#Nothing shakes me because I've been waiting for this moment for many months

[suntrait]

(before / next)

[whateveriwant]

Choice

Summary: Simon forces you to choose. Him, your husband… or the other man he found in your bed.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: ANGST

A/N: Forgive me.

“Simon!” you gasp, bolting upright in bed.

There, darkening the doorway to your bedroom, stands your beloved husband. You thought you'd spotted something lurking in the shadows of your periphery, but rather than it being a mere figment of your imagination like you'd hoped, you've come to find out that's not at all the case.

Simon’s brows are knitted tightly together, the lines framing the sides of mouth deepening as he begins to scowl. “Fuckin’ knew it,” he grits out. “Knew you were a fuckin’ liar.” His eyes flit back and forth between you and the figure lying beside you in bed, and if looks could kill, you'd both be six feet under.

“Simon, no, wait–!” You're quick to shoo the other male from your bed even as your husband storms away. Jumping to your feet, you chase after him, tugging your shirt into place from where it had ridden up. Simon’s just reached the living room when you manage to catch up with him. “Simon, please just–”

“When will enough be enough?” he cuts you short as he whirls around to confront you. You've never seen such anger rippling from him before, and it makes you recoil, stopping dead in your tracks. “When's it gonna end, huh? You promised me you were gonna fuckin’ stop this.”

“I-I-I know I did, Simon,” your voice trembles under the weight of your shame.

He's right. After the last time, you’d told him that was it, that it would never happen again.

So much for keeping your promise.

“I'm– I'm so sorry,” you try to offer him, for whatever it may be worth.

Apparently, it's worth very little as he proceeds to scoff right in your face.

“You’re ‘sorry’?” His expression pinches to show how he takes offense to that apology. “That’s three times this month I've caught you. Three. Let alone how many other times I'm sure have been behind my back.”

Again, he’s right on the target. You’ve been dishonest with your husband, been deceiving him more times than you can even remember at this point. Though you're in no place to feel as if you're the one that's been hurt in this situation, you can't help how his biting words feel like daggers plunging right into your stomach.

Simon sighs and brings a hand up to rub his forehead, the self-soothing gesture doing nothing to soften the lines creasing his skin. After a while, he asks, “Why?” his voice much calmer than it was a moment ago. “Why d’you keep doin’ this? Lyin’? Sneakin’ around?”

When he drops his hand to look at you again, you can see how quickly his emotions have shifted from fury to sorrow. The sight of his grief almost wrenches your heart in two, and you swallow the lump in your throat, your own emotions threatening to spill forth and choke you.

“I… I don't know,” you tell him, yet another lie.

You know the truth behind your actions, the real reason you can't break this bad habit. It's because you're selfish; because you're spineless; because you're fucking weak.

Your answer, the unconvincing slop that is, isn't good enough for Simon, and his shoulders rise in a show of perplexity. “Am I not treatin’ you right? I've been withholdin’ from you? Is that it?”

You're shaking your head before he even finishes the inquiry. “No, Simon. It's nothing like that,” you say.

“Well then, explain it to me.” He tosses a hand into the air, the frustration in his tone palpable. “Because I'm tryin’ to understand what makes him so bloody special. What is it about him that makes you treat me like a fuckin’ afterthought?”

“I don't–!” you begin, the accusation immediately putting you on the defense. But then you pause and intake a deep breath, trying to rein yourself back in. The last thing you want is to strike a match against this highly combustible conversation. If ignited, this powder keg runs the risk of taking you both out with it.

You take another moment to collect yourself before releasing an audible exhale. “Yes, he means a lot to me–”

“Oh, well, I'm bloody well aware of that, thank you.”

You ignore the derisive comment as you continue, “–but you're my husband, Simon. At the end of the day, I always want you,” you emphasize. You can feel a stitch forming between your brows as they slowly pull together. “I know you're upset with me – and I understand, truly – but I… I-I just…” your voice trails off as you consider your next words.

You know what you want to say, what niggling thought you want to express. But you're not sure if voicing it aloud is the right move to take. You're trying to cool down the tension here, not potentially add fuel to the fire.

But as Simon prompts, “What?” you realize there's no backing out of it now.

You sigh. “I just think you're blowing this whole thing out of proportion.”

The way your husband's eyes immediately widen tell you it was probably better to have kept your mouth shut.

“Blowin’ thi–?!” Simon blinks wildly in disbelief, his anger from earlier surging back tenfold. His voice is venomous as he spits, “I catch you lyin’ to me, catch you continuously goin’ behind my back.” He points an accusatory finger in the direction of your bedroom. “I catch you with that filthy shite in our bed–”

“Hey, don't call–”

“–see him lyin’ there, sleepin’ on my fuckin’ pillow, and you think I'm ‘blowin’ this out of proportion’?!” he's fully shouting now, his volume having risen alongside his fury. Simon lets out a dry chuckle that's entirely devoid of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? Do my feelings mean nothin’ to you anymore? Do you– Do you even really love me?” his voice peaks as a wave of despair washes over him.

“Wha–?” Now it's your turn to blink wildly as you're caught off guard by that last sentence. “Of– Of course I do, Simon! Of course.” How can he even ask you such a thing?

“You just love him more, then, right?” The question stings like a punch to the gut.

You shake your head vehemently, asserting, “No. No, of course not!” even as you feel a twinge of guilt pricking the base of your skull.

Just as you're slightly skeptical of your own words, so too is Simon, and he brushes you off with a, “Pssh, right.”

The heightened emotions of the last several minutes persist even as you and your husband lapse into a tense silence.

As you stand there, you watch as Simon begins to harshly run both hands through his hair, not sure what you should say – if there's anything to say in this moment. Though you and he have had this same argument more times than you'd like to admit, something about this time felt different to you, felt like there were higher stakes in the mix. And as you reflect on the quarrel, you can't help how one line in particular sticks out in your mind. ‘You just love him more, then, right?’ he'd accused, bluntly, bitterly.

The idea is ridiculous to you, loving someone else more than your own husband. It sounds like something only a fool could believe.

But if that's the case, why did Simon say it so assuredly?

And why does the thought of it make your stomach clench like there could be some truth behind the claim?

After another few moments of him tugging at his roots, Simon releases a billowy breath. He briefly closes his eyes and shakes his head to himself, before dropping his hands back down by his sides.

“I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,” his voice sounds as exhausted as his body looks. As he peels his lids open to once more lock with your gaze, you feel your own eyes narrowing in your confusion.

“What do you mean?” you ask, voice quiet, timid.

“I mean you need to choose,” he tells you. “Me or him.”

That statement has you balking, the cords that hinge your jaw shut practically snapping. “Si, you– you're not serious.” This has to be some kind of sick joke, right?

“I am.” He nods resolutely. “I can't keep doin’ this – goin’ back and forth with you, wonderin’ if you're really all here with me or not,” he says, frowning. “So you need to choose. Right now. Me… or him.”

It's like you've just witnessed your worst fears materialize before you. Simon, your loving husband, has just asked you to do something that was once completely inconceivable to you. He's asked you to make a world-altering choice: pick between him and someone else.

The decision should be easy – should be obvious – and yet, you find yourself frozen, unable to speak the words you know you should say.

Simon is your husband, the first and greatest love of your life. But this other man he's making you choose between is… well, he's something else to you entirely.

When you're having a rough day and feel like the world is collapsing in around you, he's the first one you want to run to when you need a shoulder to cry on. And conversely, when you're feeling on top of the world, feeling so high up you could reach out and touch the clouds, he's the one you want to call so you can share your joy.

From the moment you met him, you knew he was one of a kind. He's got a smile that could rival a thousand suns, a kiss that could warm the coldest of nights, and the way he looks at you – like you hold the entirety of his universe in the palm of your hand – you think it could keep your heart beating long after it's chosen to stop.

He's your best friend, your other half of a whole, your personal ray of sunshine that cuts through all the gloomy rain. Simon is your husband, yes, that’s true. But this other man is your soulmate, and you know that however long you both shall live, you will love each other until you take your final breaths.

Tears start to bead in your eyes as the answer to your predicament reveals itself to you. And as Simon eventually pushes, “Well? Who's it gonna be?” you know there's only one thing you can tell him.

“Him,” you mutter, feeling the first tear spill over. “H-Him, Simon. Him. I choose… him.”

It's like the planet ceases to spin for a moment as your choice floats in the air like a ghost. At first, you think Simon must assume you're bluffing, what with the way he has no immediate reaction to your response. But as the silence stretches between you and you've yet to renounce your decision, you watch as the realization hits him like a slug to the chest.

Simon's face falls, the color zapping from his skin, and as his eyes start to shine with tears, you find your cheeks flooding with your own.

Simon blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring as he tries to keep his emotions at bay. His brow furrows like he wants to say something – to argue something – but when he opens his mouth to speak, no words escape. He closes his mouth for a second but then opens it again soon after, once more nothing leaving him but the sound of his breath.

Open then shut, open then shut, he repeats the cycle over and over again, never once managing to get a word out. Finally, after several minutes of waging an internal battle with himself, Simon eventually lets out a low sigh of defeat.

“Then go,” he mutters, gaze falling to the floor. “Just… Just go.”

Your own heart shatters at seeing the pain you've caused your husband. But you can't take back what you've said now, and even if you could, you both know it'd be a lie.

Thus, all you can offer him is a whispered, “I'm sorry.” Any louder and your voice would break from the strain of your cries.

The room falls quiet again as you both let everything sink in. Simon, your husband, the man you'd promised forever to, just put his heart on the line, practically flayed himself open for you… and you didn't choose him.

“I'm sorry,” you say again because you don't know what else there is to do.

Simon waves your apology off with a dismissive hand, still refusing to meet your eye.

Over the next few moments, you continue to sob softly, the sounds of your sniffles puncturing the otherwise quiet house. After a while, you feel the faucet behind your eyes gradually slow to a trickle, and you wipe your face with the back of your shaky hands, swallowing down the last of your tears.

You take another minute or so to compose yourself, still standing before your forlorn husband. Once you feel somewhat well again, you clear your throat, then tip your head back to let out a short, high whistle.

Almost immediately, you hear the telltale noise of feet moving against the hardwood floor. Then, not a beat later, you see the man you'd just chosen rounding the corner to the living room.

“Come here, pup-pup. Come here,” you encourage Riley, your fourteen month old shepherd-mix, forward.

Like the good boy he is, Riley trots closer at your beckoning. But before he reaches you, he makes a pitstop by Simon, shoving his cold, wet nose into the man's empty palm.

Riley gives him a couple boops to the hand, politely asking him for pets. And Simon, for his part, despite still being obviously disgruntled, obliges and gives him a brief, dispassionate rub to the snout.

Having received his desired scritches, Riley then continues over to you, and you crouch down so you can meet him at his level.

“You wanna go cuddle with me some more? Yeah? Do you?” you pitch your voice up in that babyish way Simon pretends to hate.

Riley, however, absolutely loves it, and his tail wags back and forth in a way that says he's all too eager to agree.

“Okay, let's go!” You wave him after you as you take off down the hall.

As you both walk back to the bedroom you'd been occupying earlier, you hear Simon speaking behind you, muttering angrily to himself.

“Mangy fuckin’ mutt. Knew he was gonna be trouble,” he murmurs as he makes up a spot for himself on the couch. “First he steals my bed, then he steals my cuddles, next he'll be stealin’ my fuckin’ car…” his voice peters out the further away you walk.

“Don't mind your daddy. He's just being grumpy as usual,” you stage whisper to Riley as you approach the door to your bedroom.

Letting yourself inside, Riley quickly follows after. You shut the door and then waltz over to the bed, patting the empty space beside you as you settle in.

Swiftly, Riley jumps up to join you, taking the side normally reserved for your husband. He moseys all the way up the mattress until he reaches Simon's pillow, where he proceeds to lay down.

You roll onto your side and start to pet him, scratching that spot behind his ears you know he loves. As you do, you see that infectious smile of his slowly take shape, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drift closed.

The sight of him so content makes your own lips upturn into a smile. He is so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that it makes your heart want to burst inside your chest.

And as you continue to cuddle Riley, making little kissy noises in his ear, you know you made the right choice as you grin and ask him, “Who's my favorite boy?”

__________

A/N: April Fools! Hope I didn't break your heart too much lmao!

As always, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[roseghoul26]

Hello! I would like to request Cooper Howard x gn!reader (post war, because...murderous cowboy...hnnngh), where they struggle with mental health issues like depression? I've been in a really tough spot, having no energy or motivation to do anything or really any desire to take care of myself. So I was thinking, maybe the reader's mental health is declining, they're slower and sloppier when it comes to keeping up with Cooper and he's more and more frustrated. Then one day he has enough (maybe the reader is taking too long packing up) and threatens to leave them and they're just...passive, because they really don't care anymore about what happens to them. So he realises they haven't been taking care of themselves properly for a while now and then some soft moments with him? I know this is pretty dark and you can change this however you'd like, but I'm dying for some hurt/comfort with this man 🥺 It's totally cool if it's too much for you, if you decide to not write this, please just let me know, so I don't wait for it. Thank you so much, I love your Cooper fics <3

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x gn!Reader

Synopsis: You’ve been struggling lately, putting both you and your traveling companion in danger. He was bound to confront you about it eventually. Tags: Prompt Request, Not Beta Read, Gender Neutral Reader, Depression, Mental Health, Mentions of Suicide, Disagreements, Comfort, Lazy Day, Cuddling, Beginning Relationships Author's Note: Trigger warning for topics relating to mental health, such as depression and suicide. Please do not read if you’re not in a good mental space. Take care of yourselves. Also, everyone’s experience with depression and mental health issues differs, so I am writing this story the way I experience it. Also, this was a fun challenge to write. Like how the hell would he approach a topic like this? It’s been fun to explore his character like that, and I hope I did it justice. Thank you so much for the request! <333

You used to be able to keep up with the Ghoul. 

Wherever he went, you followed, tearing through the Wastleland without hindrance. You watched his back, and he yours, a security that was unheard of in this world. It was a trusting friendship, bordering on something else, something that neither of you had crossed yet. You couldn't compete with over a hundred years of experience with a gun, but you were able to hold your own quite well. You were a decent shot and someone who never let anyone get the drop on you, senses always sharp. 

So when you started missing easy targets and found yourself surprised by opponents one too many times, you knew it was a matter of time before the Ghoul started asking questions and not believing the first lie that you said. The first time it had happened, you blamed it on your lack of sleep, and he seemed to buy it. And maybe you convinced yourself it was just a lack of sleep, ignoring the darkness that had begun to emerge in your mind. You just needed to rest, was what you told yourself. 

It happened again a few days later, completely missing a target in front of you. Your reactions had begun to slow down, too, unable to avoid the swing of a blade, cutting across your cheek. It was like your body gave up on wanting to move, an unbearable weariness to your muscles that you were unable to shake. Later, as you bandaged the wound on your cheek, the Ghoul confronted you, demanding to know why you were acting so sloppy. You’d merely shrugged, offering up the idea that you were sick. This time he seemed less convinced, yet he had let the matter go. 

You knew why you were acting the way you were. You weren’t unfamiliar with depression, far from it. It was something you’d dealt with your entire life, coming and going like waves. You’d go days, weeks, months and you’d be fine, but then a flip would switch. You’d lose your energy, your motivation, wanting nothing more than to just lay on the ground and never get back up. You’d stop taking care of your body. You’d lose your appetite. Your thoughts would turn dark, ideations and ideas flashing in your mind, things that you’d never tell another soul. 

For the months you’d been traveling with the Ghoul, you’d been able to keep a reign on your depression. Sure, you had your off days, but nothing like this. It was like the universe was punishing you for having such an excellent past months. 

But how could you explain this to your traveling partner? How could you explain that you didn’t have the energy to continue existing, to continue fighting? He needed you to be alert, to not have your thoughts occupied with something, that in perspective to the Wasteland around you, was trivial. 

So you kept your mouth shut, forcing yourself to appear alert and unaffected. You forced those thoughts to the back of your mind. You forced your body to move, no matter how much it screamed at you to just be still.

But it seemed that all that bottling your thoughts up did was make it worse. As the days dragged on, you stopped talking, only muttering small words whenever the Ghoul asked you a question. You’d normally spend the time traveling conversing, and the Ghoul did try to initiate a conversation with you, but no amount of questions and joking and jabs could get you to break. Eventually, he fell quiet too.

Sleeping became a challenge. You’d think with how exhausted your body felt, you’d be able to sleep easily, but the opposite was true. Hours would tick by, and you’d lie awake, getting up the next morning more exhausted than before you went to bed. Your face, already a bit gaunt from living such a difficult life, had grown even more so, the circles around your eyes darkening and your lips growing more chapped. 

You stopped eating, turning away the food he offered you. After you went a few days without eating more than a bite, he practically forced spoonfuls of food into your mouth, snapping at you the entire time. It was humiliating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to change. You just wanted to be done. 

You could tell that your demeanor was starting to annoy the hell out of the Ghoul, whose words had turned shorter and snappier. If you took too long, he’d grab you by the shoulder and drag you along, like an upset parent with their child. Your cheeks would burn every time, tears pickling your eyes, and you’d hang your head. 

There was a tension growing between you and the Ghoul, your friendship growing thin. His guard was up constantly, unable to trust you any longer to watch his back, which hurt you more than any knife or gun. Soft glances disappeared, his gaze scrutinizing when he looked at you. Light touches from him reserved for when you were at rest were no more, as you chose to keep to yourself every night. Instead of walking side-by-side, you’d linger a few feet behind him. You pretended like it was easier this way, to make him push you away, but it was tearing you apart. 

But eventually, that tension snapped. Too many close calls, too many sluggish movements, too many half-hearted excuses finally made him break. You’d just gotten up for the day, another sleepless night behind you, and you were packing up your few belongings. You must’ve been taking too long, because you heard him sigh audibly, standing in the open doorway of the room you’d sheltered in for the night. “What’s your fuckin’ issue?” He growled, arms crossed tight over his chest.

You looked up, feigning confusion. “I dunno what-”

“Bullshit,” he cut you off. He began to walk towards you, his steps methodical, threatening. “You’ve been actin’ like this for weeks, and you’ve only offered me half-assed excuses.” He was seething, and understandably so. He crouched down in front of you, rendering you unable to escape. “So, you,” he stuck a finger in your chest, barely avoiding hitting you, “are gonna tell me why. And don’t even think ‘bout lyin’, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest at the confrontation. Words flooded your mind, a full explanation on the tip of your tongue, yet you just couldn’t bring yourself to utter it. Your mouth opened and closed, struggling, until you eventually just gave up. Sighing, you just shook your head, which pissed him off even more. 

A disbelieving laugh left him, and he ran a gloved hand over his face. “No? You’re kiddin’ me, right?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Ya know, I’ve tried to be lenient. I bought into your fuckin’ lies that you were ‘just tired’, ‘just sick’. I tried to give ya space, to give ya time to get out of this. But you’re gonna get us both killed if ya don’t fix yourself. I can’t be distracted out there, constantly worried ‘bout you and keepin’ you alive, ‘cause it seems like that’s the last thing on your mind.”

He took a breath, steadying his rising voice. “So I’m gonna give ya one more chance to explain yourself, or else I’m leavin’ without ya.”

“Then leave.” Your response came almost immediately, your voice lacking any inflection. Even though in the back of your mind you were screaming at him not to leave, you kept an air of indifference about you, unable to make yourself care. It would be easier if he just left, wouldn’t it? You wouldn’t be putting anyone else in danger, and you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt you felt of him worrying about you so much. And it would be so much easier to just disappear if there was no one looking for you.

He wasn’t expecting that as a response if the look on his face told you anything. His brow muscles were raised, leaning back from you in shock. But the way he was watching you, it was like he was observing you in a different light, dots beginning to connect in his mind. “You’ll die out there without me.” 

You merely shrugged your shoulders, glancing down to continue packing your belongings, no longer able to look him in the eye. He didn’t respond, simply standing up with a sigh. You didn’t look up, not even as you heard him walk away, backing towards the entrance of the room. You didn’t look up, even as you heard the surprisingly gentle click of the door as it shut. You didn’t look up, even as the tears that you’d been holding for the past weeks finally fell.

You were alone.

You thought it would make you feel better like there would be a weight lifted off your shoulders. But everything just felt heavier, the thoughts in your mind becoming a tempest, making you physically weak. Expletives tumbled from your lips as you sagged down onto your arms, head hung. Of course, he’d fucking leave, you idiot. No one wants to deal with your moping.

A part of you wanted to chase after him, to beg him to stay, but you already felt pathetic enough. You couldn’t blame him for leaving, not at all. You were weighing him down, putting his life in danger; he said so himself. He could only deal with you for so long. You should be grateful that he didn’t leave sooner.

The sound of rustling fabric made you jump, finally looking up. The Ghoul had taken off his jacket, laying it across the back of the couch he had slept on, never having left the room at all. Stunned, you watched him sit, taking his hat off in the process and setting it on the floor. He finally caught your eye then, a soft look on his face, a look you hadn’t seen in a long while. 

“I thought you left,” you whispered, sitting back upright. Embarrassment warmed your cheeks, and you tried to wipe the tears that had fallen on them. 

“I ain’t leavin’ ya, sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Do you want me to go?” You’d never shaken your head faster in your life. “Then I’m stayin’.”

“But why?”

He sighed. “‘Cause I care ‘bout you. I… Is that too hard to believe?”

It is. Unable to find words, you just shrugged again. 

Something akin to regret or remorse flashed across his face, and muttering something under his breath he reclined against the couch. He was upset, but even now you could tell it was not because of you, at least not fully. “C’mere,” he murmured, patting the couch beside him. “You look like you’re gonna fuckin’ bolt at any second.”

Taking a steadying breath, you complied, albeit with some difficulty, your legs barely wanting to function. His gaze didn’t leave you once, as much as you wished it would, making you want to collapse in on yourself. The walk to the couch felt like it was miles long, but you eventually made your way over to it and him. 

He rolled his eyes when you just stood there in front of him, unsure of what to do with yourself. “Sit down, I ain’t gonna fuckin’ bite.” In another situation, you knew he’d add some comment like unless ya want me to, but he bit his tongue. The couch groaned as you sat next to the Ghoul, keeping a foot between your bodies. “Talk to me,” he commanded, yet his voice was gentle. “What the hell’s goin’ on?”

You picked at the skin around your nails, no doubt drawing blood. “I’m… I’m not quite sure how to explain it,” you responded, and you expected your words to upset the man even more. But he nodded his head slowly, an almost understanding look on his face. “I’m just… done."

“Done with… what? Bein’ out on the road?” You shook your head. “Travellin’ with me?” You shook your head again, this time more vehemently. “Done with what?” You knew that he knew the answer to his question, but he wanted you to say it.

“I’m done with… with existing. I just can’t bring myself to care anymore. I’m just so tired of it all.” You sagged back against the couch like speaking took a toll on your body. “I’m so tired.”

He didn’t respond for a while, mulling over your words. “That… that explains a lot,” he chuckled humourlessly. “Your mind won’t just leave ya the hell alone, will it? It's like all your mind can focus on are these terrible fuckin’ things, no matter what ya do. And it just weighs on ya, like a million pounds, getting worse with every passin’ day until you just wanna… give up.”

He explained it perfectly, and you cocked your head to the side, a bit confused about how he was able to do so. “I ain’t a stranger to what you’re goin’ through. We’re well fuckin’ acquainted, to say the least. So I shoulda recognized it sooner with ya.” 

He paused, sighing. “Wanna know somethin’?” You nodded. “I was too busy thinkin’ ‘bout what I did to upset ya that I didn’t bother to think of any other possible reason as to why you’re actin’ the way you are. But once I realized it wasn’t my fault, not entirely, instead of bein’ there for ya, I was an ass. I thought, because I’m a damn idiot, that you were just mopin’ around for the hell of it, putting us both in danger simply ‘cause you were tired or some shit. Not once did I stop to think why. And I apologize.”

“You don’t gotta-” He cut you off with a pointed look. “I… I accept your apology, then.”

He nodded slowly, content. “I’d like to help ya, sweetheart. I know nothin’ I say or do is gonna make it go away like that… but I’d like to try. Whatever ya need from me, and you’ve got it.”

“I’m not sure what I need exactly,” you admitted quietly.

“When ya figure it out, will ya let me know?” You nodded.

“Just… be patient. As difficult as that is for you.” You hadn’t meant for the jab to come out, but you weren’t taking it back. Especially when a loud laugh left the Ghoul, making a smile of your own appear on your face. It was faint, yet it was there.

An almost starstruck expression appeared on his face, his laughter dying out. “I missed seein’ ya smile,” he murmured as if it was a subconscious thought.

You ducked your head, making him laugh again. “As for bein’ patient, well, I can be that, if that’s what ya need.”

“It’ll take some time,” you cautioned again, indirectly giving him a chance to back out of this. 

“Time ain’t an issue. I’ll wait as long as it fuckin’ takes.”

“You mean it?” Your voice was so soft, barely audible to either of you. 

You watched as one of his gloved hands inched towards you, palm upturned. Tentatively, you placed your in his, eyes growing wide when he brought your hand to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. “I swear,” he uttered, sealing the promise with another press of his lips.

As you returned your tingling hand to your lap, his eyes scanned over your face, a furrow appearing between his brow. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten somethin’? Somethin’ that I didn’t force ya to eat,” he added when you opened your mouth to respond. 

Your silence said enough, and he leaned down to his bag, which he had placed beside the couch when he sat. After a few moments of rustling through, he handed you a small bag of what appeared to be jerky, as well as a small canteen of water. “It ain’ human,” he added when you eyed the bag suspiciously before taking it.

The jerky was salty and tough when you took a bite, not quite wanting to, but unable to not eat under his gaze. You ate in silence until your stomach was full and your teeth hurt from the tough material. Taking a swig of water, you could feel your eyes growing heavy, eating seemingly draining your energy more than replenishing it. Stifling a yawn, you shoved the canteen back into his hand, and you noticed he had an almost pleased look on his face. 

You were confused, though, when he stood, making his way to the entrance of the room. For a moment, those thoughts flashed in your mind that told you that he was finally leaving, that he realized how pathetic you were. But instead of doing any of those things, you watched as he simply wedged a chair under the handle of the door, like he had done before you went to bed for the night. 

“What’re you doing?”

“We takin’ the day off. Doctor’s orders.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be in Filly in a few days?”

“We’ll be fine. You are gonna spend today catchin’ up on some much-needed rest.” He stood in front of you now, a moth-eaten blanket in his hands. 

“And what are you gonna do?” You asked, and he shrugged. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart. Go ‘head, lie down.”

Your eyes quickly scanned the couch, and you took a deep breath before speaking again. “The couch is big enough for us both, no?”

For the second time that day, you’d stunned him with your responses. “Is… is that what ya want?”

Encouraged that he hadn’t just outrightly said no, you nodded your head, and a fond look crossed his features. He handed you the blanket before sitting once more, but instead of his back being against the cushions, he rested it against one of the armrests, not before tucking a pillow in front of it. 

Once he was situated, he opened up his arms to you, and you could’ve laughed at how uncertain he looked. Hands rested on your body when you laid down, head on his chest, laying on your stomach, and you made sure the blanket covered both your bodies as best you could. You weren’t too worried about covering all of you, though, with the sheer amount of warmth he was radiating. 

His eyes were already on you when you glanced up, a smile pulling at his lips. “Comfy?”

“Yes.” Your voice was barely audible, but he heard it. 

You felt his fidget with something in his hand behind your back, but you didn’t have to wait long to find out what he was doing. You felt fingers run along your scalp, making you shudder, before combing through any hair there. “Alright?”

You sighed contently, nodding your head before letting it fall back onto his chest. He continued to run his fingers there, his other hand tracing patterns across your shoulders. You hadn’t realized how tired you were until now, finding it hard to keep your eyes open. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. Safe from the world outside this room. Safe from the thoughts that plagued your mind. Safe from everything. 

He didn’t have to see your face to know that you were struggling to stay awake. “Go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Promise?”

“Ain’t fuckin’ like I’m gonna be able to get up,” he chuckled, before taking a more serious tone. “I promise.”

That was all you needed to hear before you finally let the final strings of consciousness leave your grasp. Before you lost control of all your senses, though, you felt him lean down, pressing a barely-there kiss to the top of your head. “You’ll get through this, sweetheart.”

You believed him.

[steddieas-shegoes]

wasting company time

for @corrodedcoffinfest warm up round prompt 'get a job'

rated t | 736 words | no cw | tags: they're idiots and i love them, especially gareth, he is my most special boy

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

If Gareth had to help one more person today, he was going to quit his job.

Which he couldn't. He was the only one in the band who currently had an income.

Eddie had been fired for missing too many shifts because of shows, Jeff was too busy with classes to also have a job, and Frankie was waiting for the right thing to come up. Gareth sucked it up and worked nearly full time at the diner.

He couldn't cook for shit so he was a waiter, and being a waiter was not his ideal position. The waitresses he worked with wore short skirts and flirted their way to decent tips. That didn't exactly work for Gareth, who worked the shift when mostly truck drivers came through with exhaustion seeping from their pores and gruff voices barely even placing an order before ignoring him.

The bell rang above the door and Gareth groaned.

"Have a seat anywhere!" He said from behind the counter, taking an extra minute to gather himself before having to help.

"Nah, you're gonna come with us."

Gareth looked up to see Jeff, Eddie, and Frankie standing at the counter, grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm clearly working. I don't get off for another hour."

"You don't need to work anymore."

Gareth was not gonna get his hopes up. They may be smiling and encouraging him to leave his job, but they all were irresponsible sometimes, even Jeff.

"Did you all get jobs?"

"We all have a gig. A decent one. One that pays," Frankie leaned against the counter. "One that requires us going on a little tour."

"You're telling me we have nothing for two years and suddenly we have a tour? With who? Where?" Gareth folded his arms across his chest, frowning. They were fucking with him.

"We didn't have nothing for two years, we had shitty gigs. Everyone starts with shitty gigs," Eddie argues. "And one of those shitty gigs had someone who works with a metal band who's going on tour in a month. They opened for Sabbath on their last tour. We're so fucking in, baby."

Gareth still couldn't believe it.

How did they land that? How did anyone see their Hideout show and think 'yeah, those are the guys we need'?

"I don't understand."

"Take off the apron, even though it's doing wonders for your hips," Eddie wiggled his brows playfully. "And come to the trailer. I've got everything there for us to look at with a lawyer."

"A lawyer? We can't afford a lawyer."

"Correct. But Steve said Nancy could take a look at it and make sure the language isn't trying to fuck us over," Eddie poked Gareth's cheek. "Jeff's mom said her brother could look at it, too, but he technically is an insurance lawyer so it may go over his head."

"Nancy Wheeler is gonna read a contract to make sure we don't sign our lives away?"

"Precisely," Frankie nodded.

"Anyone better for the job?" Jeff asked.

He had a ridiculous crush on Nancy, so of course he would think she could do it easily.

"A real lawyer maybe? Someone who is used to reading contracts?" Gareth was not quitting his job for this.

"Okay, well, do you have real lawyer money hiding somewhere in that apron?" Eddie threw his hands up.

"What's your obsession with this apron?" Gareth teased. "I just don't wanna end up jobless and then not even have this gig to fall back on."

"It's your damn hips! I said!" Eddie rolled his eyes. "If I promise to find a lawyer, will you please quit this stupid job?"

"If you can find a lawyer willing to work for free to look at that contract, I will quit this job and give you my last paycheck."

"Deal!" Eddie ran from the diner immediately, leaving Jeff and Frankie shaking their heads.

"He's never gonna find one," Jeff said.

"I know. I'll see you guys in the morning for practice."

Frankie waved and walked back out the door, but Jeff stayed for a moment.

"Hey, I know you're being cautious. But also, I think this would be good for us. We should probably give it a go."

Gareth looked behind him at the line cook shoving a french fry into his mouth, then at the one guy asleep at a table in the corner.

"Yeah, alright. Let's give it a try."

[lollytea]

And when Willow’s actually ready for a relationship? Oh, Hunter doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s been so ready for so long but now it’s actually happening and it’s taking all his energy not to go absolutely ballistic to instead be like “oh awesome can I have a hug?”

[Refering to situationship]

Agsvdhbk Willow's decision was a very spur of the moment thing. At some point, she just could not take this anymore. She wanted him and she had him but it still felt like there was so much she couldn't do until she asked.

Hunter didn't catch on to the build up, so it was all very sudden. It threw him off balance. And now suddenly all these months of boldness with initiating affection and straightforwardness about wanting a real relationship all goes flying the window and it's like they're back in Camila's house again. Back in their usual wavering dance, where she flirts loudly and he blushes quietly. It's only until the initial shock wears off but it still packs a wallop. Like getting hit with a mallet.

The moment she says it, he goes very still. Like a prey animal. Eyes blown wide. Even his nose twitches like a nervous rabbit. And then there's an abrupt flash of gold light and Willow can't hold back her laughter as her brand new boyfriend (!!!!) is literally bouncing off the walls like a rogue pinball.

And then all at once, it stops, and he's once again standing in front of her. He straightens himself out, clearing his throat with all the dignity he can muster.

Willow politely does not acknowledge that just happened. He still gets a little embarrassed about his involuntary flash zoomies. She thinks it is one of the most adorable things he does, and she's really struggling to not just grab him and smooch all the life and soul out of him. She's already buzzing with her own excitable quirks. She doesn't notice her butt is doing that damn ridiculous waggle and her feet are pattering anxiously until Hunter manages to find his words.

"Awesome," He says with an attempt at polite nonchalance. He sounds like his vocal chords are being held together with nothing but patches and prayers.

"Can..." He chokes on his sentence and then pretends he didn't. "Can I have a hug?"

Willow's jittering nerves cause her relieved exhale to shake. They've gotten lost in hugs so many times that the grooves and curves of their bodies may have altered just to better cradle the shape of the other person. Hugging Hunter is safe. It's familiar. And at a time like this, when she's willingly jumbling her life around and turning everything upside down just because she's utterly obsessed with him, hugging Hunter is such a welcome invitation.

Her hugs have always been too tight. They're of the bone snapping variety. Uncomfortable to some, soothing to others. Hunter is the latter, thank Titan.

They sink into each other. And for a moment, everything is still. Everything but Willow. She can feel herself wiggling. She's over the moon. She's over the sun. She's over every stupid planet in Hunter's space book.

"Okay, I-I gotta...." Says Hunter breathlessly, arms still looped around her.

Willow peers up at him, her stomach already pooling with warmth from the sight of his twitchy smile and glowing red ears.

"I gotta, well, I-...this is. I have a lot to say and I've been waiting to say it." He is continuing, even when it seems like every word is strenuous. "About you. About how I think you're so--I mean, well when I'm with you, I feel-!! Lemme start over,"

Willow tilts her head as she watches him babble, drinking this up like she's trying to get drunk on it.

Hunter inhales, deep and steadying. Then he blurts out "I just want you to know that I--!" only to stagger to a halt when he meets her eyes. The corner of his mouth tries to tug itself upwards. There's a second of resistance, before all of his battle readiness melts into a wide dizzy smile.

"Stop that," He says to her. "Stop that and let me talk,"

Genuinely confused, Willow's smile widens and she finds that her facial muscles won't let her smile any wider. "Stop what?"

"Looking at me like that!"

"How am I looking at you?"

"You know!"

"I really don't," Willow says through a spurt of laughter.

But now he's pointed out that she's looking at him a certain way, she can easily imagine how.

These last few months, he's been looking at her with a kind of soft honest lovesickness that made her bones melt. When she made the mistake of glancing his way and getting caught under his gaze with his eyes burning like that, it became impossible for her to operate as a normal person. She had been all giggles and air.

If she's currently looking at him with any ounce of the power his expression had held, no wonder Hunter is fumbling so bad.

"How am I looking at you?" She repeats, snaking her loose arms a little tighter around his waist.

He loves getting his waist hugged.

It is like being back in Camila's house. When Willow knows she's doing something he likes and she keeps experimenting with combinations (e.g. touching his inner forearm and telling him he's really smart at the same time), just to see how flushed his face can get.

It takes him a moment to formulate an answer. The waist hugging certainly isn't helping him find his words any faster. She sees the way his eyes briefly widen as he feels the squeeze around his midsection. His fingers are on her shoulders and they're worrying the material of her shirt.

Hunter's smile is only getting worse. Wider. Wilder. The limitations of facial muscles simply did not correlate with the volume of emotion that Hunter was capable of.

"Like you like me," He says simply, looking both mortified and elated, that huge grin never faltering. He stared fixated on her collarbone, unprepared to look into her eyes again. "You're looking at me like you like me and it's...it's a lot..."

"I'm a lot," Replies Willow breezily.

"I know..." He mumbles.

Another squeeze around the waist. "And I do like you,"

A panicky giggle falls out of him. His eyes are shyly flicking to hers for brief intervals, as though he's adjusting to the intensity. "I know..."

He does adjust. With time, he's making himself perfectly at home under the light of her hopelessly infatuated eyes, while she is likewise learning to exist under his.

He gets his words out too. And he managed to spit them all out with only minimal stammering, even while Willow continued to have the audacity to look at her boyfriend like she likes him.

[goldencuffs]

Hi! Do you have any new Lamen fics planned tho? And if so is it possible for you to give us hints about the plot?

YES I DO!! 🙌✨🎉

just one. maybe two.

but i've written quite a lot of one particular au. it has very cliche stereotypes - jock damen and ballet dancer laurent who are "friends" with benefits. damen is a complete and utter asshole in this. and he makes laurent's life miserable most of the time. laurent is, naturally, in love with damen.

it also features aleron and laurent getting along but with a twist... (aleron is extremely controlling and overprotective and laurent is People Pleaser to his core in this au so he goes along with all of aleron's restrictions).

i want to finish at least half of it (i already have 20k!!!) before i start posting because i don't want people to be waiting forever in between updates (not that that's what i'm known for hahahaha...............)

anyway enough yapping. here's (part) of the first scene hehe ✨

Damen sucked leisurely, like they had all the time in the world, his thumb breaching Laurent. It was dry, but they both knew how much Laurent loved the painful stretch, the initial press. Laurent’s head was vibrating in pleasure. His stomach was clenching and unclenching; he was going to come soon, and then Damen would really lose it, because he liked fucking into Laurent when he was loose and pliant. The buzzing around his head was growing, and Laurent was shaking, completely— “Shit.” Damen pulled away, just at the crest of Laurent’s orgasm. “Nooo,” Laurent groaned. “Damen, please, I’m—” “Wait. Shut up. Shit.” “What?” Laurent propped himself up on his elbows, because he was just starting to realise Damen sounded panicked, not turned on. And there was a buzzing still in his head—wait, no, next to it; Laurent turned, to where Damen’s phone was on the nightstand, and saw Jokaste’s name flash across the screen. He frowned. “Why is she calling you?” Damen snatched the phone, silencing it. “Shit.” “Why is she calling you, Damen?” Damen exhaled sharply. He ran his hands through his hair, and then seemed to remember there wasn’t much of it left, and his hand fell awkwardly in his lap, where his jeans were stretched and tented. “Look,” he said. “I completely forgot… but, uh, Jokaste and I… We got back together last week.” Laurent shot up. “What?” “Look—” “Are you fucking kidding me, Damen?” Laurent snapped. He didn’t know what to focus on: the infuriating expression on Damen’s face, his almost-orgasm, his half-naked state, the fact that Damen was back with his fucking— “What the fuck is wrong with you? How could you forget that? How could you not tell me—and, and, and, you called me over to—” “Jesus, calm down, alright,” Damen shifted on his knees, looking both morose and furious. “If anything, you should take it as a compliment I forgot about her the moment I saw you—” “What is wrong with you? Who the fuck in their right mind would take that as a compliment?” Laurent hands were shaking with—anger, distraught, frustration—as he pulled up his underwear and pants. The worst part was that his treacherous heart was taking it as a compliment. “Why did you even get back together with her? I thought her sleeping with Kastor—your brother, by the way, in case you fucking forgot—was the last straw.” Damen rolled his eyes, and now he was really starting to look annoyed, eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. “That was months ago. And they didn’t sleep together; he just went down on her.” He paused. “Actually, you know what, this works in my favour, since I just went down on you… so it’s kind of like tit for tat. Guilt absolved.” Laurent’s mouth dropped. He stood, whirling on Damen. “Oh my fucking God, Damen. What is wrong with you?” “How many fucking times are you going to ask me that?” “How can you sit there and fucking act like you’ve done nothing wrong?” Laurent cried. “I’ve been fucking twiddling my thumbs, waiting for you, and, and, and last week. You got back with her last week—you couldn’t have told me?” “I deleted your number after she called and—” “Oh my god!” Laurent pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Oh my god. Oh my god. That’s why you’re back early, isn’t it? To see her, before she goes on her retreat?” And here it was: at three-thirty on a Tuesday morning, Damen destroying his entire world and heart with a few simple sentences, in a span of five minutes. This was record-breaking, actually, even for them.

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.23

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

"Can I move?" I asked the professor. The pain has disappeared, and my body feels strangely light and warm, almost as if a heavy burden has been lifted from me.

The professor's smile widens, and he nods gently. "Of course. It is a dangerous operation, but everything went perfectly, and there will be no scarring. However, the wound will be visible for a few more days because I stitched it up instead of just healing it, as complications may still arise, but you should not be restricted in any way."

After listening to him, I lay there for a moment longer. Can I really move after such an operation? But I gather my last bit of trust in people and slowly sit up. To my surprise, however, I don't feel any discomfort. Delighted about being pain-free, I even go so far as to stand up. This time, I don't look like a stick figure only kept intact by magic around its body. Strangely enough, I don't even have muscle problems, even though I've slept for a few days.

As my feet touch the cold ground, I suddenly feel a sharp pain in my head. I think I remember a camp for a second, but it looks strange—darker than it probably should be—and an unfamiliar, battle-hardened man stands alone before me. But he disappears as quickly as he appears.

Shaking my head, I begin to see black spots. I feel myself falling, but suddenly a pair of hands are grasping my arms. With my eyes half open, I can barely see the professor holding me. But my body feels so weak that my head falls into my neck but almost instantly snaps back to its original position as I regain my strength. For only half a second do I remember that I was shortly gone; it happened so quickly that I almost missed it.

Professor Palladium looks at me with concern, but I only shake my head as the dizziness and headache suddenly dissipate. But somehow, I feel like I've forgotten something I shouldn't have forgotten.

Even though he seems suspicious, he nods nonetheless, hands me my clothes, and tells me that someone will be waiting outside the room to bring me to my assigned bedroom, which I will live in for the next few months. I don't ask him what he means because I'm sure someone will explain it later.

Immediately after the professor leaves the room, my eyes wander around. On the side table, on a plate, are two small pillows with two perfectly round balls sitting on them. They look familiar to me, as if I've seen them before. One glows in many different colors, while the other only radiates a light blue. But where have I seen them before? As I try to remember, my feet quickly get cold. Annoyed, I push my worries away to put on my new clothes.

Pulling over my socks first, I let out a relieved sigh. Stepping into my pants, I leave them on the floor and instead grab my shirt. Pulling it over my head, I suddenly hear the door open again. Wondering if I should hide myself, I, in the end, do nothing but stand there. There is no sound. Believing the person has just left after seeing my butt naked, I roll my eyes, further annoyed that nobody has any decency to knock.

With my shirt in place and my hair sticking away in all directions possible, I turn to get my sweater and see a tall young man standing frozen in the open doorway.

“Do you mind?” I ask him, with a meaningfully raised eyebrow. He turns bright red at my suggestion. At least he's not as stupid as I first assumed. Or maybe he interpreted it differently than he should've. Who knows? His face turns bright red; he turns around without saying a word, and instead of leaving or closing the door, he merely blocks the view inside. Maybe I gave him too much credit; he seems to be as idiotic as my first impression suggested.

I quickly put on all my clothes to hide my pride, but I believe I have seen him look over his shoulder once or twice. It doesn't bother me much; it feels almost normal to have someone watching me, almost like it's happened many times before, but I can't remember why.

I shrug my shoulders, getting more annoyed by the second as endless holes appear in my memories. But this is not the right moment to force myself. I gather everything together and, to my surprise, find my successor ring right between the two strange balls. As I put it back on, I feel my heart beating a little faster, pride filling every fiber of my being.

I take the plate and finally turn with both hands full to the guy, Sky, as he calls himself, although that name doesn't suit him with his dark brown hair and warm hazel eyes.

"We can go now," I tell him as I come up right behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he winces, but quickly laughs it off and scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment. But he nods.

He gives me enough room to walk past him; nevertheless, I feel his eyes on the back of my head as I go. Shortly afterward, I hear the door closing behind us and him jogging after me. As he walks alongside me at my pace, he looks down at me, as his height really should be illegal, but he quickly looks back up, and a small smile forms on his lips. Why? I have no idea, but somehow it lifts my spirits too.

We don't speak a single word the whole way to the other side of the building. He leads us straight to the front tower. As I approach it, a shiver runs down my spine, as if the temperature suddenly dropped. There's something about this place that makes me very uneasy.

"Don't you feel uncomfortable being so close to the tower?" I asked Sky from the side. Since I don't see much of a reaction, I turn away again.

"A little," he says suddenly, "but it's not bad; more like sadness, I guess?" Looking at him again, I have a different feeling about him. He might be more reasonable than I thought.

We are already at the door to the tower, but Sky is getting nervous. When I try to talk to him about it, he suddenly opens the door as if something would jump out from inside. But nothing happens, which makes me wonder why he has become so nervous.

He is the first to enter the room, and I follow close behind. Since I don't see anyone else in the large room, I sit down on one of the four beds, which are loosely separated by half-walls and look like they were made hastily.

“Where are all the others?“

"After your fights with the specialists and Stella, our teachers decided to turn this into a regular training camp," he tells me. Changing the subject completely. "Both schools want you to join them after you showed your talent." A small blush grows on my cheeks at the compliment: "But honestly, where did you learn to fight like your life was at stake?"

I look at him with wide eyes, not understanding his questions. The only fight I remember was before I fell unconscious, so what could he mean? Especially since the Red Fountain Academy, is for specialists and, as far as I know, I can only use my fairy magic.

Sky seems oddly assertive about it, but I can't answer him, so we only stare at each other for some time while he leans against a desk that's quite high, probably for him, since he's the tallest person I've seen there.

After a few moments, I have to break eye contact because I'm getting uncomfortable. Instead, I avert my gaze; they land on the other two beds that are impossible to miss, and I turn back to Sky to ask him about our roommates. But at that very moment, the room door opens. My eyes jump over immediately, but all the blood drains from my face when I see the two boys stumbling in. They laugh and shove each other slightly, only to look into the room and see me. Their faces twist, but instead of disgust, there is something else that almost looks like remorse.

My gaze darts back to Sky, searching for an answer to my unspoken question. But he only looks away, ashamed. With my mouth open, I jump back to my feet and look from Sky to the other two. No matter how many times I do this, I don't get an answer, nor does this feeling of betrayal growing inside me go away.

"You can't be serious!" I yell without hesitation. My fists are clenched and pressed at my sides. I want to bury them like they deserve. But Brandon and Riven look shocked, as if they can't believe my outburst. How ridiculous. "You're forcing us all to share a room when you know they tortured me? Sky, you saw it yourself! So why would you betray me like that?"

The brown-haired giant couldn't look me in the eye and instead turned away from me completely. His behavior forces me to turn to the other two, who look even more shocked. Their attempt to feign innocence disgusts me so much that I can't stand it anymore. I give Sky one last look of pure anger before storming between Brandon and Riven, shoving them out of the way with my shoulders.

When I get to the door, I rip it open, wanting to say more and humiliate them further, but I bite my tongue and slam the door behind me instead. The next moment, I hear their voices behind the closed door, but I ignore their words and walk away.

Even though I have no idea where to go, I wander around until I end up back in the round front foyer, with a large mosaic on the floor and a dome-shaped ceiling. I saw nothing of this when I first entered the building. I can only assume that since the building now has extensive magic, it probably changes its appearance according to its wishes.

What really catches my attention are the doors, or rather, what is beyond them. Through the open doors, I see a group of specialists in training battles, but behind them are hundreds and hundreds of meters of stone walls throughout the forest region. I completely forgot about the fight with Stella and the things I had to pull out to avoid losing within the first ten seconds.

Groaning, my body slumps a little. It feels like a walk of shame as I step outside. The sun shines on me, warming my miserable heart just enough to keep my emotions from erupting. Outside, I step on a stone path. I'm pretty sure the area around the house looks different than it did when we arrived, which reinforces my belief that the building is changing things.

Still close enough to the building, I lean against it and pretend to watch the specialists fight, but in reality, I place my hand on the building behind me. Almost immediately, I hear a happy voice ring through my head. I can't suppress a small smile as I hear the pure joy in the voice.

It babbles about all the improvements it can make since I have combined my magic with the building's core. I've never heard anyone thank me so much in my life. It tells me at length about the stone paths it built, from the school building to the training ground to the paths to the other schools it renovated.

Before I can even ask about the stone platform occupying the middle of the once-open field where the specialists are currently training, the building is already talking about it. It mentions that the guys wished for something like this because the platform I fought Stella on was heavily damaged.

I would be lying if I said it didn't hurt to hear that I damaged something this old. Even though the old training ground was already in pretty bad shape, it was more than unnecessary for me to destroy it. When the House mentioned the unnecessary destruction of a large part of the territory that it controls, I could only hang my head in shame.

I silently apologize to the building, but thank it for the information. It also thanks me for sharing my magic with it, so I push myself off the wall and break our connection.

With slow steps, I walk across the large vacant space with fresh, healthy grass beneath my feet and wander straight to the specialists' training point, where two guys, probably second-years, are showing the first-years how to do mock combat. Although no one looks new to combat, it is still a beautiful sight, especially in their skin-tight tracksuits.

Never in my life have I found it so difficult not to look below a man's belt. Despite my attempts, I can't prevent the odd glance at the small and large mountains hugged by their tracksuits. I can imagine myself touching their flawless backsides. It's simply cruel of them to show off those mountains so blatantly.

Shaking my head, I once again try to avert my eyes. These tracksuits should be banned. Honestly? I've never seen a troop train like that. And if my guards did something similar, I'd punish them with five times as much training.

[Masterlist]

[prettypei]

plot: kaeya's eyes are like stars, but maybe stars were meant to be looked at from a distance; angst!

reader: Gn! reader

warnings: hurt w/o comfort, major kaeya lore spoilers!!, use of dialogue in Dangerously Yours, death, reader is an orphan and a knight in this, kaeya betrays us

a/n: I just keep hearing those Dangerously Yours tiktok audios on replay and they make me wanna fall in love so I wrote this about my man

KAEYA ALBERICH did not want to go. But, duty called, and he had work to do, but... he had left too many memories here, especially with you. You, who was the new light of his life, his new guidance, his new... everything. You were his new moral compass, ever since his own brother thought of him as a traitor. You, who came into his life on one fateful night in Angel's Share, and he had been swept off feet by your charming smile and natural personality, and the both of you had talked the night away, about life, about the stars, about how... maybe the alcohol had gotten to his brain that night, but he confessed to you about his complicated relationship with his brother. Of course, he knows better. Trauma dumping on a stranger? He was afraid that he scared you off for good, and that his venting would make you uncomfortable, but at the moment it felt right, since you were opening up about your dead parents. But to his surprise, you listened. And you were there for him. Kaeya is still confused about why, but you keep on insisting that "it was because you're a friend, silly". Such a foolish reason, was it not? From that night on, the two of you became friends. Perhaps friends was the wrong word to describe the bond between you two, since it didn't quite feel like it. He felt that there was something more to the way you laughed whenever he told you his misadventures during his job, or the way you looked at him like he was the brightest star in the sky. Maybe he was a star, a star shining brightly like no other, because you, only you made him feel that way. But it was not the time for sentiment, nor memories. He just had to leave quietly...

"Not again..." He was startled when he heard a voice behind him, but was relieved to see that it was only you. "Hey." He chuckles when he approaches you. "So you're the one who's been sneaking out every night?" You smile as you shake your head. "What are you even doing anyways?" "Haha..." He pauses for a second. "(name), I might not be coming back for a while." "Huh?" You give him a confused look. "What do you mean?" "I'll be leaving Mondstadt for a while, tell Jean for me okay?" "Wait but why?" "I'll explain when I get back, promise." "Wait, no!" He attempts to speed off in the middle of the night, but you grab him by the wrist, jerking him back, causing pamphlets to fall out of his book bag. "What..." You bend down to examine the letters and papers, before looking up at him with a pale face.

"I-It was you? You're the traitor...?"

He knew his world was shattered at that moment.

"Give those back." Kaeya's voice is ice-cold now, sending shivers down your back as your hands tremble while holding the documents. "No... what- this isn't real! Why aren't you denying this? Y-You're not a traitor!" You're shrieking as you pull him by the wrists before he shoves you on the floor with such intensity that it makes you shudder. "Don't... ask. I'm leaving now." "So... you don't love me anymore? Our memories mean nothing to you?" You whisper with a choked breath. He stops trudging forward only then, to reply to you. "You may as well take my heart (name), it's already full of you." "Then why... why would you do this?!" You choke as you get up. "I've known you for two months... and you pull this shit on me!" "Oh no, I've known you all my life." He turns around, and only then do you see his once starry eyes start forming tears. "When I heard beautiful music I thought they'd like that, and I looked at flowers knowing that one day I'd give them to you." "Oh, stop, stop." You wail, bawling as he confesses. "But in my heart there is another love that must come before you... my country." He says this last part quietly, as if it hurt himself as much as it hurt you. "No, no please-" You sounded so desperate, begging pathetically as you tried to grab for him. "No, Kaeya, we can talk about this, you don't have to-" "You wouldn't get it, (name)." He looks at you with those, those once dreamy and wonderful eyes, causing you to sob. "I'm sorry."

Sorry? As if sorry could undo the damage that Kaeya Alberich had done to you, as if one tiny sorry could erase the burning hot passion that your heart held for him, as if one sorry could wipe away the silhouette of him that ventured out into the dark, dark night.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Tactus Mortis | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | La luz està en⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The stars hung in the night sky as if strung in the air by invisible strings. It was peaceful, with the occasional sound of crickets in the background as you walked away from

As soon as dinner was over, you immediately rushed away, unable to handle the congratulations from the many Madrigals.

Though Alma made great points as to why it should be you in charge of the ceremony, you couldn't help the small clouds of doubt that snuck into your head, telling you otherwise.

"Well, no use of stressing myself out over it. What's done is done," you told yourself, wrapping your cloak tighter around your figure.

As you walked down the dirt path to your home, the sight of a small candle flickering in the windowsill brought a smile to your face; it meant that your father was home.

You haven't seen him in a while—four months, to be exact. Your father was often away, traveling beyond the giant walls that sheltered the enchanted city from outside civilizations to trade.

Sometimes, his expeditions would last far longer than four months, so he must have decided to come back sooner rather than linger out there in the world.

With a quickened pace, you soon found yourself standing before the wooden door. Opening it, you were met with your father sitting in a chair near the crackling fireplace, staring down at something in his lap while your mother sat across from him, gently bouncing a small bundle in her arms.

At the sound of your entrance, your father looked up, a tired look on his face.

The second you blink, your mother is gone. Shaking your head, you turned to smile at your father. "Pápa, you're home."

Your father said nothing, only returning a small smile of his own before standing up to give you a hug.

As you reached your arms around him, you were able to catch a glimpse of the photograph that once held his attention before your arrival: it was a picture of your smiling mother.

"How have you been, muñequita? I haven't seen you in a while." Your father asked, pressing a loving kiss onto your forehead before releasing you to walk back over to the chair.

Following him, you set yourself down on the floor at his feet instead of the chair across from him.

"I've been okay, Pápa. The Madrigals have kept me company and well in your absence. How about you?" You stared up at him with a questioning stare, taking in his disheveled form.

"I've been great, muñequita," he responded, sending you a smile that never reached his eyes.

You wanted to argue against his answer; he looked far from great, with dark bags hanging underneath his eyes and sunken cheeks that showcased his cheekbones, but you held your tongue.

The next few moments were spent in peace as your father and you caught up with one another, the crackling of the fireplace adding to the calm atmosphere.

"So a little birdie told me that you'll have a leading role in this year's Día de Muertos. Is it true?"

You know that he knew that it was true; he just wanted to hear you admit it. "Yes, Pápa. Doña Alma made the announcement at dinner. Apparently, she thought it would be best if I'd taken control and hosted this year's ceremony because of my gift."

After listening to you give the explanation, your father held a hand to his chest, letting an exaggerated sigh leave his body. "Ah, to think, you'll be in charge of such an important event. My little girl has grown up so fast."

You suppressed an action eye roll at his dramatics: "Pápa, it's not that big of a deal."

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just so happy for you, Muñequita. I can't wait to see what you have in store. I'm sure you'll blow us all away," he said, standing up before giving your hair a small ruffle. "Well, I'm off to bed. Goodnight, muñequita."

"Pápa," you whined, moving away from his hands to pat down the now-messy strands.

He gave one more chuckle before walking away. Just as he exited the living room, he sent you one last look over his shoulder. "Your mother would be very proud of how far you've come, Y/N."

You felt a smile grow on your lips at the sincere look on your father's face as he told you this. "Goodnight, Pápa."

As soon as he was gone, you turned to watch the fireplace, knees folded to your chest.

"You know, your father's right. I am proud of you." Your head swiveled over to stare at your mother, who sat in a rocking chair, gently bouncing the small bundle held against her chest. "You've come so far."

"Thank you, Mamá," you said with a smile to the spirit.

Two years after being blessed with your gift, tragedy struck your family. Your mother, Jovena, died while prematurely giving birth to your younger brother, Arlo. Everyone in Encanto mourned for your family's losses.

A mother, wife, and granddaughter were taken from this world, and a life was taken before it had the chance to live.

Your great-grandmother was so distraught by their deaths that she died a few months later, at the ripe age of 89, due to grief.

Your small family had been shattered since their deaths, leaving only you and your father to try and piece it back together.

Ten years later, your father seemed to still be mourning your mother.

Despite having died, your mother still crosses the realms to watch over your father, with your great-grandmother, Francisca, coming to chat now and then. You even got visits from your paternal grandmother, Alejandra.

You were left baffled as to why your mother and paternal grandmothers were the only ones to cross over and visit, and not your maternal grandmother, Beatriz.

She soon revealed that those of the Muertez lineage did not pass into the same realm as others after their deaths; instead, they were sent to a grey zone to work as helpers for the goddess of death, assisting lost souls to the afterlife as well as serving as guides for the gifted Muertezs in the living realm.

However, since the genocide of the Muertez line left you as the last one, you were assigned your mother as your guide. In the past decade, your mother has taught you a lot about your gift and what it entails.

She spoke of how each and every power gifted to the women of the Muertez line was as unique and different as a snowflake; yours was the only one that was a repeat of one from before.

Apparently, yours was a sort of anniversary gift, depicting the first-ever gift Santa Muerte had bestowed upon your family.

Getting up, your mother walked over to your seated form, crouching until you were facing one another. "My child..." she sighed, gently cupping the side of your face and sending chills down your spine at the coldness that followed.

As she did this, you couldn't help but peek at the bundle in her arm; a wide pair of eyes stared right back at you, and the spirited baby's mouth pulled up into a gummy smile.

Whenever you saw Arlo's face, you felt your heart clench within your chest. Seeing him made you feel as if you were cheated by a little brother that could have been with you at this very moment, a little brother that would sleep in your arms as you sang the songs your mother sang to you as a child, but you couldn't because he wasn't truly here.

Sending Arlo a smile back, you look up into the face of your mother. "I love you, Mamá." As you spoke, the bottom of your lip trembled, your eyes misting with unshed tears. "I love you, Arlo. Goodnight."

Your mother sent a smile of your own back. "Goodnight, my child." And with that, she dispersed back to the other side with your brother in hand.

Standing up, you wiped away your tears and went to bed, preparing yourself for a new day.

A/N: Okay, let me just start off and say, I AM SO SORRY! I've been stuck so hard on writer's block and thought of lowkey scraping the whole book, but instead of doing that, I just went to write on other books, and it helped me get motivated. So once again, sorry for making you all wait for so long!

Also, I know that the chapter isn't so action-packed, but I just wanted to tie up loose ends once again. Yeah, sorry about killing off the mama and great-grandma. And your 'could have been' little brother, but oh well, I love the angst.

See you all at the next update!

[antimonyandthyme]

The doors open, and a person steps into the confession booth. Sebastian stays silent for a moment, the smell of gun oil and gas familiar to him, and before he can initiate the sacrament - in the name of the father and the son and the holy spirit again and again and again - the other person speaks first.

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

Sebastian closes his eyes. He keeps silent.

"My last confession was - fuck, I don't know. At least a month ago. When I tested the new fighter pilot, that was - Thursday, twenty-seven days ago." Sebastian smiles, because of course that's how Max would remember it. Of course it would be in connection to his flying. Of course.

"Since then, I've, fuck. I've blasphemed, uh, a lot, as you can see. Hear," he amends, and Sebastian bites his lip, "and I've, uh, had some pre-marital sex. I guess blowjob counts as sex, right? Yeah, a, uh, a girl blew me." Sebastian hears him shuffle, and guesses that he's shrugged. "It was nice. Wet, but - nice. She was cool." There is an intake of breath, and then a soft curse, and Max falls silent.

Sebastian waits. There is nothing else to do. He doesn't dare speak; he's too - it's too much.

"I guess - none of that shit matters. It's all - you'll just tell me to pray, and I'll try, but -" he huffs, irritated, and Aeb knows the face he's making, he can imagine it perfectly "- I don't think it matters, so it doesn't count, right? Fuck, the only - the only thing that counts is what - I don't know how to - fuck!" Max half-yells, and Sebastian can hear him perfectly, even through the furious beating of his heart in his ears.

"I'm in love with someone I shouldn't be in love with," Max says quickly, irritated, and Sebastian would bet he's squezzing his eyes shut, like he's trying to hide himself from the truth. "And he - it's a he, which is already shitty, because you don't - you don't condone that shit." He scoffs. "You suck for that, by the way." Seb bites back a laugh; bites himself so he almost draws blood, so that he doesn't speak and - and ruins Max's confession.

"The problem is - he's - he's fucking - smart, and good. He cares about the environment - he ranted about fighter jet pollution to me once for twenty fucking minutes," Max says, smile in his voice. "And he's - he's kind." He lowers his voice. "He's kind to me. Not many people are."

Sebastian clenches his fists. He starts praying; instinctively, desperately, silently.

"And he - I can't ever tell him, because, he's - fuck, I can't even say it." Sebastian hears him suck in a breath. "He's a fucking priest."

Sebastian lets out a harsh breath. Max doesn't seem to hear it, speaking on, the dam broken.

"He's fucking everything, you know. He was going to be an engineer, or a pilot before that. Flew the jets, even, before - before. He told me that once. He knows stuff about jets, and he has all these ideas about what - about ethics and shit, and he laughs like he's free, and he - he listens to me when I talk, and he - he listens like he actually cares. And that's - and I can't ever tell him, because he's a guy, and he's a fucking priest, and I'm in love with him, and he'd never forgive me that. Nobody ever forgives me anything, fuck, your God sure as fuck won't forgive me this, and I - I can't, and I won't, because I can't live in a world where he - where he doesn't want to see me, or talk to me, or forgive me."

Max breathes harshly, like he ran for miles, or like he had been drowning and was now finally breathing again. It's the only sound in the confession booth. It's the only sound, aside feom Seb's own heart, irregular and fast, too fast, fighter-jet fast. He remembers how that felt, still. He hasn't forgotten.

The silence lasts - a moment; an eternity.

Sebastian forces his voice not to shake as he adopts a lower, softer register.

"I think our - I think he may forgive you, Max."

Max's heavy breathing stops.

"I think," Seb says, and he breaks, his voice breaks, deapite his best efforts, "he wouldn't think there was anything to forgive."

-- hope you enjoy this Athy :) all the love, sq101

Anon I’m quite possibly about to lose my mind. Like. I’m going to lose my entire mind, I’m gonna start crying, and walking around in circles, and knocking over furniture, and gnawing a hole through the wall and—

Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness gracious me (in George’s voice). When I said who will write me this I didn’t expect you to show up with this stunner of a fic I’m gobsmacked I’m at a loss for words. It’s beautiful.

I think—his voice breaks—he wouldn’t think there was anything to forgive. Oh my suns, oh my. Oh my. Seb granting him absolution? Oh my suns I’ve gone weak in the knees.

Anon I might be in love with you?? I will be thinking about this for the rest of the day/night/week?? I will get no sleep??

[thotsforvillainrights]

congrats on the pregnancy!!! 🥳💕 any ideas for baby names yet?

also, if your title is right and requests are open, could i request some protective redestro headcanons or a scenario/imagine? like his s/o or a teammate/other family member gets hurt during a mass fight or threatened by another group? (bonus if he gets all monstrous)

thats the good shit i cant stop thinking about 😩

(Thank you! Unfortunately 10 million names for a girl and about 5 for a boy. Luckily my husband has stepped in with his list so we can do a formal comparison eventually!)

(And thank you for the Des content request since he's been on my mind heavy lately!)

~A Different Person~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

"A different person" is the right way to describe the situation at hand. The man standing in front of you was not the man you thought he was...

It probably started about a month ago when you overheard his conversation on the phone with a rising rival group trying to usurp the Liberation army and bring a bad name to Destro's legacy. Of course you weren't worried about it. The stronghold of the MLA could withstand any little group. Trumpet's magnificent hold on the people of Deika, Chitose's bold ability to clear the path in front of her, Geten's sheer determination and will power, Skeptic's advanced technology and his calculated use of meta ability...no one would could come close to shaking them up. So you shrugged and went about your day as though nothing was wrong. However, as the days went on, you grew more and more concerned with the air around you. It always felt as through you were being followed and this time not by Skeptic's usual surveillance. No, there was something more sinister at play.

After weeks of feeling odd, the day you finally went to announce your concerns was the exact day this rival group decided to strike. While Everyone was else was busy making quick work of the members around them, you were unfortunately on your own. Although it only lasted long enough for you to get a small gash on your arm, it was still the most uncomfortable 5 minutes of your life. The minute the other group attacked, Rikiya had set out to find you on his own. Much to the other's dismay of him leaving Detnerat himself, he ventured out and didn't take long to find you.

Oh but we he found you and saw that gash, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen this man angry in all of the time you've spent together. Even more so, this was the first time you'd seen his meta ability in action and also the first time you'd seen blood on his hands as well. And it was that very same blood stained hand that lowered itself in front of you. You hesitate for a moment before stepping onto the palm and grabbing hold of his thumb. You didn't let go of the large appendage until he made it back to Detnerat. He carefully lowered his hand and waited for you step off before shrinking back down to size. It seemed impossible to make eye contact with you in the moment. It truly shocked him when you pulled him into a tight hug before uttering a shaky 'What the fuck?'

Out came a long winded explanation and solid apologies strung out for nearly 20 minutes it would feel like. "I hid myself from you because I'm well aware a meta ability like this isn't exactly the most desirable in a partner." You sighed and shook your head. "So you mean to tell me that you spent all this time hiding yourself from me because you were scared of running me away?" He stares flatly before raising his hand up and showing it to you you again. "Is this not something that terrifies you?" He asks, gesturing at the blood covered palm. "This meta ability has killed..."

"And it's that same meta ability that has protected me today and who knows how many other times without me even knowing! It's not like I'll cower away from you now, silly. I've fallen in too deep at this point and besides." You smile and close the space between you two as you pull him into another hug. "It's no more scarier than Tomoyasu's puppet ability. Scared the crap out of me 2 weeks ago when he turned one of the filing cabinets without me knowing." Rikiya chuckled lightly and reciprocated the hug. "Let's get you to a hospital. I'm absolutely unhappy with the size of that gash right now." His voice muffled in your hair. You laugh quietly.

"Can you turn really huge again? I kind of like riding in your hand. It's like a carnival without ticket costs."

"Hmmm, perhaps another time. Hopefully for now..." He pauses and lifts you into his arms. "maybe this will suffice?"

You smile and nod.

[simplydnp]

illness discussion (just a heads-up)

there's a lot more of you here than there was when this all started happening so the long and short of it is: i've had constant nerve pain all over my body for the last 4 months now. no cause. no trigger. no clue what's going on.

there's a lot of symptoms but it all really boils down to my inability to think/recall 'normally', extreme fatigue, and constant pain.

it's a pain day, today. nothing i do makes it better or worse (that's an everyday thing); it just is.

i've started taking moments on these days to remember what i'm grateful for. i'm lucky--really. i live in a country with free healthcare, and i've got a job with benefits despite being on leave, and my family is able to take care of me. i am able to take the time i need to recover. i'm young. healthy (barring this whole thing). and safe.

it doesn't make this any easier. nothing does--it just hurts all the time. there are less days where it feels like i'm dying. mostly because my body is used to it by now. it can't feel like i'm dying because that's what it felt like yesterday. and the day before. and the day before that. and the-

i wouldn't wish this nerve pain on anyone. has your leg ever fallen asleep while sitting? and there's this painful, tingly static that spreads if you try to move it too soon? this. is nothing like that. this is deeper. it feels like it's at the centre of my being. livewires. burning so hot it feels cold sometimes. sapping away at my life force. a constant reminder that our body runs on electricity. it feels like every inch of my body is shaking all of the time. but it isnt. instead, it just wants to curl in on itself. every limb tucked up close to my body as if i can shield myself from the pain. as if the fetal position can stop it all. it can't. it doesn't do anything but satisfy the human instinct in me to withdraw from the stimulus. it still hurts.

i've been playing the waiting game for almost four months. and i will continue to play it.

any of you here bring me joy. it doesn't turn my brain off to engage here, it turns it on. dulls everything else. so i thank you for that. genuinely. this community has helped in too many ways to count.

[bmwiid]

Being a fairy godmother wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There are thousands of babies who grow up and need something or other turned into a carriage or need to turn some overzealous suitor turned into a frog and honestly you are run ragged.

"Third one today," Gladsome sighed, leaning up against the wall, using it to keep her upright. "Honestly, if I have to conjure another french seam I'll turn myself into a pumpkin. No one ever asks for a nice two piece. I miss togas."

"Ball season." You shrug. It's not even prime time - which takes place between the hours of 'right before the balls start' and 'fashionably late' and it's been hectic. "I've had two froggings and a karma clause. Least it's something different." You look at your notes. "And next I've got a valuable life lesson."

Gladsome looks over her glittering glasses and quirks an eyebrow. "Swap?"

You've been godmothering for a long time and scoff. "If you want a life lesson as a swap then whatever you've got is a nightmare in tulle."

"It's another ball." She groans. "Honestly, just a ball! I wasn't kidding - these dresses drive me mad. Do you know how many magically different and showstopping dresses I've had to make this month? Thirty Seven! Five of them are going to the same damn ball!" She vents, glitter shaking off her wings as they quiver. "I had to invent three new Dukes and a Viscount just to make it work."

You both laugh, but mostly out of joined understanding and frustration. It's an easier job than Genie-ing, but you remember how long you'd spent begging for the opportunity to don the wings.

"Tell you what," you sigh. "Just this once, I'll swap. BUT," you interrupt the now bouncing best bud you have in the industry. "BUT, you take the life lesson and my next frogging."

"DEAL!" Gladsome sequels, taking the notes out of your hand. Froggings were quick but the paperwork was always a nightmare.

"Here is mine," she says, passing over a fairly small note. "She's 17 and lives with her stepmother and four step-sisters." She rolls her eyes and does a little hand wave. "Honestly, the lack of imagination hurts my soul. One of these days I'm going to tell them to bippity bop the fuck off."

-

The house is exactly what you expect. Large and a little decrepit. They tend to be like this. You arrive just as the 2nd hand carriage leaves, full of giggling girls in godawful glitter.

It doesn't take you long to locate your god-daughter for the night. She's sitting outside, looking up at the stars. You hang back a moment - waiting for the wish - but she just carries on looking up. Ah well, narrative be damned - you're on a time crunch.

You are one of the best in the business at gentle reveals. The fireflies start swirling and the crickets get with the program, turning from their nightly chorus to an actual chorus, and it's perfect. After nearly 200 years, it should be.

By the time you swirl into sight, the girl is on her feet - mouth agape. She's pretty, very pretty, which doesn't really make a difference to magic but it sure helps. Her hair is a lovely deep auburn, and eyes are glittering green. Perfect - you've gotten bored with blondes.

"Hello, my darling," you sigh, voice tinged with understanding and the exact amount of 'I am caring' and 'I'm here to help'. "My name is Gleeful, and I'm-"

"A fairy godmother!" She gasps, and her voice is lovely - just the right mix of melody and softness Princes tend to go gaga over.

"Thats right, my dear." You say, before your feet touch the ground with a little puff of glitter. "I'm here to answer your wish." You announce.

Her eyes widen, lovely lashes. This'll be a cakewalk. The only thing you might struggle with is the carriage because it's a little to early for pumpkins. "You... you can do that?" she whispers, and you nod gently, a little smile to show nothing is beyond your talents. "Oh my goodness!" she sighs, looking down at her ragged dress.

"All you have to do it make the wish." You say, holding out your hand.

She nods, before taking a deep breath.

And makes her wish.

[ghost-in-the-corner]

"Master Bruce, is everything alright?" Alfred asked as he set down a steaming mug on a coaster.

"Hn." Bruce barely responded, not taking his eyes away from the screen.

Alfred followed his eyes to the news article currently taking over the Batcomputer. "Ah. Did your Variety interview not go well?"

Bruce sighed. "It's not that it didn't go well, Alfred. I got asked that question again."

"Again?" Alfred furrowed his eyebrows. "That must be the third time this month."

"Fourth, actually. Jason texted me only a couple minutes after this was posted to update the tally."

Alfred hummed, staring at the words written in bold. "Hm. Well it seems you need to find a way to put an end to this."

Bruce finally looked at him, picking the mug up and blowing on it. "How would you suggest I do that?"

"Have you considered giving Clark a call?"

~~~

"No fucking way, Bruce." Tim crossed his arms, glaring up at him. "You did not call a press conference just for this."

Bruce adjusted his deep red tie in the mirror, pointedly looking away from his son. "I had no other choice. People wouldn't stop asking me about it, and it may compromise my identity. I need to lay this to rest once and for all."

Tim stared at him incredulously. "It's not that serious."

"Except it is."

"Bruce. I need you to listen to me carefully." Tim clapped his hands, and Bruce finally looked at him. "You asked your best friend in the world to fly to Gotham and dress up as Batman just so you, in your civies, could walk up on a stage in front of dozens of reporters and compare your asses?"

"The people of Gotham need to believe that the butts don't match, Tim. Because if they ever find out that they do, then everything I've done for the past 22 years means nothing." Bruce adjusted his cufflinks before heading over to the door. Tim grumbled and followed him out.

Sure enough, the room was packed with reporters and even some civilians. Bruce was certain they were more people outside. This joke had been the talk of Gotham for months, now. Everyone had an opinion on it. He'd been getting asked about Batman's butt in every interview for the past 3 months.

It was past time to end this.

Tim stopped at the staircase as Bruce walked on stage and to the podium. He tapped the mic set up in the center, gathering all the attention in the room on him. The crowd fell silent, the only noises being a few camera shutters.

"Good afternoon, Gotham. As I'm sure you've all heard, in recent months, there have been many comparisons between my own back end and that of Batman, with the argument that it proves he and I are one in the same. I'm here today to lay that rumor to rest." He explained with his best Brucie smile. "Before we begin, I'd like to take the time to highlight my upcoming fundraiser for the American Cancer Association."

He took a moment to explain the event, clearly boring the audience exactly as he'd intended. There'd be no room for argument after this.

"Now, without further adieu, please welcome Batman to the stage!"

Clark jumped in through an open skylight, absolutely dazzling the crowd. There were cheers, camera flashes, and quickly shouted questions. Clark ignored them all, clearly pouring all of his energy into recreating Batman's signature stoic look.

Bruce approached him as he stood, reaching his hand out to shake.

"Thanks for doing this." Bruce whispered, trying to pour as much relief into that statement as he could.

"You owe me for this." Clark replied. He let go, nodding at the audience as he turned to face the back wall.

"Tim, could you come here and hold Batman's cape?" Bruce called.

Suddenly, all the attention was on his disgusted son. Tim grumbled, smashing on his best PR face as he strode up the steps and over to Clark.

Bruce quickly returned to the podium as Tim gathered up Clark's cape. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for." He smiled before standing next to Clark, facing the wall.

Tim lifted up the cape.

The first few seconds, there was a rush of noise. Cheers, camera, scribbling.

Then it got quiet. Really, oddly quiet. Bruce was tempted to turn around, but he wanted the crowd to see this for as long as possible; the butts did not match.

Finally, there was a yell from the middle of the room.

"Well, no wonder he hides that behind a cape."

[davy-zeppeli]

I am constantly dealing with the fact that I am always the problem in so many situations. My most recent situation is still Dan. Shock. But it's still eating away at me constantly and I'm tired, man.

When you sleep with someone, it's always safe to not try take it to heart or make or deep, but it's hard not to when you sleep together multiple times, and then recently when you sleep together again (properly) after almost 4 months it ends with you cuddling and sleeping in eachother's arms being all domestic. It's hard to not think there's more there when he kisses your head when he thinks your asleep. It's hard to not think there's more there when after you kissed for the first time in months, he constantly held you and scratched your head. It's hard to not think there's more when he constantly holds your hand in and around these situations.

And the above is exactly why I'm fucking tired man. I keep expecting more, I keep knowing that more is possible, but it's been so long that I just know it's not going to work out. I can feel it so fucking strongly. There'll be days where we're close, but nothing happens. There'll be days where we're just business as usual. But then there's the days I've spoken about above - days of tenderness and honestly what can only be described as some form of genuine love. The only issue is that the care and love is never acknowledged or declared properly, and that's why I'm miserable about it. I'm essentially waiting around for an offer that I'm not even sure is concrete because of how hit and miss the moments are.

He's my best friend. He's said I'm his - and that's another reason this fucking sucks. I want to say something, I want to ask for clarification as to if we're just friends with benefits, but I will always run the risk of fucking things up. I can't afford to lose him as a friend because at the moment he's really all I've got - he's probably the one thing preventing me from doing something drastic, in all honesty. I just so desperately want to know what friends with benefits act the way we do. When everyone we work with can see it and make comments to me about it (and him at times as well) it's usually a sign there's been a 'mission failed successfully' somewhere along the way. But then again, this raises the question of "do I even know what a friends with benefits situationship looks like?". Do they cuddle after a long day sometimes? Probably. Do they make out on his living room floor after laughing and laughing at silly jokes and comments? Also probably. Do they plant little kisses on you when they think you aren't aware and won't notice? That, I'm not so sure about. The only benefit there is to... well, I'm not even sure.

I just want him to tell me if this is going anywhere. I'm very transparent - I am always 24/7 clearly into him. He knows this, and if there's any way he doesn't know this, I'd be absolutely baffled. I have been waiting and waiting and waiting for something, anything, for 6 months at this point, and what I've got has made me more uncertain than before.

I know that inherently I just want to be loved and I want to have someone I can love - I just can't shake the feeling now that I'm never going to get what I want, and I'm going to have to watch it be taken away from me over and over again.

[literaila]

in the end 

matt murdock x reader 

summary: guilt builds as steadily as walls. as time goes on, you try to tear matt’s down. 

warnings: season three matt, out of context, angst, mentions of death, etc. 

a/n: i expect nothing less of myself at three am. apologies. 

*

"i can't do this," he says and it's an admission all in itself. 

he's three feet away from you, so close that if you just tried to reach out, you might touch him. 

but your hands are stuck in the air, cradling some secret you haven't yet managed to get out. 

"matt," you say, and dare yourself to take a step closer. 

his eyes are fogged over, his face is worn. 

"i won't do this to you," he revises. he scoffs like you don't understand. "look at how far it's already-" 

"none of that is your fault." 

he laughs, a cruel, bitter sound echoes through the room. 

a room you had once shared with him. 

your fists clench at your sides. "it's not," you insist. "you can't control the other people's actions, matt, and you can't take responsibility for what they've done." 

he nods, takes a step back. "i take responsibility for you." 

you swallow, air, a million different explanations. "i didn't ask you to do that." 

"isn't that what we promised?" he breathes in, a morose shake of his head. "to be there if something went wrong? to protect each other-" 

"leaving won't change any of this," you hiss at him, trying to touch him. 

but he's already bruised. he moves away from your hands. 

from the warmth, he used to seek. 

"i'm not leaving." 

this time, you laugh. "no," you say. "not hells kitchen. just me, right?" 

"i'm not leaving," he repeats, and it's a solum swear to lie again. 

to tell you so many beautiful things and then rip through them with bittersweet fingers. nails that are sharper than expected. 

matthew has a venomous bite, a poisonous kind of love. 

"what is this then, matt?" you shake your head, body shaking with a special kind of indignation. "protection? love?" 

"i'm trying to do the right thing," he clears his throat, shakes his head a million times. 

you can see his eyes, can feel him, contemplating the same thing you are. 

questioning his judgment, but never getting past the wall of guilt. 

"what happened?" you almost whisper, asking so softly that the words feel foreign in your mouth. 

matt continues to shake his head. 

"what happened, matt?" you say, a bit louder. "you've been gone for months and then you come here-" 

"i'm sorry-" 

"and you tell me that you're just leaving again. that you have to go-" 

"i shouldn't have come." 

"-but you can't walk out the door. what happened? whatever it is, you can tell me," you insist, pushing against his wall, threatening to break down his boundaries. "i want to help."

matt pushes you away with something very close to violence. 

with shattered, unbothered eyes and a gentle force. 

he pushes you away and slams a door in your face. 

you try to blink away the pain--try and try again--but your eyes have begun to blur, and your hands feel stiff at your sides. 

"no," matt says, voice hard. "you're not getting involved." 

you scoff. "i'm already involved." 

he shakes his head again. "not anymore." 

"you think breaking up with me will push me away?" you ask him, but it's not a question. 

not rhetorical. not stagnant. 

matt winces at the words anyway. leans his head back. 

"i've been waiting for months, matt," you say, waiting for understanding, for a soft smile, for a second of laughter, a moment of hesitation. you find none. "i've lived in this apartment and i've waited for you to come home. that's not going to stop just because you're afraid." 

matt opens his mouth, jaw tense, obtrusive. "that's not-" he says. "i've hurt you enough," he whispers like it's a finality. "you don't deserve this." 

"neither do you, matt!" 

but he laughs. he rubs a hand against his face and laughs. 

he pushes you away with so many different expressions and uses his hands to build mountains between the two of you. 

he laughs and doesn't say a thing. 

"you're not going to push me away," you say, in between it all. 

and then you step forward. 

you move to place your hands against his face, to feel him, closer than you have in months. 

to hold him until he's been rendered defenseless. 

but matt knows you, and you're sure, he's just afraid of being burned again. 

"stop it," his voice wavers as he moves away, hands shaking, desperate to lean forward. "just stop it." 

the words are a blow to your chest. 

"you can't do this," you tell him, not quite sure what you mean. "you're going to die doing this alone-" 

he shakes his head, swallows a million different answers. 

his face is frozen, stuck on one particular thing. 

and then it goes blank. 

you watch as his eyes, as any type of desperation, any tension his body had been holding--every single thing that helped recognize him--fades. 

"this is what i was meant to do." 

the words are like a prayer. 

a plead for something else. for more than you can begin to comprehend. 

matt closes his eyes. you listen to him breathe for a moment. 

and then you ask again: "what happened?" 

this time, when you take a step forward, you know that he won't be able to push you away. 

you can feel it in the air, the fight leaving his body. 

you can see the restlessness beneath his skin. his hands, searching for something more. 

and so you take a step closer. you stare at him and wait for him to move next. 

he doesn't, and so you bring a hand up to his face.

trace the scars underneath his eyes. the fresh bruises and cuts. 

you don't think you imagine the way he leans in. 

but you must get too close, you must have gone too far, because, after only a moment, he flinches back. 

when he opens his eyes again, his face fractures into something unbearable. 

you watch him freeze over. you can see him fading away, the longer you breathe him in. 

"i can't do this," he says, but he's not talking to you. 

you can feel matt's body trying to get away from you, can see the fear clear on his face, but his hands have come to hover over your skin. 

you can feel his warmth, now. even more clear than when he'd been across the room. 

but all the same, still. 

"matt," you whisper, hoping to coax him away. to lead him inside, out of the cold. "you can tell me. i'm here." 

and with only one more breath in, one more moment when you're almost sure that he's going to kiss you, that he's going to finally move forward-

matt flinches. his head breaks away from you, from the cocoon of warmth you've collected around the two of you. 

he steps back and his hands rake through his hair. 

he shakes his head but he seems to be at a loss for words. he's not looking at you, not paying attention to you anymore.

you see his face, flickering with a desperate emotion. 

like he's pleading with himself. 

"matt?" you ask, daring to reach out to him again. 

but he's begun to head for the door. you're almost sure that if he wanted to--if he was so inclined--he might just walk right through you to get out of there. 

finally, he focuses on you again. 

his body stills. 

your hands are stuck in the air, cradling some secret you haven't yet managed to get out. 

you're almost sure, almost certain, that his breathing slows. that as soon as you can feel his attention again, something shifts. 

you see it, molding into something in front of you. 

you see matt, only a fracture of courage he had once been. 

and you want to tell him that you're willing to help him pick up the pieces--that you can still see him, behind the mask. that you know he's there and if he would just stay, for now, you could keep him safe. 

but matt can't hear any of that. 

he's gone deaf to your pleads. they are blocked out by a million other screams. by memories and bruises and fear, built so strong and high that you can't see over it. 

matt can't really hear you at all. 

and when he looks at you the final time, you hear him. 

you see it, when he opens his mouth, forges for words that he doesn't remember, and closes it again, you see it. 

i'll kill you too, he says, whispers the words so quietly that they're almost silent. you'll die because of me.

stop it, you want to say. 

with one last admission, one last secret thrown to you, caught between slippery hands, matt turns. 

i don't want to lose you. 

he opens the door. 

you already have. 

*

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