closer and closer to the front door with every backward step.

“Doll, don’t,” he warned, his voice striking you with fear like a bolt of lightning.

Without a second thought, you ran toward the door, fumbling stupidly with the locks in your panicked state of mind. The man was on you in a flash, easily dragging you away from your pathetic attempt at escape. His arms slithered around you like snakes, their hold constricting as he locked an arm firmly around your neck, silencing your screams as you struggled to breathe. You slapped and clawed at his forearm as he pulled you back to your bedroom.

“Please be a good girl for me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you, baby,” he said against your hair.

With his arm still wrapped around your neck, he threw you down onto the bed, quickly straddling you before you could scramble to your feet. He pinned your arms above your head with one hand and forced you to look at him with the other. His face was illuminated by the moonlight. The silver shine highlighting his familiar eyes through the holes of his helmet. You froze as he pulled off his blue cowl.

You were beyond confused, to say the least. You stared up at Captain America, your brain working overtime to try and put the puzzle pieces together. What was Captain America doing in your apartment? And why had he called you “baby”? What the fuck was going on? Were you lucid dreaming? You must’ve looked as confused as you felt because he smiled down at you, gently promising you answers to the questions that you hadn’t yet asked.

“You’re even more beautiful up-close, doll,” he said as he brushed away hairs that fell in your face from your struggle.

Your eyes widened. Doll. The nickname sent chills down your spine as the word flashed against the pink color of the envelopes, against the red of spilled blood.

“You…”

He ran a finger down your cheek and nodded, “Me.”

You paled under him, your bottom lip trembling as you shook your head in disbelief. He frowned and hushed you, caressing your cheek and wiping away the tears that fell.

“Shh… Don’t cry, baby,” he cooed, “I’ll take good care of you, you don’t need to cry.”

“W–Why?” you hiccupped through your sobs, “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, (Y/N),” your stomach dropped as he answered you as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You shook your head, “No. No! You’re Captain America. You’re supposed to be a hero!”

You fought against his grip, flailing and kicking wildly as you tried in vain to get away from him. You trashed against him, kicking against his thighs with all of your strength, but it was nothing to him--nothing but an annoying inconvenience.

“Stop,” he said, his jaw ticking with simmering anger.

But you refused to stop. You whined and fought against him.

“Stop,” he repeated, his anger coming to a rolling boil.

You shot up and headbutted him. He reeled back and glowered down at you, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

“I said stop,” he shouted as he finally stilled you with a sharp slap.

The sound was as sharp as the feel of it. You sobbed as the pain stung your skin, the right side of your face becoming numb from the harsh impact of it.

“Why are you doing this, Steve?” you asked again.

“Because I love you,” he answered again, “I know you love me, too, (Y/N).”

“No,” you exclaimed, “I don’t love you! I don’t love you! I don’t love you!” you sobbed.

“You will,” Something seemed to change within his eyes. No longer were there hints of green in his blue eyes, but something much darker… Something more sinister. You swallowed as you shrunk under his intense glare.

You exclaimed as he forced his lips against yours. Squeezing your jaw until he could slip his tongue into your mouth. You pushed against him, beating on his shoulders as he shoved his tongue further down your throat. He pulled away, breathless and flushed, a ghost of a content smile on his face. You gasped and tried to wiggle away once more, rolling onto your stomach as you did so. A yelp escapes you as you feel him grab your hips, pulling you back under him.

Steve puts his weight on you, trapping you underneath him as he begins to undress you. You try to roll onto your back, but his knee keeps you in place. You fight to keep your shirt on, knowing you wore nothing but your panties underneath it. But you were fighting blind. You kicked up, the heels of your feet hitting the backs of Steve’s strong thighs. He manhandles you easily as he rolls you onto your back, finally ridding you of your cotton shield.

Your hands went to your chest before he could. He pried your arms away, baring your breasts to him with a jerked jiggle. He licked his lips as he cupped and squeezed your breast. You flinched as if his touch had burned you, and in some sense, it had. Your eyes widened in shame as Steve blew on your nipples, the skin hardening into pointed peaks. He brings his lips to them, circling them with his tongue. Sucking, licking, pinching. You press your lips together to keep you from whimpering, and you close your eyes in hopes you can will him away. But your feeble defense attempts don’t last long.

Your eyes snap open as you feel his lips leave your breasts to trail kisses down to your navel, stopping at the band of your underwear.

“Please…” you beg. You bite your lip to keep it from trembling as fresh tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes.

Steve smiles against your skin, “I’m going to make you mine, (Y/N). ‘M gonna make you feel so good, doll.”

You stifle a sob as you feel him slide your panties off past your ankles, his fingers scorching your skin as they explore back up between your thighs. Instinctively, you try to close your legs around his hands. But he doesn’t stop. Steve digs his fingers into the soft skin of your inner thighs as he forcefully spreads you wide. Your pussy on full display to him. You stiffen under his gaze, your face burning with shame as he stares in awe at your spread folds. He runs a finger from your clit to your entrance, dipping knuckle-deep into your channel. Your thighs flex as your body tenses at the intrusion. He adds another and languidly pumps them in and out, curling and scissoring them. You fight against the blossoming heat within your belly. Your shame grows as you hear the squelch of your wetness around his pumping fingers.

Steve presses a firm thumb to your clit and you cry out before you can stop yourself. He pumps his fingers into you harder, faster, as he pulls more moans and cries from your lips. You sob as you feel that coil deep within your belly begin to unravel with every stroke and pump. You fight against your own body as you keep yourself from teetering over the edge of pleasure, refusing to let yourself submit to him. But Steve had other plans for you. Suddenly, before you could register his movements, you felt his tongue against your most intimate area. You mewled and curled your toes as he fucked you with his tongue, his thumb never stopping their firm and fast circles against your clit. You sobbed as your body convulsed with white-hot pleasure, and before you could stop yourself, you came on his tongue with a loud, dragged out moan.

You sniffled as you cried, but whether it was from the intensity of your orgasm or your shame and fear, you didn’t know. The lines were starting to blur for you.

Steve gently kissed around your folds before crawling up over you. He held your face and forced your lips to his once more before he began to undress, leaving the taste of yourself on your tongue as he pulled away with a wet smack. He unclothed himself, then. Stripping himself of his spangled-stars and red and white stripes. He looked down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, and a breathless quirk of his lips.

You were limp as he folded you to his needs. Bringing your bent and spread knees to your chest as he took himself in his hands. His length stood tall and proud, the tip swollen and leaking down this thick shaft with anticipation. Your legs flinched as they tried to close on their own. You choked on a sob as he wrenched them apart. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched him tap your pussy with his cock, running the tip up and down your folds as he wet himself with your soaking arousal until finally, he pressed himself into your entrance. You let out a strained whine as he slammed into you.

Steve’s eyes were shut and mouth slightly agape as he hisses at your tightness. His hips thrust in excitement as you clench around him. You whimper again as he slides out, just to slam himself back in. Your body jolts with every lust-driven thrust. He slides his hands under you and brings them to hold onto your shoulders, bringing you down to meet his every forceful thrust. The sound of skin slapping and lewd moans fill your bedroom, your sweat sheen bodies glowing under the moonlight. Steve speeds up, mercilessly hammering that hidden sweet spot that makes you scream and clench around his cock. You spasm and shake as Steve forces another orgasm from you.

“Tell me you love me,” he pants.

You shake your head, pushing on his shoulders as the realization of your situation comes crashing back into you.

His hand wraps around your throat as he pounds into you harder than before, “Say it, (Y/N).”

You scratch at his hand as your vision begins to dot and blacken, “I–I love you…”

“Louder,” he demands, “‘I love you, Steve’, say it, doll, I wanna hear you say it.” he moans.

“I love you, Steve,” you choke out.

He releases his grip on you then, and you cough and gasp for air. His rhythm becomes erratic as his hips drive into you with renewed vigor, “Again.”

“I love you, Steve,” you moan.

His body jerks as his hips stutter to a stop. Steve comes with your name on his lips, and you whined as you felt his warmth flood inside of you. He panted above you, his hips languidly thrusting as his abdomen clenched with his drawn out release. He pulled out of you and collected the spunk that leaked from your weeping cunt on his fingers. He brought them to your lips and forced you to suck them clean.

“I love you, too, doll. Forever and ever,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*тαgℓιѕт*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧: @hoosier-daddi

[punkgrogg]

Doorway Duo pt.5

Pairing: Hybrid!Taehyung x Reader, Hybrid!Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!BTS, Non idol AU, fluff

Warnings: Pregnancy

Summary: Y/n was abandoned by her long time boyfriend and moves back home to help prepare for the baby. She’s surprised to find two unfamiliar hybrids at her house.

Length: 3,085

Notes: Lol sorry it took so long to post, I thought I did like two weeks ago but I apparently did not. Well anyways I'm thinking a spicy chapter might be joining us soon but I've never written that kind of stuff before so I'm a little hesitant. Also, I have a lot of School shit piled up but I hope to write another chapter within the next two weeks.

Date Posted: 10/14/2021

Seokjin was staring at me with a mildly amused expression from across the dinner table. Jungkook was leaning his head on my left shoulder, his eyes closed as he waited for Taehyung to bring us our dinner plates- something the snow leopard insisted on even more vehemently after our talk a week ago. I knew what he meant by the staredown- he wanted to tease me for going from a single mother who swore off men to turning around to fall in love with the two hybrids being housed with our parents. The day after the big talk was a bit awkward for us all as we decided to break the news to my parents who were wholeheartedly accepting and my mother was downright giddy at the fact that her daughter now had two men to take care of her. My father on the other hand had thought we were already together and merely shrugged at my announcement. They both helped me file the paperwork for adoption and helped me with breaking the tension between my brothers and my boyfriends.

You see, Hoseok and Namjoon were very upset with both of them for ‘taking advantage ’ of their pregnant little sister. While that is probably the farthest thing from the truth it had been the source of some tension in the family but a couple of days was all it took until everything settled. It was a big help that the twins’ confirmation was probably the most exciting news in the house and they all seemed to use the excitement as a way to bridge the gap. Well, that was with Seokjin’s exception. Jinnie didn’t bat an eye at the news of my love life but instead doubled his texts when he found out he was getting both a niece and a nephew.

We were having a celebratory family dinner- all thanks to Mom who was excited that the two were officially adopted by me yesterday but Namjoon, Yoongi, and Seokjin weren’t available to come until today. Hoseok sat to Seokjin’s right and was animatedly talking to Dad about his favorite show that had released another episode that morning. Dad was nodding along to the chattering with an endearing look on his face. Mom sat at the opposite end of the table, at the head, Yoongi at her left and Namjoon at her right. Hoseok sat sandwiched between his two brothers and dad occupied the other table head.

Taehyung finally made his way into the dining room with Namjooon on his heels, both balancing two plates in their hands. Namjoon set a plate in front of Yoongi who sat next to Jungook and was silently observing us all. Taehyung laid both plates in front of Kook and me before rubbing his cheek on top of my head at my soft thanks. He happily trotted back to the kitchen to retrieve his own plate. With all the seats filled Tae had to pull up a mismatched chair to sit on my right side.

“Darling we’ll need to get a new table by Christmas.” Mom commented as Taehyung made himself comfortable at the table.

Dad surveyed us all before nodding along at the request. “Especially if Hobi finally confesses to that boy by then. Maybe we could get matching high chairs for the twins.”

I choked at that comment, I wasn’t used to the idea of twins even though it had been confirmed several days ago. Apparently, they were laying back to back and it was hard to detect her, especially her heartbeat that was quieter than the boy’s own. She was smaller than him too, something that concerned me but the doctor said that it wasn’t uncommon with fraternal twins. He did say that while I was carrying large for one baby, I was smaller than average for carrying multiples. He advised me to take it easier though, something that the family had come together more forcibly than before to enforce.

Jungkook patted my back softly as I chugged at my glass of water. Seokjin broke out in laughter across the table. “Y/n, you good?” he asked with yet another teasing smirk.

“Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe,” I bit back, tonight I will not let him get a rise out of me. But when Seokjin got it into his head- it was practically impossible to stop him.

“Now that we’ve mentioned it, how are the twins today?”

“They’re good, been kicking a lot today.” My responses were perfectly monotonous, something that will instead get a rise out of him.

“Ah, you pick any names out yet?” At my silence he continued, “for one, I think having a niece or nephew named after me would be so endearing. How else would you show your appreciation for your eldest brother?”

“Good thing you’re not on the naming committee,” Namjoon chimed in from down the table, my eyes darting to the speaker to convey my gratitude at being saved from his trap answer. Knowing him I would be tricked into committing to whatever name he suggested. ‘It’s just how older brothers work,’ he would repeat growing up whenever he weaseled his way into getting his way.

“Mom, don’t you think that another little Seokjin would be adorable? Imagine another Jinnie running around.” He pouted at Mom who laughed at his pitiful expression.

“When you have my next set of grandbabies you can give me another Jinnie. For now, Y/n is still figuring out what sounds good for them herself so don’t give her a hard time.” She then turned back into conversation with Yoongi and Namjoon, asking her oh-so-typical motherly questions about their new romance. She was insatiable when it came to getting the answers she wanted from us. Jin didn’t look like he had been subdued though and he quickly turned his attention away from me and to the man on my right.

“What about you Taehyung? You got any names you’ve brought up to Y/n?” His tone was verging on accusatory, what he was accusing? I hadn’t the slightest clue of what went on in the drama queen’s head.

“Well, we talked about the name Minseok but Jungkook vetoed it.” Taehyung shrugged and shoveled another bite into his mouth. He was more focused on the turkey leg than any conversation Seokjin could provide.

“Minseok? What’s wrong with that name?” Dad asked while Jungkook and I shared a look at the can of worms Tae just opened. I had been clear to everyone that I wasn’t ready to settle on a name just yet and they all respectively had kept their distance from the topic until the shit-stirrer across the table finally showed face.

“Y/n wants the names to match and we didn’t like the options for a girl. Taehyung also suggested Yongsu go with it. Of course, I vetoed.” Jungkook explained as he pointed a fork at the said name murderer.

My Dad nodded along at the explanation before rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Oh gee, I could feel his brain churning out a million names before he opened his mouth. “What about Yoomi?”

“That’s worse than Minseok Dad. Have we considered Soohyun?” Hoseok butted into the conversation, and I couldn’t help but grimace at the suggestion. I knew a Soohyun, she was the girl Mark was cheating on me with. I’d rather not recall walking in on infidelity every time I called for my daughter.

“How about they have renditions of the same name? Like Joohyun and Hyunjoo? Those would be hella cute.” Namjoon was the new naming murderer and he seemed to be proud of his contribution. Even his boyfriend grimaced at how cliche the names were for twins.

I shook my head and leveled them all with a lifeless expression.“This is why I never talk about names with you guys.”

Joonie took that personally and he frowned at me before exclaiming: “Hey I picked out your name!”

“Out of a list we gave you Namjoon,” Mom reminded him quietly with a sofy pat on his arm and he scoffed at it before turning back to his plate with a grumble.

“Speaking of, I was the one to come up with all of your names.” My dad supplied before turning his attention to me once again and mouthing ’Yoomi’ at me.

“What about Minso and Chunso? I saw those names on a tv show before.” Said Yoongi, his face showing apprehension.

I could tell the apprehension was twofold- he hadn’t been able to establish his place in the family and I was shutting down every suggestion so far. I made sure to smile at him softly as I replied; “You know what, I actually kind of like that. Thank you Yoongi.”

“I like the name Minso. It’d be lovely for the little princess.” Dad spoke around a mouthful of broccoli and quickly held a hand up at Seokjin’s disgusted face. Minso for my little girl? It didn’t feel quite right for her but it was a good suggestion and I hadn’t the heart to negate him.

“Chunso is kind of a mouthful though,” Hobi interjected and proceeded to mutter it while exaggerating the lip movements. I knew I could count on Hoseok to be on a similar wavelength as me so I wouldn’t feel guilty for eventually brushing off the names from the list. Jungkook and Taehyung kept quiet when we’d discuss names, claiming I got the biggest say and they didn’t want to discourage any exploration. With that, I knew they wouldn’t dare speak out against any names I complemented halfheartedly.

Joonie leaned out to the center of the table and turned his phone to me. “I’m looking it up now and Minso means one of a kind.”

Wanting to distance myself from the conversation at hand, I glanced over at the thorn juxtaposed to me before suddenly recalling another name suggested by Taehyung the night prior. “Well, I was thinking of naming her Duri, since it can mean two. She just so happens to be labeled baby number two on the ultrasound.” I smirked at the pun enthusiast across the table to watch his face morph into one of horror.

Mom clapped her hands at the joke; “Then what are you thinking of naming him to match?” Her genuine excitement at me finally picking a name made me feel a little guilty. Naming a small human is hard and nothing has really felt close to ‘it’.

“That is such a pun- you can’t name my niece after a pun.” Jin slapped his hand down on the table before I could respond to Mom and I had to fight myself to keep from laughing at his expression. Never had I seen such pain on him but before I could tease him some more mom was snapping for our attention.

“As the matriarch of this family- I have lovingly thought of two names that could be cute for the babies.” She declared proudly as she crossed her arms in front of her.

“Oh, you have?” Jin stole words out of my mouth but unlike me, he had tangible doubt laden throughout his words. She nodded at the snarky man before turning her attention to me.

“Yes, and since you’re forming your own family with those two lovebirds then I would like to suggest Taehee and Junghee.”

Jungkook had been silently observing the discourse amongst us all as he rested his head on my shoulder but perked up at Mom’s words. “Those are beautiful names Mom, I can't believe we hadn’t considered those.”

“Because it’s insane to name them after you both.” All eyes slowly turned to Seokjin in various degrees of anger and shock. Hoseok had leaned away from him at the comment and Namjoon was coldly staring at him.

I was one of the shocked, what could he possibly mean by that comment? Was it a racist implication? From our family? We have a hybrid brother and both of his human siblings were dating hybrids. Was it against the polyandry? The monogamous-centric views were a bit dated even for our parent’s generation so it wouldn’t make sense. Was it because Mark was their sperm donor? Seokjin hated their biological father so that didn’t make much sense either. In the tense air, I leaned into Jungkook’s side- almost as if I was trying to hide in his embrace.

“Seokjin. I would carefully watch your next words.” My mother’s voice was cold and you could slice cake with how sharp her words came out.

The offender held his hands up in surrender before defending himself. “It’s not what you’re thinking, it’s because Jinhee is obviously a better name and should be considered first.”

The room was eerily silent for a hot minute before Hoseok turned and almost shoved Jin out of his chair. There was a playfulness that masked the lingering bits of anger in his face. Mom let out a breath of relief at the joke before going back to her dinner.

There was an almost silent scoff from down the table on my left, I turned to see Yoongi pushing his food around on his plate. “If we’re taking their dads’ names into consideration we could go with Yoontae or Yoonjung.”

“Those both have a part of your name in it too.” Hoseok pointed out with a small pout.

“That’s obvious, since I got invited to this family dinner, I’m now part of the family. I’m obviously going to be the favorite uncle.” He dramatically shrugged his shoulders and flicked his hair out of his face. I couldn’t help but smile at the declaration.

“Oh hell no you’re not, I’ve been vying for that spot since she told me,” Jin argued, his cheeks puffed out in anger.

“Must suck to have that spot pulled out from under you. I’ll make sure to send my condolences to your place later.” Yoongi shrugged yet again with a smirk before taking a big bite of the broccoli.

Namjoon gently reached out across the table with a placating expression on his face as he placed a hand on top of Yoongi’s upturned one. “Honey, I love that you’re feeling comfortable enough to joke with my brothers but I need you to know that it’s literally impossible to get that title while I’m still alive. I am the favorite brother so I will be the favorite uncle.”

Hobi’s ears perked up atop his head, he turned to Joon and shoved his harshly at the self-proclamation of the favorite brother. “Oh hell no you’re not. I AM.”

“Oh, Nams I’ll make sure to let your doctor know that you’re going senile.” Seokjin snarked from behind the angry canine hybrid, he too looked insulted at the prospect of not being the favorite. Mom and Dad both joined in the bickering to try and keep them from bursting into a full-blown brawl.

“I like the idea of the name Sujung,” I commented quietly and only the two hybrids glued to me noticed. Jungkook perking up visibly at the name suggestion. Tae leaned into my side more and I could feel his warm tail wound itself across my lap.

“It’s very pretty love, have you thought about one for the boy? I know you’re always tied up with the names for him.” He complimented me with a blindingly bright smile and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek.

I could help the blush that was threatening its way across my face so I pressed more into his touch. It was nice to have them both curled around me, especially now that it was growing colder. “Well, if I name her after Kookie, wouldn’t you like to have him named after you?”

Tae shook his head quickly at the question before resting his chin on my shoulder so he could talk to me in an almost whisper. “ I’ll love them no matter what we name them. You could name them both after Jungkook and I’d love them all the same.”

“I know you’ll love them, that wasn’t the question.” I reached a hand out to lace out fingers together.

“Baby, in the end, it’s your choice, maybe I’d like him to be named after me but if you choose otherwise then I wouldn’t care.”

“What about Taewon? I knew a man with that name before and he was very kind.” Jungkook decided to suggest suddenly making me jump slightly at the surprise. His mouth was centimeters from my ear and I could feel his warm breath fanning its way down my neck.

“I used to know a Kitae. What about that instead?” He suggested when I didn’t respond fast enough for his liking. I guess my hesitation spoke volumes.

Kitae was much cuter, cute enough to rival Sujung. “I like it, Kitae and Sujung. How cute.”

At my grin, Taehyung pulled away with excitement, “So we’ve settled on their names?”

“For now, they may change. Mom said she changed her mind a couple of times throughout her pregnancies.” I reminded him as I pulled him back into my embrace.

“For now, they’re perfect. They are going to be so cute! Now I can use their name when I talk with them.” He was almost shaking with excitement at the prospect. I didn’t know he’d be this enthusiastic about their names. “Love, we can use their names in their bedtimes stories from now on.”

I nodded at the exclamation and smiled as he rambled on about how he was going to write out the classics with their names so they can be the heroes of their stories. While he continued to chatter Jungkook curled an arm around my waist- well as much as he could with my growing stomach. I glanced over at the rest of the table and couldn’t help the smile that stretched across my face, My family was all happily broken into small conversations and they all seemed to be enjoying themselves. Jin and my dad were chatting and Jin was obviously fighting back his laughter. Hoseok and Yoongi seemed to be talking about Jimin if the raging blush on Hobi’s face was anything to go by. Mom and Joonie were quietly talking before she reached a hand out to ruffle his hair while he whined at the action. I turned my attention back to my still rambling boyfriend to catch on to the tail-end of his rant.

My family was here, together and happy. And my newly forged family unit fit in perfectly- something I was ever grateful for.

Hi! if you want to be added to the taglist lemme know!

@jelly-fishy-babie @nomimits7 @littlewolfieposts @fangirl125reader @xeirisarax @ghostkat23 @gayitachiuchiha @forever1313 @nellaphine @kooky-mysterious @rainbow-realm @xanny91 @demonslover @inumorph @uraveragefangirlsposts@alex–awesome–22 @akacamiworld @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh

@btsizlyfe @sevenpersona

[thornedrose44]

Prompt: "Do it. Take a chance, I'm begging you. You don't want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been."

Read on AO3

“What is it?” Kara huffed out, her frustration finally reaching critical mass.

“What’s what?” Alex replied, playing dumb by pretending to study the DEO’s monitors far too intently considering Kara had literally just dispatched the rogue villain of the week.

Kara crossed her arms, hip cocked forward slightly as she leant against the central console, blue eyes observing her sister's profile closely.

“Whatever you’re not telling me because you think it will upset me.” The superhero clarified bluntly, her social hesitation and uncertainty having dampened over the last few years.

She had learnt the hard way how important it was to never shy away from the truth and avoid speaking around the heart of the matter. It was a lesson she had absorbed completely, and it was one she refused to forget - needing to prove she had evolved, had bettered herself from the version that had required teaching in the first place.

“I’m not…” Alex refuted, shrugging dismissively but keeping her gaze trained forward, “There’s no-“

“Look, I’m asking you out of courtesy,” Kara cut in, “but you and I both know that I could just as easily ask Nia, and she would fold almost instantly.”

Alex grumbled irritably under her breath - Nia still had yet to build an effective resistance to Kara’s puppy dog eyes and this particular weakness had caused no small amount of trouble for Alex over the last five years.

“It is Lena related, right?” Kara checked, though it was completely unnecessary.

For Alex to actively try and keep a secret from her, it couldn’t be about anything else. And it had been more or less confirmed by her sister's reaction to her threatening to go to Nia.

“Just because I’m keeping a secret, doesn’t automatically mean it’s to do with Lena.” Alex tried, though the conviction behind her statement was weaker than wet tissue paper.

The redhead side-eyed her and Kara merely had to arch an unimpressed eyebrow in return for the DEO director to deflate.

“Okay maybe it’s a little to do with Lena.” Alex admitted with a wince, rubbing the back of her neck in defeat.

Kara threw her hands up in exasperation. “It’s been over five years, okay? I’m fine!”

Her bellowed declaration of stability, made the nearby DEO agents look over with a mix of curiosity and concern. Kara grimaced at the reaction and as such didn’t resist when Alex grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the central room and into her private office.

Alex turned to face her fully, lips pressed tight together and hands firm on her own hips (it had always annoyed Kara that Alex managed to make her signature superhero pose far more intimidating than her own attempts).

“Yelling I’m fine, definitely helps your case.” Alex retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kara had the good grace to look suitably embarrassed for a moment before launching into the same variation of the speech she gave every time there was a morsel of Lena news to be had. “I screwed up, okay? Big time screwed up - ‘regret it for the rest of my life’ screwed up!” Kara declared prompting a beleaguered sigh from her sister who knew the blatant lie that was coming next. “But I’ve made my peace with it. I won’t spiral into another depressive episode when I hear how happy she is.”

Alex shook her head, not even remotely convinced - not that Kara could blame her, the last time Alex had been pestered into telling her a Lena update, Kara had spent a weekend on a drinking binge that had successfully proven that there were limits even for a kryptonian.

“I don’t think-“ Alex began.

“What is it?” Kara demanded. “Is she getting another medal from the president?”

Alex shook her head, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Kara, you don’t want to know this.”

“Her and Kal save the world again?” Kara barrelled on, her lips curling into a jealous snarl. “The greatest Luthor and Super duo continue to make the world a better place?”

That particular news article had been printed and burned by Kara’s heat vision more times than she dared admit to anyone.

“Kara, please-“ Alex begged, expression crumpling as Kara relentlessly pushed.

“Tell me, I can take it.” Kara proclaimed, voice coming out high pitched and strained. “Is she dating someone again? Another famous actress? That Olympic male gymnast? What-“

“She’s getting married.”

A bomb must have gone off, Kara thought to herself.

A kryptonite bomb.

It was the only thing that could explain the ringing in her ears, and the way everything just… hurt.

A shard of kryptonite must have pierced her chest and cut her heart into jagged pieces. That was the only thing that could explain it.

“What?” She questioned, barely above a whisper. She didn’t quite recognise her own voice - it sounded shattered and unfamiliar. She also didn’t know what she was asking.

Didn’t know what ‘what’ was all about.

What just happened?

What did you say?

What post-apocalyptic reality are we living in now?

“Next week, she’s getting married.” Alex explained, giving Kara answers she no longer wanted. “Sam, Ruby, Kal and Lois are invited.”

She knew it should sting. Not being invited even though they hadn’t spoken in nearly five years. That she should feel something about the fact that Lena had omitted Alex, Brainy, Nia and J’onn as well - it further reinforced how Lena believed them to be Kara’s friends and never hers (which was one of the things Kara regretted most - how her poor treatment of Lena had infected and destroyed everyone else’s friendship with the youngest Luthor).

“To who?” Kara asked, tone cold, hollow… empty.

“Kara,” Alex murmured softly, reaching out to comfort her sister, “this clearly isn’t good for you.”

Kara jerked backwards so fast that the papers on Alex’s desk shot into the air, fluttering down around the sisters like snow.

“Just tell me!” Kara ordered, hands turned into white knuckle fists at her sides that would be capable of tearing through the strongest of metals. Her eyes heated but she managed to stave the fire in them as she glowered at her sister.

Alex slumped back, leaning heavily against her desk, running a frantic hand through her short hair. “Does it matter?” Alex muttered defeatedly, brown eyes filled with pity and sympathy as she stared up into Kara’s eyes.

“Of course it fucking matters,” Kara snapped in outrage before she had a chance to stop and think , “because it’s not me!”

The admission hung heavy and rotting between them. It wasn’t a revelation to either of them, though the fact that the intensity of Kara’s feelings hadn’t dampened despite the separation of half a decade was.

“Kara…” Alex breathed, standing back up and moving towards the blonde with the obvious intent of hugging her.

“I should get back to CatCo.” Kara mumbled, cheeks a fiery red with shame. She stepped hurriedly away from her sister and was already halfway out the door before she halted, turning back to call out a sad yet sincere. “Thanks for telling me.”

Xxx

“I genuinely don’t get why you love these films so much.” Lena remarked, hands cupping her just made cup of cocoa, nose adorably scrunched up as she snuggled back down on the sofa beside Kara, who didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her best friend’s shoulders.

“They’re sweet and romantic.” Kara replied with a happy sigh, turning to nuzzle into the side of Lena’s head for a fleeting moment as the film’s lead started her joyful march down the aisle. “It makes me hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” Lena repeated curiously, leaning away slightly so she could meet Kara’s blue eyes.

Kara shrugged, ducking her head bashfully, “It��s stupid.”

“Hey,” Lena murmured gently, freeing a hand from her mug so that she could interlace her warmed fingers with Kara’s, “you could never be stupid, especially not about something like this.” Her best friend asserted, before asking seriously, “You want the classic big white wedding?”

“Uh…” Kara blushed, cheeks pinking as her mind struggled to kick into gear.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that the reason she loved weddings more than any other event is because they so closely resembled Kryptonian Bonding ceremonies. That the exchanging of rings, polished everlasting metal, reminded her of wonderfully crafted bracelets clasped on wrists. That it was an occasion for family to join together across generations, for the rare flashes of art and music on Krypton to take centre stage over cold science.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena that after being alone, abandoned and lost - ripped away from her home in the cruelest of ways - that the idea of belonging to someone else, of having a home in someone else regardless of time or location was what Kara wanted more than anything else.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena because it would require admitting the truth of who she really was, it would require taking accountability for years of lies.

She didn’t know how to tell Lena without losing her forever.

“Yeah.” Kara coughed awkwardly, “I want the whole thing. Beautiful dress, surrounded by family… the love of my life at the end of the aisle. Everything.” She shot Lena a side-long glance, “I’m guessing you don’t?”

“Never really been my thing,” Lena admitted readily and Kara’s heart twisted at how Lena didn’t hesitate to bare herself, how she gave all of herself when it could be argued that Kara - at best - only gave half, “probably because I can’t imagine I have enough people in my life to invite and feel ‘surrounded’.” Lena pursed her lips thoughtfully, “I also don’t get the need for the spectacle. Just the idea that there’s someone out there that would want to…” Kara watched her best friend deflate, expression wistful and pained, “be with me, love me like that… that’s more than enough.”

Kara’s eyes stung with barely suppressed tears at how little Lena thought of herself. Whoever had the privilege of marrying her best friend would be the single luckiest and most fortunate person in the universe and Kara wished Lena knew that, wished she believed it. But when she opened her mouth to say it, to proclaim it, her breath faltered and her courage abandoned her… like it always did with the youngest Luthor.

“So no white dress?” Kara muttered instead, voice meek and lacking the lightheartedness that should have carried the question.

It didn’t matter, though, Lena let out a quick exhale that resembled something on the edge of laughter. Kara’s escalating heart rate settled at that, however, it did little to alleviate the pang of regret that was steadily accompanying all her interactions with the CEO.

“Well, I guess I could be convinced by someone special.” Lena teased, shooting Kara an overtly salacious wink that wouldn’t - on the surface - be considered genuine.

“Anyone that marries you will have to be special.” Kara replied, the statement tumbling out instantly.

It wasn’t the heartfelt confession that Kara wished it to be and it wasn’t quite light enough to be dismissed as a friendly reassurance. Instead, it was yet another thing that fell into the ethereal greyness that lied between them, something to tuck away and think back on late at night when they tried to work out if the other meant it the way they wished they did.

“Yeah?” Lena whispered, piercing green eyes studying Kara’s face closely.

Kara swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

Xxx

Lena found out less than six weeks after that movie night. They defeated Lex and Kara had been on the edge of breathing easy, of being able to simply relax back into her life when it all came crashing down.

They had been at Games Night and Kara had been antsy, waiting for her best friend to arrive. The thought of pulling Lena into a hug had been what she had been looking forward to most all day.

Kara was at peace, laughing and drinking with her friends - her family - when Lena had arrived. Kara had beamed up at her immediately and for a second Lena’s entrancing green eyes lit up in return before turning dark and distant.

Kara’s smile faltered, crinkle appearing between her brows when-

The wine bottle smashed into the wall behind Kara’s head.

Deathly silence fell over the area.

Kara looked into hollow, emptied out versions of her favourite green. She would have preferred anger, fury, rage… the defeated nothingness staring back at the Kryptonian was far worse.

Lena turned and left, grinding Kara’s heart to dust and taking the sand particles left with her.

She knew.

She knew because Lex had told her.

She knew because she had gone to stop her brother, intent on saving the world like always only to find out that those she was saving the world for didn’t view her as their equal. That the people she treated as family had kept her on the outskirts. That her best friend had lied, had manipulated, had-

xxx

It was Lois that found out everything from Lena.

When the fallout had happened, as Kara and the Superfriends realised what they had lost, the blonde hero sent notice to her cousin that his identity was probably known as well (mostly because she remembered how hurt she had been when Kal shared her secret without her consent). Kal and Lois had arrived almost immediately, frantic and terrified (especially with baby Jon to consider) at the concept of a Luthor knowing their identity.

Kara, joined by all the Superfriends, quickly put their minds to rest, sharing Lena’s actions from before, her dependability, kindness and inherent goodness. Kal and Lois were convinced their secret was safe but they were horrified to hear how Lena had been isolated and kept at arms length after her considerable good deeds. Alex and the others had squirmed uncomfortably and tried to weakly talk around their hesitancy.

Kal and Lois had simply looked at Kara for an explanation but she had none. Yet again the words would not come.

It was Lois, therefore, that had sought out the youngest Luthor and through her incredible tenacity was able to gain access where everyone else was rebuffed and harshly rejected.

It was Lois that comforted Lena, gave her support and sympathy.

It was Lois that relayed Lena’s demand that they give her space.

It was Lois that suggested Lena return to Metropolis - presenting it as a way to celebrate how L-Corp, after Lena’s repeated sacrifices and heroism, was fully rehabilitated and ready to reclaim its once home.

It was Lois that encouraged Lena and Kal to work together becoming an unstoppable force that Kara and Lena had always danced on the precipice of.

A Luthor and a Super. Saving the world.

xxx

Kara did as asked. Gave Lena space. Or at least the semblance of space.

She checked in constantly, hovered nearby throughout the days and nights leading upto L-Corp’s departure and Lena along with it. She followed Lena’s jet to Metropolis, a sentinel ensuring safe passage.

She kept her distance for three months. Three months of stony silence before she broke.

Snapped, more like.

Landing on Lena’s new balcony in Metropolis that had been specially built for Superman this time - not for her, though Kara, at the time, had hoped that she had been considered consciously or unconsciously as well.

Kara couldn’t remember the exact words.

She remembered crying from beginning to end.

Remembered ‘I loved you’ - past tense.

Remembered finally breaking through Lena’s cold, hardened shell to the raw, bleeding wound hidden underneath and regretting it almost immediately.

Remembered how seeing Lena’s agony was worse than kryptonite, worse than watching Krypton burn…

Remembered Lena saying she needed time to heal, for Kara to stop hovering nearby - because she knew, she sensed Kara’s presence even without seeing her once - and to give her time to stop thinking of Kara and feeling only pain when she did so.

Remembered promising to do just that.

Remembered a timer starting to count in her head - the seconds that she would be condemned to purgatory.

Remembered the hope that just refused to go out - the hope that whispered give it time, give it time, give it time with every beat of her heart.

Remembered thinking that given enough time Lena would reach out and they would get the chance that Kara had almost destroyed for them.

Remembered flying zig-zagged and dangerous to Alex where her endless stream of tears returned to full flow as she sobbed into her sister’s shoulder using words and phrases like ‘heartbroken’ and ‘I love her’ and ‘I can’t survive this pain’ and ‘what do I do?’ and ‘I can’t breathe’.

Remembered a hollowed out shell of Kara Danvers moving through the motions for a year, for two, three, four… five...

Remembered taking up drinking to excess whenever she saw Lena’s life flourish and grow - not because she didn’t want Lena to be happy, that was what Kara wanted and wished for more than anything - because she wasn’t there with her for those life-changing events.

Remembered Alex and Kelly’s worries growing with each occurrence, intervening more and more to such a degree that they encouraged Kara to consider AA meetings - she did eventually, and found destroying entire junkyards to be a healthier coping mechanism, external destruction rather than internal.

Remembered Brainy at the behest of Alex, setting up Kara’s phone and computer to prevent searching for any keywords affiliated to Lena and to alert Alex if Kara ever managed to stumble upon a news article.

Remembered listening to Kal and Lois skipping large parts of stories where it was clear that Lena was involved - it was nice in some way to know Lena was getting the credit she deserved, but it hurt when Kal’s stories started to involve gaps at Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year (events that made Kara’s loneliness even more acute and her longing intensify).

Remembered her life without Lena.

Remembered regret and guilt and loss.

Remembered-

“She’s getting married.”

xxx

Kara shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t be anywhere in the vaguest vicinity of where she currently was.

The bride was dressed in a simple silky white shift, sipping intermittently from her champagne glass as she stared contemplatively up at the designer white dress hanging off the door in front of her. Raven locks were pinned up, so tight and intricate that it made Kara wince sympathetically at how it must tug and pinch at the bride’s scalp - she’d always preferred it down, loose and curling… soft and inviting. The bride’s make-up was artistic with a dramatic edge that would captivate but made her look… not like herself in Kara’s opinion.

Or maybe after five years it made Lena look more like herself - the version of herself she had become once free of Kara and all the pain she brought into her life.

She was hovering outside the dressing room window, trying to work out how far she was willing to take this. If it would be better to leave without saying anything, to try and leave some part of Lena’s life unspoiled.

It was the fear that she had always given into when she was best friends with Lena that made her decision for her. Like speaking her truth and learning to ask for what she wanted - Kara had also promised herself that she would never allow that bone deep fear to stop her ever again.

The window was open and it was as good an invite as Kara was ever going to get.

“Lena?”

The beautiful bride-to-be jerked in her place, champagne glass nearly tumbling to the floor but saved at the last second.

She didn’t turn around for a beat… then two…

Kara was just about to escape back through the window when Lena exhaled slowly and pivoted round to meet her.

“Kara?” Lena breathed out, green eyes closed off and wary.

The kryptonian studied the love of her life for a moment, taking in every little detail - soaking it all up as if accepting that this would be the last time she might ever get to see it again. That the timer that had counted past five years would stop after this moment, the hope powering it gone forever.

“Don’t marry them, please.” Kara requested, no flowery language, no build up. Just the honest truth.

“What?” Lena’s jaw dropped and the champagne glass didn’t survive the second shock, crashing to the ground - released by trembling fingers.

“Don’t marry them.” Kara repeated, uncaring of how the carpet below them soaked up the amber liquid.

Lena’s expression flitted through an array of emotions before settling on indignant rage, “And why the hell not?!”

Kara didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat, instead she stood taller, the crest of her super suit catching the early afternoon light. “Because it should have been me. It still should be me.”

Lena scoffed in disbelief, “You can’t be serious. Now? You’re doing this now?”

Kara pursed her lips, fighting back the regret that always came with the reminders of countless missed opportunities. “Yes.”

The straightforwardness of Kara’s answers seemed to be throwing Lena, leaving her wrong-footed, clearly expecting the blonde to talk around and hint and imply like she used to.

But Kara had learnt. (The lesson had been too painful not to.)

“You had years, Kara!” Lena argued, “Years where I…. I threw myself at you. Practically begged you to love me… to trust me…”

“I know.” Kara replied sadly, wanting desperately to reach out when Lena’s pretty green eyes began to glisten with unshed tears. “I know. But I’m here now.”

“I don’t want you to be.” Lena muttered, arms crossed over her chest and head ducked downwards to hide her expression.

“I know that too.” Kara assured, fingers twitching with the desire to make contact, to comfort and coax - even after all these years her body remembered, the pathways of hardwired instinct related to her best friend were still there, still active even if temporarily closed for service.

“Then why are you here?” Lena murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Lena’s head snapped up at that, green eyes like saucers.

Kara’s single biggest regret was that she had never said those words to Lena before, had alluded and pointed at them during their final interaction but had never outright said them. And Lena had deserved to hear them then and deserved to hear them now to forever vanquish the doubts that had always been with her.

“Because I’m in love with you and we didn’t get our chance.” Kara affirmed, taking a half step closer to the bride, her red heeled boots and Lena’s bare feet meaning the younger woman had to tip her head ever so slightly back to maintain eye contact. “We didn’t get our chance because of me. Because I was afraid, I was so afraid of losing you. Of doing even the slightest thing that could mean you weren’t in my life. And in the end every action I took out of fear of losing you ensured just that. I’ve spent five years without you, Lena, and I can’t bear a single day more.”

“Kara,” Lena whispered, “I’m getting married.”

“I know.” Kara smiled sadly before adding, “Don’t.”

“What are you suggesting? Seriously?” Lena sighed, shaking her head mournfully and Kara knew she was losing her then.

“I’m suggesting that we have our chance now before it's gone forever.”

Gathering the small amount of courage Kara had left, she tentatively let her hands nudge forwards, brushing against Lena’s cool, pale fingers. That small contact was everything. Made it easier to breathe, made the colours of the world more vibrant, made everything just more.

“I let fear hold me back from the person that made me happiest in the entire universe and I won’t let it hold me back again.”

“Kara…” Lena whimpered, glancing back over her shoulder at the closed door that her wedding dress was displayed on, though she didn’t pull her hand away from Kara’s touch, didn’t flinch or retreat.

“Do it.” Kara pleaded, stepping across that final slither of distance between them, her forehead leaning forward to rest gently against the side of Lena’s, “Take a chance, I’m begging you. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been.”

Lena inhaled shakily, head returning to forward facing - foreheads pressed against one another, breathing in the same air - and then… and then…

Lena’s hands slipped fully into Kara’s, fingers intertwining together.

[storiesforallfandoms]

comparisons ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 2195

request?: yes!

“Can I get a Colson Baker one where you’re dating after him and Megan where you get a bunch of hate and they both defend you against the hate please”

description: when her boyfriend’s ex is one of the most beautiful actresses of this generation, she finds herself being constantly compared to her and receiving hateful messages

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, hate messages, insecurities

masterlist (one, two)

There was some sort of assumption that when you start dating someone, you immediately hate their ex. That could not be further from the truth for me and Colson. In fact, Colson’s ex-girlfriend introduced us shortly after their break up, and had constantly pushed for the two of us to get together.

Megan was basically the backbone in our friendship. She pushed me to pursue my dreams in acting (as well as helped you with that since she was so much more famous than you were when you started), then she pushed me to start auditioning for bigger roles. The moment she introduced me to Colson, I knew exactly what was coming next.

“That’s weird, Meg,” I had told her. “Isn’t there, like, a girl code about dating your best friend’s ex?”

“I’m literally shoving you onto him,” she had responded. “I think you’re fine with the girl code.”

A few months after meeting, I finally caved and asked Colson out on a date. Six months later, I was still thanking Megan for giving me that push.

Shortly after making our relationship public, however, the happiness slowly came to a stop. For me, anyways. Colson, bless his heart, was blissfully ignorant to the comments his fanbase started to send me.

“yikes, he really downgraded huh?”

“how do you go from megan fox to...that?”

“guess mgk couldn’t keep up his streak of hot girlfriends”

Hate comes with fame, I knew that. I had my fair share of hate comments ever since the start. It was easy to ignore them when they were just a handful of hate comments here and there, but this was different. This was a bombardment of hate that was so heavy I could barley go online.

Colson was oblivious for a while, until he found out I had deleted all my social media accounts.

“Did you delete your Instagram babe?” he asked the minute he got home the day I had done it.

“Yeah,” I responded, nonchalantly. “I deleted all my social media.”

“Why?”

I shrugged. “I just thought it’d be better for me mentally. They say being so attached to social media is bad for you or whatever.”

“But you weren’t even addicted to social media. You just liked sharing your memories - our memories.”

I shrugged again and turned back to my cooking. I wasn’t about to tell him his fans drove me off the internet. He loved his fans, I couldn’t fuck that up for him, even if what they were saying hurt me so much.

My back was to him as I cooked, so he couldn’t see my reaction when he asked, “Is it because people were comparing you to Megan?”

I froze completely. I could feel his eyes staring into the back of my head, but I just couldn’t convince myself to turn around to face him. I knew that if I did, I’d crack. I had gone too long pretending everything was okay, keeping this secret from Colson, to finally let it slip now. I just had to throw him off of his thought process.

“Where did you get that idea?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

He was next to me suddenly, holding his phone up so I could see it. On the screen was a picture of me at a red carpet just below a headline that read “(Y/F/N) deletes social media accounts amid hateful comments from boyfriend Machine Gun Kelly’s fans”.

I sighed in frustration. Of course the tabloid vultures had already written articles about it. I had only done it a few hours earlier, but they always had to be the first ones to write another story about me.

“I didn’t even know I was getting hate,” I said, trying to keep up the lie even though it was pretty obvious I had been found out. “I just decided to delete my accounts, it must be a coincidence.”

“Really? Because this article says you were receiving so much hate that you couldn’t even go into the comments on your pictures or replies on your tweets without seeing a mass amount of hate from my fans.”

I turned off the stove and turned around suddenly, abandoning my cooking completely as I quickly walked out of the kitchen and towards mine and Colson’s room. I felt a lump forming in my throat, and the last thing I wanted was for Colson to see me cry.

I wasn’t shocked to hear his footsteps coming after me. I forgot how much longer his legs were than mine, so it didn’t take long for him to catch up with me and stop me before I could get too far away. He took hold of my arm and turned me around to look at him. The moment my eyes landed on his face, it felt like someone had finally broke the dam holding back my tears.

Colson pulled me in for a hug and held me tightly as I sobbed into his chest. Every ounce of overwhelming feelings I had been bottling up for months was finally starting to come out, and I realized it was long overdue when I eventually began to grow tired from my crying.

I felt Colson pick me up and bring me to his bed. My eyes were starting to grow heavy despite how much I was fighting against them to stay awake. The minute my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light.

I wasn’t sure how long I was asleep, but it was obvious I had needed that rest, because when I woke up again I felt more well rested than I had in a long time.

I opened my eyes to find myself facing the window, which helped me to pinpoint that it was now nighttime as the sky was pitch black. I rolled over, expecting to find Colson asleep next to me only to find that I was alone in his bed. I was confused at first, forgetting the events that happened mere hours earlier.

I could hear a distant voice talking and was able to identify it as Colson’s. I got up from his bed and made my way towards the stairs, hearing it get louder as I stood at the top.

“I wish she would’ve told me,” he was saying. “I don’t know why she would’ve kept this a secret from me.”

“She didn’t want you upset with your fans,” came another voice. This one was distorted like it was coming from a phone. When she spoke again, I realized it was Megan’s voice. “And she’s stubborn. She was probably determined to deal with this by herself.”

“I just hate that she felt that way,” Colson sighed. “I don’t want her believing anything any of those people said to her, but I saw screenshots and fuck...they really did just bombard her with hate.”

“I know, but none of us could’ve predicted this. Your fans were so cool with us dating, I thought they’d love (Y/N) since we’re so similar.”

I sat down on the top of the stairs and peeked down enough that I could see Colson without him seeing me. He was laid out on the couch in just his sweat pants. In his hand he was holding his phone up, the other was slung over the back of his couch. I could see the guilt on his face, which broke my heart to see. I didn’t want Colson feeling guilty for something that was out of his control.

“You think what I posted will do anything?” he asked Megan.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. When people want to hate, they just want to hate.”

Hearing that Colson had posted something made me curious. I felt around my pants for my phone, but realized I had probably left it in the room or downstairs somewhere. I was in too deep now to give myself away, but I really wanted to know what he had posted about the situation.

“Thanks for talking to me about this, Megan,” he said.

“Of course, Colson. Anytime.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Colson tossed his phone onto the coffee table and put his arm under his head. “Are you gonna come down babe?”

I wanted to ask how he knew I was there, but instead I stood from my spot and made my way down the stairs. When I entered the living room, Colson just looked up at me for a moment, almost expectantly. I smiled down at him and laid on top of him with my head on his chest. The arm that was over the back of the couch wrapped around me and he gently kissed the top of my head.

“How much did you hear?” he asked.

“Just the last bit,” I admitted. “Something about a post you made.”

Colson hummed, his chest vibrating underneath my ear as he did. “I wanted to address the issue, and I knew you wouldn’t let me do it if you were awake.”

“I still don’t like that you did it now,” I said, half joking. “Can I see the post?”

He moved his head to look down at me. “How do I know you’re not going to delete the post?”

“You don’t,” I responded. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

He smiled and reached over to grab his phone from the coffee table. He opened it and pulled up a post he had made on Instagram: it was your usual white background with text post you saw celebrities make from time to time.

It read:

“I love my fans so much. You guys are my EST family, and I’m so proud of this family that we have built over the last few years. However, it came to my attention today that some of you have been less than nice to my girlfriend to a point where she felt the need to delete her social media accounts. I will admit, I was oblivious to this at first as I am not one to go onto other people’s social media to read comments and replies, and (Y/N) kept this to herself instead of telling me about it. But now that I do know, I have to say I am beyond pissed. (Y/N) is the most beautiful girl I have ever met, inside and out. She is not Megan, and honestly - with all respect to Megan - I’m glad that she’s not. I love Megan as a friend, but truly that’s all she is to me. (Y/N) is my soulmate, the love of my life. These comparisons and jabs at her because she isn’t my ex are absolutely disgusting, especially coming from people who claim they love me as much as you guys do. Please learn how to treat the people in my life with love and respect, or else take my face out of your profile pictures and my name out of your usernames/bios as you are not a true fan of mine. From the bottom of my heart, fuck you to anyone that made my girlfriend feel like shit.”

I scrolled down to see the comments and saw that the top one was from Megan, and was already liked by Colson.

“(Y/N) is not my competition, nor is she my enemy. She is my friend and she has been since before Colson and I were ever together. The fact that people feel the need to pit two women against one another just because they both dated the same person is absolutely appalling to me. I’d like to emphasis Colson’s statement - fuck you to whoever hurt my friend.”

I handed Colson his phone back, not wanting to read any more. I could feel a lump in my throat again, but this one was from happiness. I felt so lucky to have two amazing people in my corner during a time that was otherwise very trying for me.

“I’m sorry I never told you,” I said as I rested against his chest again.

“You shouldn’t be sorry, (Y/N). I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“You don’t have any reason to be sorry either. You can’t control your fans.”

“Then neither of us will be sorry.”

I chuckled at this. For a moment we were both silent, the only sound being Colson’s heart beating under my ear. It was a soothing sound, and combined with his fingers tracing over my back, I was almost lulled back to sleep.

“I love you,” he mumbled against my hair.

I lifted my head to look at him. “What?”

“I said I love you.”

I was speechless. It was the first time he had seriously said those words and he had managed to shock me into silence with them.

He looked at me, his face slowly becoming concerned with my silence.

“I love you, too,” I finally managed.

A smile broke out across Colson’s face as he wrapped his arms around me and held me tightly to him. For the rest of the night, he would whisper those three words to me randomly, and I would whisper back my response every time.

[writemekpop]

(Un)arranged Marriage | Kim Jungwoo

Pairing: Kim Jungwoo x Reader

Summary: You have to stop your best friend Jungwoo from escaping his wedding... But your massive crush on him complicates things.

Genre: Fluff, angst, South Asian Y/N

Word Count: 0.7k

Gif: @xiaojun​

Your fingers hover over the pearly white keys of the harmonium. The whole wedding congregation have fallen silent. 

The second you start playing, the bride will enter, and the wedding will begin. 

But your fingers are frozen. 

You should be happy – it’s your sister Pallavi’s wedding to Jungwoo, for god’s sake! Then why does watching them kiss make you feel so hollow inside? You wish that your sister was marrying any other man… just not Jungwoo. 

Jungwoo is… enchanting. 

He’s like a sunrise: you’ve seen him hundreds of times, but you never stop being dazzled by his brightness. You’ve always been the sibling who “needs to loosen up”. But when you’re with Jungwoo, you find yourself sleeping on the roof of your building under the stars, throwing your shoes into the ripples of the Mahadayi River, running around barefoot under monsoon rains. 

You can’t quite pinpoint the moment when Jungwoo’s hand brushing your thigh became the highlight of your day. 

No. You blink back to reality. You lost your chance with Jungwoo. He’s been your best friend since you were 5 years old. You’ve had two decades to make Jungwoo yours – and you failed. Anyway, family comes first. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the people you love.  

You start playing the piece you’d practiced. 

Pallavi wafts out, looking radiant in her shimmering red and gold sari. 

She’s still walking when you hear something. 

It’s the best man, Yuta, running up to the microphone behind the priest’s stand. 

“Sorry guys, there’s going to be a slight delay to the wedding.”

Everyone flinches as the microphone screams with static. Then, a moment later, Yuta continues, much faster and quieter, “You have one instruction. Do not let anyone know that Jungwoo is gone!”

The guests erupt into chatter. Yuta’s face turns very red as he realises that the microphone was still on – and everybody now knows that the groom has made a run for it. 

You run up to Pallavi, who is now standing at the side of the marquee, next to Yuta.

Pallavi is holding her phone to her ear, her golden kitten heel tapping on the carpet. She turns to you. 

“Do you even know how embarrassing this is? The family company’s investors are here!”

You shake your head. “Did you guys fight again?”

Pallavi laughs sarcastically. “Oh, didi, we’re always fighting. Just find that idiot. Now!” 

You run to the back of the marquee, to the two-storey ‘wedding building’ containing the banquet hall for the reception meal, the bar and lots of changing rooms for the bride and groom. You feel strangely exhilarated, like you’re a child again, in a crazy Go-Kart race. 

You run through the double doors and straight to the marble staircase. You have a gut feeling that you know where Jungwoo is. Whenever he gets in a tough situation, he always wanted to be as close to the sky as possible. 

You’re panting by the time you reach the door leading to the roof. 

Pushing it open, you scan the space. The sandy concrete roof is empty, with nothing but a few plant pots to the sides and a low wall stopping people from falling off.

At the far end, a man in a very expensive kurta stands with his back to you. 

“Jungwoo!” you call.

Jungwoo turns around. He grins at the sight of you.

But you’re not smiling. You shake your head, your body stiff. “What the hell are you playing at? This isn’t a joke, Jungwoo. Do you know how upset Pallavi is?”

Jungwoo shakes his head. You notice that his eyes are a little puffy. Has he been crying? “She’s just worried I’m embarrassing her, that’s all.”

“Go back there and apologise. Heck, go back there and get married!”

Jungwoo sighs, sitting down on the wall edging the roof. He looks gorgeous in his tightly fitted silk kurta. His eyes twinkle under his dense brown curls. 

Suddenly, your phone rings, vibrating in your silver side bag. You pull it out. The caller ID says ‘Little sis’. 

“Pallavi?” you say, holding the phone to your ear.

“Well? Found him yet?” 

You look at Jungwoo. He’s shaking his head furiously, his hands clasped together in a praying action. You don’t know. As a sister, you have a duty to protect Pallavi’s marriage. But for some reason, you never could say no to Jungwoo.

Gulping, you say, “No. No sign of him… yet.” 

You snap the phone closed, glaring at Jungwoo. 

He pulls off his jacket, and throws that off the building too. 

Jungwoo’s voice is low. “I’m thirty years old.”

Standing up, he pulls off his tie with both hands and throws it up, where it catches the wind and swirls off the building. 

He smiles faintly, looking at the sky. “Without regret, they fall and scatter… cherry blossoms.”

Finally, he kicks off both of his fancy dress shoes and throws them across the roof. One of them teeters on the side wall, till it finally rests there, just about balancing.

“I’m an unemployed, failed actor, about to marry a woman who can barely stand the sight of me.” 

He’s always been so melodramatic. That’s part of his charm. Jungwoo always seems to be acting a role in a great divine play no mere mortal can know about. 

You run forward and grab Jungwoo’s shoulders, forcing him to look at you. “Get it together, man! You need to grow up. You have a loving fiancée waiting for you down there.” 

Jungwoo strokes your cheek with his hand. You shiver at his touch, an involuntary gasp sucking through your mouth. You get a sudden urge to hold his hand in yours, squeeze it tight.

“And why do you care so much?” Jungwoo asks, smirking.

You feel suddenly hot under his caramel gaze. “B-because she’s my sister.” 

Why do you feel like the one in trouble? Jungwoo’s the guy who abandoned his bride, not you!

“Really? Seems kinda like you’re… hiding something.” His face nears yours. “I know you, Y/n. I see the way your jaw stiffens when I kiss your sister. Am I not worthy?”

You snap. Pushing him off you, you shout, “I’m happy for you and Pallavi! How many times?”

“Just because it hurts to see you with Pallavi, that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. Just because I wish it was me on that aisle, that doesn’t mean I’m not happy for you. Just because I love you, jungwoo, that doesn’t mean I’m not- happy for you…”

Your voice tapers off as you hear yourself. For the first time, the pain of the man you love marrying someone else flows freely through you. You’re… in love with Jungwoo? All this time, you’d buried your jealousy deep under a layer of affection for Pallavi and family duty.

You’ve always been accused of ‘not being able to talk about your feelings’. But you pushed your feelings for Jungwoo down so deep you even hid them from yourself. 

Jungwoo pulls you into a tight hug. You let your tears seep into his shoulder. 

“I had no idea you felt that way,” he murmurs.

“Are you… going back to Pallavi?” you ask, your voice tiny.

Pulling back so he can look you in the eye, Jungwoo shakes his head. “I love you, Y/n, but…”

Your heart squeezes.

“I think I… hide in relationships. Look at me! I waited till the wedding day to address the problems in my relationship. But if you’ve taught me one thing, Y/n, it’s that I’m done hiding. I need to face my problems alone, and work out what I really want.”

Jungwoo kisses your hand. “Would you wait for me?”

You nod, smiling through your tears. “I’ve waited two decades. I think a couple months more won’t hurt.” 

—

MASTERLIST

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