#and im working on a romantic death sleeve on my leg

[chiropterancreed]

it is my goal in life to have an entirely yellow wardrobe. I'm not kidding. yellow underthings, yellow dresses, yellow socks, yellow accessories. with the occasional bluejean breaking up the color scheme. goldenrod and mustard and lemon. butter yellow and saffron, pastel shades and deep, rich golds. I want to wear it and be it. yellow makes me so happy and I'll never ever get enough of it.

life is too short to worry about what other people think of you. if you catch me outside in an entirely yellow ensemble, I did that on purpose.

[jackrrabbit]

Sleepless /// Tanjiro x f!reader (18+)

Request: Hi!! I'm not entirely sure on how to request since this is my first time EVER requesting something here on tumblr 😳😳 so im not sure if im doing this right,,,but um,,,,could you do a soft dom! tanjiro kamado x reader nsfw??? (he's aged up of course)

A/N: Y’all I’ve been working on this practically since I made this gd blog…idk why it took so long since I LOVE the concept. Reader is a traumatized bby who just needs her kitty licked  ✊😔 and honestly same

Tags/warnings: soft dom, daddy vibes but without the ‘daddy’ (onii-chan vibes?), brief mentions of past demon violence & PTSD, fluff?, historical inaccuracies probably, reader is implied to be inexperienced, mild overstimulation, lowkey yandere lowkey romantic who knows, all characters are adults

It starts out with little things. Harmless things. Tanjiro sees you barely ate anything at dinner, and later that night he comes to your bedroom with a plate of food for you. “You should eat,” he tells you.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, almost a little petulantly. The food looks good and you know he’s trying to be nice, but you’re not a child. You can take care of yourself, and even when you can’t it’s not his job to do it for you.

“Eat,” he says again softly. It’s not a command. It’s like he already knows you’re going to eat, and he’s just patiently waiting for you to give in.

You pick up the chopsticks and eat the food he prepared for you. All of it. Tanjiro sits there and watches and then when you’re done, he smiles at you and pats your head and takes the plate away. You think it’s weird, but the next morning you don’t question it. He’s a big brother to everyone—doesn’t it make sense that he would want to make sure you’re eating enough?

He probably can’t help it.

You decide you’re going to let it slide, until a few days later after breakfast with him and the others when Tanjiro pulls you aside and holds your face in his hands and tells you you’re looking a little tired lately—are you getting enough sleep?

The truth is that you aren’t. You want to deny it, but somehow you have a hard time lying to him. “I used to sleep with my siblings in our bed, so it’s hard to fall asleep since…” since the demon who made you an orphan murdered them. “And, you know. Nightmares.”

Tanjiro understands. Of course he understands! He used to have five younger siblings, did you know that? Now Nezuko has her own room and the rest…well, you’ve heard the story. It’s hard to fall asleep when you’re by yourself, isn’t it? He’s been there.

“How many hours are you sleeping every night? On average?”

You’re trying too hard to ignore the brush of his callused fingertips over your cheekbones, so you tell him the truth without meaning to. “Um, like four hours? On a good day?”

His eyes go wide and suddenly both of his hands are wrapped around one of yours and squeezing, maybe a little too tight. “Is that the truth, (Y/N)? Four hours is too little. Sleep deprivation isn’t good for you.”

“I know, but—”

“No. The next time you have trouble getting to sleep, I want you to come to my room.” You open your mouth to mount a denial, but he frowns and cuts you off. “Promise me. Okay? It’s really bad for your health, so promise.”

And once again, you say yes even though you don’t want to.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine, you think. You’ll just pretend you’re sleeping better. Tonight you’ll lay in bed with your eyes open and stare at the ceiling and try to listen to your own breathing, in and out and in and out, and hope it drowns out the memories that stick fast in your head whenever you’re by yourself. Then when you’ve been laying in the dark for a few hours, you’ll finally fall asleep and all your nightmares will play out in technicolor and you’ll do your best to be quiet so you don’t wake anyone else up and in the morning you’ll splash cold water on your face to make your eyes less puffy and pinch your cheeks to get some color in them and it’ll be fine.

You can take care of yourself. You have to, since everyone else is gone. So you’re not sure why, when the sun goes down and you’re looking into the face of another sleepless night, you find yourself knocking on the door of Tanjiro’s bedroom.

Maybe it’s just that he made you promise. You hate breaking your promises.

He lets you in, the half-asleep affect mixing with the same caring, serene look as always (and it’s a little insulting that he’s not surprised at all). Tanjiro sits on the bed first and you can’t help staring at him in the flickering orange lamplight. He’s more muscular than you remembered, and taller than when you first met. He can play the role of a big brother all he likes, but he’s still an adult. A man. And he’s not family.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you say, fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),” Tanjiro murmurs as he lies down, his voice still scratchy with sleep. Somehow it relaxes you. He just has that way about him—when he says it’s okay, it feels okay.

Tanjiro pats the spot on the bed next to him. It looks really warm, and there’s a winter chill in the air even though it’s only September. It’s a bed made for one person, but Tanjiro—ever considerate—has moved over to one side to make space for you.

“Come on. Come sleep,” he instructs in that soft, non-demanding way of his. So you sit down on the edge of the bed and (carefully, carefully, like you’re making your way into a hot bath) fold your legs and pull the covers over you so you’re lying next to him. The bed is even warmer than you thought it’d be. Tanjiro radiates heat—he’s so warm, you think, how fitting—and then before you know it you’re drifting into the first dreamless sleep you’ve been afforded in a very long time.

That first night, you sleep with a good six inches of space between the two of you. You don’t want to touch him, don’t want to cross that invisible boundary—at first. But it doesn’t matter, because every time you wake up next to him, you’re curled up to his side like a puppy seeking warmth. It’s not like he minds. Judging from the gentle smile on his face when he wakes you up in the morning (and tells you that you should go back to your room before anyone notices you’re not there) he likes it.

Never again, you think. No way. But you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in so long, and it’s nice to be well-rested for once, and the next evening you only lie in your bed for fifteen minutes before you’re knocking on Tanjiro’s door again, silently asking if you can take advantage of his kind nature for just one more night.

He says yes. Of course he does. So you sleep next to Tanjiro again, you keep half a foot of space between you again, and you wake up hugging him. Again. And then you do it the next night, and the next night, sleeping beside Tanjiro over and over until you no longer bother trying to leave room between your body and his.

Is this okay? you wonder sometime around the two-week mark. It’s the longest you’ve gone without having nightmares since the demon came. Sometimes you think you’re betraying your loved ones by trying not to think about their deaths; letting yourself off easy while they suffered. You tell this to Tanjiro while the two of you are lying back to back under his blanket, quietly enough that (you hope) if he’s already sleeping you won’t wake him.

He hears you, and he turns around and lays his arm around your waist. “Don’t be silly…of course they wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

“But how do you know?”

“I know.” Tanjiro’s voice is half muffled by your hair, but it’s steady. “You believe me, don’t you.”

You do.

“Don’t think about that anymore.” His hold on your waist gets a little bit tighter, arms a little bit less forgiving.

“I won’t,” you say, hoping that the promise will be enough. The two of you fall asleep like that, and when you wake up in the morning it’s the first time ever that you haven’t moved in the night.

As if it wasn’t enough to be spending every night together, at some point you start to dream about him too. Usually it’ll just be a flash or a snippet that you barely remember once you wake—the reassuring tone of his voice, a smell like a campfire, or a few notes of laughter—but tonight you’re watching him train in the courtyard. In the dream, he moves through his forms with inhuman grace, position to position to position, balanced with perfect agility like he’s a dancer and not a swordsman. With how beautiful it is, you can almost forget the raw power behind his movement, the strength that has subjugated more demons than you care to know.

He pauses to stretch, rolling his shoulders back, and you notice that he’s shirtless (which is how you know it’s a dream). Tanjiro’s arms flex as he raises the blade into position, and the sun shimmers over the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. He looks ethereal like this, and as you sit on the porch and watch him, you feel heat stir inside of you that has nothing to do with the sunlight.

Tanjiro, you call out softly. He looks around to you, deep red eyes resting on yours, and whips the blade down to replace it in its sheath.

Can I come closer? The grass is cool and wet under your bare feet as you pad lightly into the courtyard toward him. You can taste the humid summer air in your mouth. Fingers tangle themselves in your hair, tilting your head up to meet his.

Tanjiro…

“(Y/N)?”

Tanjiro’s voice cuts through the dream and you scrunch your eyes shut, reluctant to leave the dream world where he wants to touch you, not out of pity or because he thinks it’s his duty to take care of you but because he wants to. But it’s too late—his hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you out of your slumber. “(Y/N)? You said my name.”

“Sorry, I…sorry.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

He kissed you, in your dream. Now that you’re looking at the real version, your cheeks feel warm…and so does that same spot below your belly. Suddenly the room feels uncomfortably hot, and you wish you weren’t trapped under the covers with Tanjiro. You shift your legs to try and get a little more air between the two of you, but the heat persists.

“I think I should go back to my room.” You must be sweating—you feel damp for some reason. He’s too close.

Tanjiro ignores you. “Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

“I—you,” you admit. “You were training.”

“And?”

“And…I don’t know. It’s kind of warm in here, isn’t it? I think I’ll just…” You push the cover aside and sit up, but before you can get yourself off the bed, Tanjiro is tugging you back down, holding to the mattress so he can hover over you in that way he likes.

“Tell me,” he says to you, voice as firm as it is gentle. Sleep-mussed locks of red hair flop over his forehead but his face is serious, and you can’t look away.

“You kissed me,” you whisper.

That takes him by surprise. You can tell by the way his eyes widen, but his hold on you doesn’t ease up. You want to die. Why did you say that? He’ll think you’re disgusting, sleeping next to him in his bed and having perverted dreams about him. Why couldn’t you have just lied? Why can’t you ever lie to him?

“I’m going back to my bedroom.” You try to project more confidence than you actually feel, but there’s no use. Tanjiro doesn’t seem like he’s going to let you get away from him any time soon.

He’s straddling your body carefully, one elbow folded next to your head while his other hand comes up to stroke your cheek. “Your face is all red.”

“You’re…you’re too close.”

“I don’t think I’m close enough. You have goosebumps, look...” Tanjiro folds up the sleeve of your sleep shirt, exposing your arms to view. “…here…and here, too…”

His hands are wandering further down to the hem of the shirt, pushing it up so slowly and gently that you’re not even sure it’s happening until you feel him stroking over your belly. It’s true, you do have goosebumps. It feels like every hair on your body is standing on end. “Tanjiro…?”

“I guess you haven’t been able to touch yourself, since we’ve been sleeping together. That kind of repression is bad for your health. Even I’ve been a little…frustrated.”

Your mind has to work overtime to understand what he’s telling you as he strokes over your stomach and onto the sensitive skin of your sides, and then up to the flesh covering your ribs. His thumb teases over the underside of one of your breasts for a second, but the shock must have shown on your face because he retreats immediately.

“I’m not. I’m not frustrated,” you say, knowing he won’t believe you.

Tanjiro shakes his head in dismissal. “I don’t think that’s true, (Y/N).”

What are you supposed to say? Of course it’s not true. But admitting that you’ve been feeling heated around him lately would ruin everything, so refuse to say it. “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say it. Can I prove it to you?”

What does he mean? Your head jerks up and down in acquiescence. You barely have to wait a moment before Tanjiro’s hands are slipping down your sides to the waistband of your pants and tugging them down over your hips. A tap on your hipbones prompts you to lift your hips and let him remove the clothing, not that you know why you’re complying so blindly.

Just like you always do.

Is he still trying to take care of you? Putting himself in a caretaker’s role because he thinks you need him? This is going a little far, too far maybe, but you can’t deny you want this. The heat of his body is no longer stifling—instead, it feels like it’s pulling you into him.

When your pants are out of the way, Tanjiro reaches into your underwear and dabs against your slit. It’s not until you feel his finger sliding between the puffy lips of your cunt that you realize how wet you are…and of course he can feel it too. Your knees jerk together to try and push him away from you but he’s unfazed, his touch steadily becoming more intrusive as he seeks out the syrupy dampness from your pussy.

“What am I feeling right now? I want you to tell me.”

“You’re—you’re touching me?” you gasp out.

“And you’re all wet. You can’t tell me you haven’t been frustrated when you’re getting this wet with just my fingers.” At this, you feel him prodding deeper into your pussy and stretching you open.

“Nn—okay, fine! Fine!” The words come out of you in a rapid burst, and you finally muster up the resolve to push Tanjiro away from you by his shoulders. “I’ll go back to my room and deal with it, okay? You don’t have to do it for me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can trust you to take care of this problem by yourself. You’ve been lying to me about your needs.”

You wish he wasn’t able to be so calm while you feel like your entire face is on fire. He pulls his hand out of your panties and backs up on the bed so his torso is framed between your legs. “Can you let me help you, (Y/N)? Let me take care of you.”

You lick your lips without realizing you’re doing it, and Tanjiro’s eyes follow the motion. You can barely comprehend what he’s asking. You want it. You want his hands on you; you want to be taken care of in the way he’s offering. But whether or not you can actually ask for it is another story. “Tanjiro…”

“You need this. I know you do.” He skims his palm over your bare thigh in a soothing motion that, oddly enough, puts your barbed nerves a fraction at ease. “I want you to be honest with me about what you need.”

It’s too much. The warmth of his body so tantalizingly close to yours, his shadowed eyes searching yours for a response you don’t know how to give him…and the sticky mess in your panties. Tanjiro’s giving you a free pass to get something you’ve wanted for longer than you can comfortably admit to yourself, and you’re not sure you could deny him if you tried. What can you tell him except the truth? “I want you. I need you.”

“Good girl. See how good it feels to be honest?” Tanjiro bows down and mouths over your pussy through the wet spot on your panties.

It’s not the honesty that feels good, you think as his tongue pads at you through the fabric.

Too impatient to wait another second to taste you, Tanjiro nudges your rear up and slides your panties down your legs. As soon as you kick the undergarment off your feet, he’s pulling your thighs back apart and curling his thickly-muscled arms around them to hold you securely as his head dips back down to your bare pussy. He wastes no time in laving his tongue over your slit and up to the button at the top.

The sensation of this hot, wet muscle pressing up against your most private area is…weird, to say the least. You’ve never felt anything like this—to be honest, you don’t even know exactly what Tanjiro’s doing. When you think about what’s actually happening on this bed—your (friend? partner? bedmate? crush?) ally has his mouth angled between your legs and is licking your pussy—you think you might spontaneously combust. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and however strange the feeling is, you’re more than aware of your hips grinding up toward Tanjiro just so you can feel more of it.

“Here, let me help…” Tanjiro effortlessly lifts you to place a pillow under your lower back, and then moves back down to continue his relentless licking, this time at a new angle that allows him full access to every millimeter of your raw cunt. He’s eating you out like your pussy is the last meal he’ll ever have.

And how can he help it? You taste so good, so sweet on his lips and over his tongue. You must have been in so much pain lying next to him every night with your desire leaking out between your thighs. Just thinking about is making heat rise low in his groin, and his grip on you is getting tighter by the second. How awful that you tried to keep this to yourself…it was remiss of him not to realize before tonight that you needed him so badly.

But it’s going to be alright, because judging from the muffled noises you’re making, every swipe of his tongue licking up your slit is more than making it up to you.

You probably don’t realize how much your hips are wiggling under his minstrations. He barely has to exert any effort to keep you still, but the way you keep trying you push yourself closer to him is enticing, not to mention the way you’re trying (and failing) to keep your voice down through your moans.

“Tanjiro…T-Tanjiro,” you whimper. It’s like you can’t think of anything except for his name. All of your attention is focused on the pressure building up deep in your core, each stroke of his tongue over your clit taking you higher and higher. You feel tense…wound up so tightly that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from letting the shallow puffs of air turn into full-fledged cries.

Just like that, please, please… You think the words rather than saying them, even though you want to. It’s too humiliating to be begging Tanjiro for more while he’s already giving you more than you deserve, but it’s almost like he heard you anyway, because his tongue writhes down across your clit again and your back arches up off the bedspread.

Your thighs twitch around his head, trying involuntarily to hold him down. He just chuckles and keeps you firmly in place, and his voice hums out over your pussy making feel even more wild. “Please, I’m—I’m cumming…” Your voice trails off and you crush the heels of your palms into your face to cover up your expression while the wave of pleasure hits you so hard you think you might faint.

Tanjiro doesn’t stop. You’re crying out in whimpers so high-pitched he can barely hear them, but he doesn’t stop. The delicate muscles in your pussy are throbbing under his tongue, but he doesn’t stop licking until you’re almost crying, panting out “it’s too much it’s too much, please Tanjiro” and pushing his head away with your hand.

When he finally pulls away, his hair is tangled and disarrayed from where you’ve been running your hands through it, and his mouth and jaw are shining wet. Tanjiro licks his lips and if you didn’t feel shaky before…you do now.

It takes a second for the power of thought to return to you, but when it does you just sigh weakly and flop back down onto the bed. Tanjiro’s next to you before you hit the pillow, and he grips your jaw with one hand to angle your head to meet his, and—

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. His lips are surprisingly soft over yours, but as usual there’s an unnecessary degree of pressure attached to the contact that has you sinking deeper into your blankets under his force. You can detect the lush, slightly bitter taste of your arousal coating the inside of his mouth as his tongue (skillful as ever) traces over yours. Tanjiro is kissing you, and it’s a hundred times better than any dream you could come up with on your own, so you kiss back.

It takes him a long moment to break the kiss, long enough that your lungs are pleading for air by the end of it. When his lips leave yours, a thin trail of saliva connects the two of you until it breaks and drips down your chin.

“Tanjiro…” You search for the right words, but what are you supposed to say at a time like this? “I…what did we just do?”

“Shh, don’t worry.” Tanjiro leans in again, this time just to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to take good care of you, okay?”

You take a moment and then duck your head into a nod. It doesn’t make any sense—how does he do that?—but once he says it’s okay it always is.

[yuthoe]

Day 18: Forbidden (MONSTA X: I.M)

S M U T tadaaaaa! (whether it's good is up to yall, but this is the most we're gonna get with my sleep addled brain lmao. today's prompt for May Trope Mayhem is:

Day 18: Historical Setting

and tbh i don't think i stressed that part of it well enough that it stands out HAHA i hope all my subtle allusions work lmao

(also this fic is driven by monsta x dropping concept images #1 and everyone swerving to im's vampire lookin ass, they all look way too good yall)

also, it's currently 11:25PM here and im tired from work, so sorry for any typos or grammatical errors. good night!

PAIRING: I.M x reader. GENRE: smut, fic. WARNINGS: oral sex (male receiving), female reader, degradation (this is a first guys HAHAHA). WORD COUNT: 899.

---

Changkyun sighs and shudders, losing himself in the feeling of your mouth on him. The darkness of the store room hides your features from him, but the way your tongue laves at him from root to tip, the way you suck on the head of his throbbing member, the way your hand pumps him with practiced movement… It is unmistakably you.

You with your expensive silks fit for a duke’s only daughter, your expertly styled hair that stays sculpted throughout a night of dancing, your delicate and smooth hands that only grip his when his face is between your thighs.

He lays his head back against the wall, mindful of the rough exposed brick that could no doubt crack his skull open, and that is not how he wants to leave this world.

A groan leaves his mouth. “Your mouth will be the death of me,” he grinds out, lowering a hand to you, almost landing on your hair before he remembers that you are still at the mansion of a baron of someone else, and he cannot have you looking like you walked through a hurricane.

You pull off, and even in the almost black of the room he can sense your cheeky smile. “My father will be the death of you if he finds us in here because you can’t be quiet, my lord.” And before he can reply with a quip of his own, you descend on him once more, prompting him to grip your hand that is keeping your balance on his thigh.

Changkyun tells himself that he indulges in these acts with you because of the unbearable tension between your families—a classic Romeo and Juliet kind of situation, where the more something is withheld, the more he wants to grasp it in his hands and never let it go. The allegory is quite extreme, but this lord is too much of a romantic to see any other side of his fixation for you.

He knows you cannot say the same, though. He knows that he does not know you.

Sparks rain down his spine at a particularly hard suck from you and Changkyun has to bite the sleeve of his velvet coat to keep from emitting another loud groan. The vibrations from your giggling wrack through him and make his legs shake.

“God damn it, woman, you really mean for the whole mansion to find us?” The earl rakes a hand through his hair and pitches his hips forward. “You really want everyone to see you?—my little whore, being so obedient for me and taking me so well in her pretty mouth.” He trails a finger down your cheek and cups under your jaw; you stiffen and shudder. “A shame I can’t fuck you like I want—your hair is done up very pretty tonight and I don’t want to mess it up and let everyone see how… depraved you are.” He tucks a stray hair behind your ear and you release a muffled mewl.

Changkyun smiles. “Or maybe you would like that, eh?”

He takes a shuddering breath, relaxes against the wall. “Go on then. Make me come.”

You do not need to be told twice, doubling your earlier efforts to milk him of his release. You take him deeper into your throat and suck hard, swiping your tongue over the skin you can reach. You set a rhythm as you bob your head, up and down, and with every tiny sound and whisper of praise from Changkyun you feel yourself leaking from underneath your skirts. It’s stuffy suddenly, the open neckline doing nothing to cool you down.

It is when you rake your manicured nails down Changkyun’s exposed thigh that he groans a final time and releases into your mouth. Where he usually presses you close by the back of your head, one of his hands is now clamped at your shoulder, the other at the side of your neck.

You swallow everything, and give him one final long lick as you pull away and adjust yourself to sit more comfortably on the dusty floor. You watch Changkyun catch his breath while righting his clothes with shaky hands. Once his breeches are properly fastened, he pats his pocket for a kerchief and hands it to you, and you take it gratefully.

He crouches in front of you, presses a soft kiss to your awaiting lips and says, “Stay here. I know your knees hurt from kneeling, so just wait for the pain to pass.” He levels you with the lopsided smirk you will never admit sends butterflies to your stomach. “If anyone asks, I shall say I glimpsed you by the hedge maze. It should tide them over for a while.”

You can only nod, grateful. Your throat is dry and you fear that no sound will come out if you attempt to speak.

The sharp-jawed earl stands, turns to you with his hand on the doorknob. “Wait here for that drink.” In a moment, the light swallows him and you are left alone in the dark.

Left once again to evaluate your stance on this rather sexual relationship, and whether it is in your best interest to pursue something more with him. Your father would have your hide for associating with his most hated rival, but surely he would not deny his daughter happiness, regardless of the person you choose…

Right?

[op-peccatori]

Selenophile (M) | IkeVamp Comte

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain/Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/NSFW

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You’re just a girl who fell in love with the moon, and got lucky enough to have him love you back.

a/n: Always thought Leonardo would be my first, and then Faa happened (~˘▾˘)~ All those Daddy Comte conversations sent a hoe tumbling into love. Also told myself this was going to be short and sweet, and in doing so, played myself. Sorry about that. 

Also, for Thirst Purposes, we’re going to believe that Comte can bite her without turning her. 

Warnings/Tags: explicit sexual content, vaginal and oral sex, mentions of blood due to vampire bite, this is my love letter to Daddy Comte, pretend im v romantic, also another episode where I had fun with online translators French speakers please don’t kill me

Selenophile (n.) a person who loves the moon. 

“Here’s the next stack, and please, try to finish them before dinner?” 

Collecting the last of the stray envelopes on the desk, you jog them and place the stack in one corner. Narrowed, aurum eyes watch you over the top of a letter. “These aren’t quite as urgent, so you can have a look at them later.” 

“Mm,” the Count sighs into his cup for the fifth time, no doubt waiting for you to turn around to see what’s got him so down. Your eyes drift to the ostentatious bouquet of roses in the corner of the room, a soft, blush pink this time, before you squint at the seal on the last envelope. Placing it on top of the pile in front of him, you smile down at his pursed lips and pleading eyes.

You know the gentlemanly persona is just one of the many facets of the Count’s personality, and it seems to be the one he chooses to adopt when amongst company. Your relationship thus far has been nothing short of an adventure, complete with adversaries and sacrifices, and a man that can take your breath away with just one little smile.

He loves, and lives to spoil you. He delights in drawing you into his arms and kissing you as he stealthily clasps delicate necklaces around your neck and slips bracelets set with sparkling gems onto your wrists. It still makes you uncomfortable at times, but the way his eyes shine when he admires the way they rest against your skin, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his lips–it kills any real motivation to protest. 

And when he undresses you, with a soft-spoken request to keep the jewellery on, you’re hard-pressed to find any real reason to object. It’s all part of his favourite evening game; with you completely bare, wearing just the priceless trinkets he’s picked out for you. His seat of preference is the armchair he pulls up to the front of the bed, from where he calls out his requests for you. You can say no, you’re expected to tell him if anything makes you uncomfortable, but when he tells you to spread your legs a little more, to finger yourself a skosh slower, nearly panting as the smell of your arousal–all you feel is hot, dizzying lust. 

To see the wild lust lurking beneath that noble veneer, to open your eyes, trembling through the aftershocks of an orgasm, and see the sheer hunger in his face as he strokes his cock. The way his fangs sink into you speaks of rapidly fraying control, sending agonizing ecstasy pumping through you as he makes you come again.

You enjoy teasing him. It’s a dangerous game to play in front of the ever-observant residents, especially a certain author who would love nothing more than to see you seduce their sire. You had nearly gotten caught just once, when he had had enough of your games. 

A brush of your fingers, over his shoulder. A stroke of your thumb over his knuckles, and if you were feeling bold, weaving your fingers through his hair. A lingering kiss on the corner of his mouth and feel the air between you grow heavy. Just a quick pet at the nape of his neck and pulling away before he could lean into your touch. 

He always catches on almost right away, and gives you serene smile in response, a gentle warning. Only once had his patience spun out of his control and he pinned you to a bookshelf in the library, slipping a hand under your dress as he crushed his mouth to yours, hissing when he discovered the lack of a barrier between your legs.

You were sure he would have taken you right there if not for the sudden, loud whistling of a jaunty tune–a hint that you weren’t alone in the library. Still, he had considered it for a moment. You could tell by the look on his face–all he had to do was make sure you stayed quiet. 

But then Leonardo started singing, completely off-key and almost insistently, as if warning him off. It was the confused whispers from Isaac, no doubt wondering if Leonardo had lost his mind, that finally had your beau stepping away.

Even now, as you pour him his afternoon tea, you can feel his eyes doing a full sweep of your figure, longing and wondering. He’d been away on business for the past two weeks and you’ve missed him terribly. He had only gotten back yesterday, and you’ve somehow had your hands full with errands and tasks for the residents and no time to spend in his arms.

Although, if you must be perfectly honest, you have had a little fun leaving him with affectionate kisses and tender whispers before you rush off to attend to the next task. 

“How is your day going, ma chérie?” he asks, accepting the cup with a soft smile. 

“Well enough, I’d say. Sebas is going to teach me how to make coq au vin, so please look forward to that!” you inform him, stars in your eyes. You pretend not to notice the way his smile grows just a tad strained, no doubt at the realization that you’ll have your plate full today as well. 

“I can’t wait to try it.” His sincerity is genuine, though, and you have to restrain yourself from climbing into his lap, striding over to the door instead. “Darling?”

You turn back to see him hesitating, searching your face for something before sinking back into his armchair. 

“Have a wonderful day.” 

There’s hunger in his eyes and your heart pounds within its cage. 

“You too. I love you,” you add, unable to help it, and you’re glad you did because of the tiny smile curling along his mouth as he echoes the words back at you. 

This waiting game can’t go on much longer. He hasn’t lost his composure the way you had secretly hoped to see, but it seems that his patience is running out.

You rarely find chances to spend together during the day, and today is no different. Dinner takes up much of your time, and after you find yourself swept up in conversation with Napoleon and Isaac, cleaning up takes more time than you had hoped.

As Sebastian shares what he had discovered about Napoleon’s sparring preferences, while you dissolve into helpless giggles at his enthusiastic reenactment as you scrub the dishes, the Count stops by for more tea. 

“Ah, still here? It’s quite late, you must be tired.” He watches over the rim of his teacup as you study at a plate, before wiping at a barely-visible smudge.

“We’re nearly done, Sir. Not to worry though, it’s always fun when we work together,” your companion assures him, and you shoot him a quick grin.

“That’s right. And we do make a great time, don’t we?” You raise your hand, and with a half-hearted roll of his eyes, Sebastian smacks his palm against yours. 

“I suppose we do.” 

You turn to Comte just in time to catch his small smile, and your own fades slightly as he turns to leave with a low, murmured goodnight. 

Even as you hurry through your bath, rushing to your room to change and don a thin robe, the hint of melancholy in his smile stays with you and apprehension courses through your veins. 

It wasn’t quite jealousy. It’s tempting to play that game, but usually, you avoiding it. He’s a gentle, benevolent man, but the Count does not wear jealousy well. Thankfully, the only resident you run into on your way to his room is Vincent, who asks no questions, only wishing you a pleasant night with a knowing smile. 

His chambers are empty and you find him standing in the balcony instead, the summer evening pleasant and soothing on your skin as you step out. His head is tilted back, and you realize he seems to be studying the night sky. With the soft, shimmering moonlight eager to paint him in its subtle tones, there’s an ethereal glow beneath his skin.

He shines brighter in the sunlight, but in this moment he truly looks like one untouched by the grasping hands of death in any of its forms, blessed by Selene herself or perhaps, she chose another form, one that is surely far more beautiful than any other. You wonder if that makes you Endymion, the spellbound mortal to his smitten immortal, desperate to do whatever it takes so you never leave his side, destined to be together forever–but only in your dreams. 

“Come join me, ma chérie.” He sounds almost distracted, and curiosity bubbles up as you step up next to him. 

He’s more underdressed than you’ve ever seen him outside his room; clad only in his white shirt and slim pants. He always appears to be svelte, but with the soft fabric stretching taut over his shoulders, clinging to his narrow waist, you can only try to keep your eyes off his backside. An unbuttoned collar reveals a slender neck, his tie hanging loosely over his chest, his sleeves rolled up to his toned forearms, a glass of half-finished blanc in one hand.

He doesn’t look away from the sky, staring at the stars as if they hold the answer to all his questions. You choose to look at the moon while it observes the stars, studying him quietly, wanting to get closer before thinking better of it and coming to a halt, waiting for him to gather his thoughts. 

Always out of reach, but always returning to you. 

Or perhaps you’re the moonflower instead. Yearning for the light, for it to find you. With its quiet, yet all-consuming love; too bright for you at times, but even if you close your eyes you know its there, its soft light embracing you, giving itself over to you and sinking into your bones, its love unchanging. You thrive in his arms, blooming to life at his touch, the marks left on your skin always fading but you’re content to keep the one left on your heart, a quiet claiming.

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, caramel bangs falling haphazardly over his forehead, before turning to you with a rueful smile that breaks you out of your musing. He finishes his drink with one last sip and sets the glass down to the side, on top of the balustrade.

“Forgive me, darling. I’m feeling a little out of sorts tonight.” 

The muted atmosphere falls away as he turns his back on the sky to look at you, and you wonder if the stars think him foolish for it.

“Anything I can help with?” You take his hand in yours, clasping it between your palms and watch as a hint of mischief upturns his lips. And you realize it doesn’t matter if all the planets in the sky call you fools, as long as he never stops smiling at you.

“Perhaps. All day, I feel as if my most precious, mon trésor, has been a tad elusive.” He reaches out to tuck an errant lock of your ear behind your ear, his finger trailing down the length of your jaw as you tilt your head, adopting a thoughtful look.

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Not at all,” he agrees, assuming a downcast expression, although his eyes still glint with purpose. “Every time I reach for her, she slips right through my fingers, leaving with me nothing but the memory of her warmth.” 

“Oh, but that’s dreadful,” you gasp, holding his hand up to your chest. “What fool would try to elude you?” 

He smiles a little, leaning in conspiratorially, his mouth ghosting the shell of your ear. You can barely keep from smiling as your stomach clenches in your anticipation. 

“One who takes joy in teasing her poor, desperate lover,” he breathes, winding an arm around your waist as you try to slip away, your palms braced against his firm chest. “All day, she smiles at me, and with every smile I’m left wanting nothing more than to kneel before her and take everything she chooses to give me.” 

His next breath leaves him on a shudder as you turn your head, your lips skimming the length of his jaw.

“With a man like you, is there really ever a choice? You make a woman want to give you everything she has.” 

His smile is truer as he kisses the tip of your nose, while the hand on your hip inches lower. His eyes are bright, almost glowing and you’re struck mute as you watch his long lashes flutter. “As I should. After all, when a woman holds the power to take her lovesick fool apart with a smile, the fool can only try to aim for the same.” 

“If this fool tries anymore, there won’t be anything left to take.” 

“And, perhaps, then I’ll stop fearing her distance.” His lips trace the length of your neck, his nose pressing to your skin as he inhales deeply. “And the fear of her being ripped from my arms will fade.”

You press your lips to his temples, love and sadness tight leashes around your heart. “Then I suppose I’ll keep giving you everything I have.” 

His palm slides further down to cup the swell of your rear. “Your love?” 

You kiss his cheek. “You have it.” 

His licks at the pulse point on your neck, and you tremble in his grasp. “Your body?” 

“Yours.” A gasp leaves you when he sucks at the skin harshly, satisfied at the mark blooming to life. There’s a scrape of something sharp against soft flesh, and your knees grow weaker when you realize it’s the sharp-edged tip of a fang. 

“Your happiness?” He tugs at the sash holding your robe together, loosening it to reveal your underthings. Brimming with his desire, his eyes are molten gold as they bore into yours.

“With you.” He kisses you, gentle and deep. Your hands meet at the nape of his neck, tugging him down so you can slip your tongue into his mouth. A low noise of protest escapes you as he pulls away to kiss his way up to your ear. 

“And yet, you’ve been denying us both the pleasure of each other’s company.” He nips at the lobe of your ear, squeezing your ass gently, his tone dipping into something sly as he continues. “Then I see you laughing without a care with Sebastian. I...I cannot help but wonder if I’ve robbed you of the happiness you deserve.” 

You can’t help the quick roll of your eyes. “Any happiness I deserve is the kind I want.” Your fist the hair at the back of his head, tugging it back to look him in the eyes. They waver in the face of your fierce affection, his lips parted as you tug harder, but you don’t back down. “And I want you.” 

He sighs, but his chest quivers beneath your touch.

“Such ferocity. And no power in the world could make me give that up.” He isn’t teasing anymore, but he slips a thigh between your legs, using his grip on your ass to pull you forward. Your fingers dig into his shirt as you try not to gasp. “Ah, I’m afraid you are stuck with me.” 

You run a hand through his hair as he ducks his head to pepper kisses all over your neck, and down to your collarbone. 

His tongue draws slow, maddening circles over your skin. “So earlier in the kitchen...that wasn’t an attempt to drive me to jealousy?” 

 “I barely have to attempt, but no, it wasn’t.” You hide a sly smile in his hair. “Why, were you actually jealous?” 

“I’ll admit I do find myself rather put out when I can’t have you all to myself. And knowing how deeply you’re coveted…” He pauses. “So you were playing games.” He lifts a breast from the soft fabric of your bustier, tucking the cloth underneath as he squeezes it gently. Even as your body begins to throb under his ministrations, you throw a nervous look over his shoulder to ensure nobody’s in the gardens. “And the roses you received in my absence?” 

You roll your eyes, half-hearted this time, even as your heart attempts to inch its way to your throat. “A gift for you, no doubt, from your oldest friend.” 

He chuckles, soft and dark, and it goes straight to your pussy “A gift for me they were not. Perhaps an attempt to entice my lady love while I was away?” 

“A failed one, then. My heart is perfectly content where it is,” you retort, a pleased smile breaking across his expression before he clears his throat and looks at you seriously. 

“Even so. The very thought of somebody else’s hands on you–a touch uninvited by us, that is–I will not stand for it.” 

“What do you suggest we do, then?” A soft palm slips down his abdomen, and he smirks down at you.

“I have a few suggestions. Each more depraved than the previous, and none you will approve of.” 

His mouth closes over a nipple, sucking harshly, and this time you do moan.

“So-somebody might hear us!” Even so, you push his thigh back to push your hips into his, your lips parting at the press of his clothed arousal between your legs.

“Good. I feel that they can all do with a reminder of who you chose. Including me.” He bites down and you’re helpless to your combined lust in the way you grind against his erection. “This should be a fact they can never forget.“ 

In a quick movement, he’s shifted your positions, leaving you half-sitting on the balustrade. And then he’s sinking down to his knees, urgently planting hot kisses on the inside of your thighs as he spreads them. You can’t tear your eyes away from the entrance to the balcony, afraid that someone will walk in. 

A soft click catches your attention and, incredulous, you look down to see him looking all too pleased with himself, holding your foot up to admire a delicate anklet studded with–

“Those better not be real,” you warn, and he simply smiles at you, pressing his lips to your ankle as his other hand slides up your leg. His tongue traces the skin surrounding the jewelled band, and all the fight leaves you, not that there was much of it in the first place.

He looks happy, after all.

He pets your clothed sex, moving on too smoothly for your liking. “Sometimes, I wonder. What would they think, if they smell you on my breath?” 

He pulls the barrier of your panties aside; you can barely suck in a breath before you feel his tongue, hot and deliberate as it sweeps along your glistening slit. 

“My, my. You’re nearly drenched. Does making me suffer bring you this much pleasure?” he teases, smiling up at you before closing his lips around your swelling clit. Your teeth sink into your lip as you hold your voice back, but he presses his teeth to the flesh, almost biting lightly and a loud cry forces its way out. Your hands are wrapped around the surface of the railing, knuckles white with strain, and with each second he spends sucking at your bundle of nerves your moans get frustratingly louder. “Good girl, let me hear you.” 

You freeze when voices from the garden reach your straining ears. His tongue pushes past your entrance.

He won’t stop. 

You can feel it building in you, the slow, familiar sweep of pleasure ready to greet you, and you know you don’t really want the others to hear you scream as you come. Your thoughts begin to cloud over, and you have to act. 

“Please?” you whimper, threading your fingers through his hair. He freezes in place. “Not here.” 

He peeks up at you, groaning when he catches sight of your face, lower lip jutting out and eyes pleading with him. “Princess, how am I supposed to punish you when you make that face?” 

“I’m sorry,” you say as sincerely as possible, your smile clear in your voice. 

“I shouldn’t be lenient,” he mutters, kissing the skin where your thigh meets your hip. “And it’s so lovely out here.” 

You reach down to cup his cheek, unwavering in the face of his pouting. It’s the Van Gogh brothers down in the gardens, and you’re sure one of them will end you if you subject his brother to the sight of the Count taking you in the balcony. “Do you really want someone to see us?”

He hums, kissing your palm. “Maybe.” 

You fight to keep the grin off your face as you school your face into something thoughtful and shy.  “I could...I could show you how I’ve been touching myself while you’ve been away. I’ve missed you so much, I...did it almost every day.” 

He stares at you. 

“You, mon coeur, are bad, bad woman.” Desire flashes, burning bright, in his eyes. “Fine, if that’s what you wish.” 

You can only laugh as, before you can feign innocence, he sweeps you into his arms, tugging your robe closed as he practically sprints through the doors. His growls at the way you lick down his neck are warnings, the flash of his fangs at you arousing you more than you would have once thought possible. 

“I couldn’t sleep last night, wondering if I should just give in and sneak into your room. Wake you up with a sweet kiss or with your cock in my mouth,” you whisper in his ear, sucking at his earlobe. “You always like that.”

“___,” he warns, even as his grip tightens. “I’m not joking, my love. Say another word and you’ll live to regret it.” 

You nod solemnly. He looks satisfied as you grow closer to his chambers. Just as the doors are in sight, you catch his attention with a quick oh! 

“I used the hairbrush you gave me once. Just a little bit–”

He kicks the doors open and tosses you on the bed, striding back to slam them shut. There’s that dark, unforgiving sort of lust in his eyes and it’s exactly what you’ve been craving. You slip your robe off your shoulders as his thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, leaning over you to get them off as you pull the bustier over your head.

“On your back. Spread your legs, you know what to do. I want you ready for me.” He brushes your hair away from your forehead. “And darling–you will not come.” 

Your fingers pause in their light stroking. 

“Comte?” 

“I know you heard me. Your first for the night will be with me. Allow me this, please.” He runs a warm palm up the length of your leg, and to your slight surprise, he takes a seat next to you instead. “Go on, show me.” 

You’re inexplicably nervous at first, with him looming over you, but with the way his hands glide over every inch of your skin, tender yet possessive, and his mouth sampling wherever it pleases–it doesn’t take long before your hips are jerking up into your hand. His fingers caress your soft breasts, tugging at the pebbled peaks, sucking until they appear nearly swollen.

You peek up at him, catching the slight bob of his throat as he looks at the fingers sinking into your heat. You don’t think twice before slipping them out and holding them up to his mouth, and he takes them into his mouth with a soft groan and you take this wonderful opportunity to peek at the tent at the front of his pants.

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” he says, but doesn’t stop licking until your skin is free of your slick. 

“You just looked so hungry, I couldn’t help it.” He doesn’t argue and doesn’t fight you when you pull him down next to you. He just watches you, fervent and patient, breath growing heavier as you unbutton his shirt before shifting your attention to his pants, tugging them down his toned thighs, smiling at the wet spot in his silk underpants before you help him pull them off.

His hips jerk up when your tongue circles his nipples, his hands digging into the sheets as you lick a warm path across his collarbone, a choked groan leaving him when your hand sneaks past his neglected cock to cup his balls. But as you’d suspected, his patience is nowhere to be found tonight as he groans and yanks you up into a torrid kiss.

“I thought you were going to punish me,” you manage to ask in between his heated kisses, hot jolts of arousal sparking through you at his weak moans as you stroke his cock, spreading his slick along the length. 

“Later,” he mumbles, dragging his tongue along your jaw, his abdomen taut as he twists under your touch. “Later. I need you.” 

He sits up, his tongue still licking into your mouth, and his hands are everywhere. On the nape of your neck, down your spine, digging into your waist, squeezing your ass. Urgent, needy sounds escape his mouth and send your blood pumping through you. 

It’s one of those nights.

You hold him close, even as he moans at the slow rut of your hips against his, your dripping entrance sliding over his length and back, and his fingers dig into your skin as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, lips never too far from yours.

There are times when he loves a slow, unhurried seduction, to woo you and take his time pampering you. And there are times when he all he needs is to lose himself in your heat, needs you to peel back his carefully crafted layers and dig into the man underneath, to pull him out and hold him to your chest. This man who loses his composure, who throws his head back on a near-silent moan as you sink onto his length, who clings to you as you begin a quick, harsh tempo. 

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, your voice breaking, spine arching when he slips in deeper. “I’ve got you.” 

He holds on to your hips when you falter, stopping you from rising up and keeping his cock deep in you. “Ma moité. If I could, I would stay here forever. I would keep you in my bed, bury myself in you and never move again.” 

“Fu-,” you gasp as he grinds deeper, as if trying to gain access to your very soul, to get his hands on what makes you you and hoard it for himself. He thrusts up, his grip on your hips helping you move against him, forcing you harder onto his cock.

“Mm. Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours.” You shudder as his honeyed tone roughens into a rumble. He kisses you, hard and fast, and your mind can’t muster up a coherent thought as he bounces you in his lap. 

Comte stops to rise to his knees and press you into the bed, hooking your legs around his waist. He continues to push deeper, with his cock and his body, until your legs are bent, thighs nearly touching your sides. 

“Hold on tight, darling.”

You’re going to need tomorrow off, you realize in a distant part of your mind as he rears back to slam his hips into yours. Your head crashes back into the plush mattress, muscles straining as you try to meet his thrusts. The refined persona sheds completely and his fangs slip out, and your breath catches in your throat, your cunt clenching tight in the face of the other side of him. His hair is in complete disarray, falling wildly around him, his eyes are all greed and lust, but his hands are gentle as they slip into yours and pin them above your head. 

“You’re so beautiful. So bright,” he murmurs, pressing rough kisses over your breasts, groaning at the taste of your skin.  And you can only laugh, at this moon turned man kissing his devotion onto your skin when you’re burning inside out with desire and elation, when you’ve managed to draw the moon down into your arms and hold him in your arms. 

“I love you,” you sob, trembling with the force of his thrusts and the ardour in his gaze. The anklet jiggles where it hangs over your ankle. You drop your head back, baring your throat to him and you can feel him struggle with his overwhelming need as he whines low in his throat and leans in.

“And I love you.”

His fangs graze your skin ever so lightly even as he pounds into you, and with one last thought of how there probably hadn’t been any point in retreating to the bedroom, you scream as his fangs break through the barrier of your skin. One of his hands slips between your legs, pressing insistently. 

“My name, ma chérie. Say my name.” 

It leaves you on a broken moan as you come hard around him, your walls squeezing him frantically, and his hips stutter as he continues to suck greedily, his sinful moans muffled by your skin. You can’t stop trembling as he pumps himself into you, mind-numbing pleasure stealing your mind away. His mouth leaves your skin just as he loses control, a warmth filling your trembling sex as you watch him swallow dazedly. 

His pupils are blown almost completely wide as his licks around the edges of his lips, hips slowing to a stop as you both look at each other, chests heaving, skin slick with sweat. His blinks rapidly at the taste of your blood, looking half-intoxicated, eyes raking over your flushed skin and wild hair.

“...are you alright?” he asks gently, and you can’t quite speak just yet, nodding mutely in response. He licks the puncture wound clean, wrapping his arms around you and lifting you up, shuffling around the bed until he relaxes back into the pillows with you clinging to him, his softening length still buried in you. “Could we stay like this for a while?” 

“Mm. Yes, please,” you finally mumble, and he holds you tighter, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Feels nice.”

He laughs softly, and you muster up all your strength to shift up and kiss him straight on the mouth, the taste of copper strong on your tongue. You brush past it insistently, tangling your tongue with his as you swallow his soft noises. He keeps you there, breath mingling, smiling fondly as you fight to keep your eyes open, your skin pleasantly warm against his.

His skin is bright with the afterglow, every line of his face relaxed, and you marvel at how unguarded he looks right now. Even now, moonlight falls in through the windows, trying to reach him, but he’s content to kiss the tip of your nose with a soft mwah, repeating it despite your complaints about sweat. You return it, stretching up to reach his nose, and it turns into a swift exchange of kisses until you’re both smiling like complete fools.

“...Did you really use the hairbrush?”  He sighs softly, tucking your head under his chin. “I would love to see that, but I can always get you better toys.”

Your responding snort is more amused than disgruntled. “Would that include ones I can use on you?”

He’s quiet for a moment, before pressing his slow smile into your hair, the rise and fall of his chest steady under your cheek.

“Mm. Anything you want.” 

Translations:

ma chérie: my darling 

mon trésor: my treasure

Mon moité: my (other/better) half

Je t'aime et je t'aimerai pour toujours: I love you and I will always love you/I will love you forever

ending note bc I can’t shut up: the moon was so gorgeous last night, I actually stepped out to get a better look. It seemed to have an almost golden tint to it, which made me think ‘Ah, yes. Comte.’ And then I rushed back in. Yes I’m that b*tch. Romance, baby. its 6 am i havent slept 

[letsperaltiago]

ok time to break my silence caused by the fact that i spent all day making this lol too many feels 

so.. palm springs thoughts !! and there are manyyyy so buckle up and feeel free to hit me up with either matching or contradicting thoughts or whateveer!! i would LOVE to nerd out about this movie with someone:’)

here comes thoughts and pictures!! 

we basically start off with a mr. samberg sex-scene okAYYYYY the mood is set. we love the view

nyles aka. mr. samberg is the most gorgeous man alive and it was a true pleasure to admire him for 90 minutes straight 

CURLS!!????! THEY ARE UNREAL. i shall dedicate an entire post to them

Cristin Milioti is perfect for her role. her acting? *chef’s kiss* I love that she’s not the stereotypical female rom-com lead.

Her chemistry with Andy? Gosh.. Can’t believe Nyles x Sarah is my new main movie-ship!! They play off of each other SO. WELL. Their characters are equally stone cold and bitter, but then again not really, and they both portray it so well!!

“You don’t ned a leg up.” *moans* “Hold my leg up!” i SCREAMED

“Don’t you kiss me.” “Don’t you tell me what to do.” hoW DARE THEY!

Ok ur basically on love already stop it

The fact that they were just gonna fuck on a blanket on top OF ROCKS?!

but then again in this movie’s already insane universe it’s prob pretty normal:)

The overall dark, existential humor?? This is what I live and breathe for on a daily basis. Basiaclly both main characters are a BIG MOOD

Nyles not giving a shit vs. Sarah severely freaking out in the beginning is an iconic dynamic

“I am the antichrist” and then the rock falling? For a hot sec I literally thought the movie was gonna take a turn with Nyles being some magical/scientific creature that’d created the timeloop or something idkkk ahhha

Nyles in the suit... ridiculous(ly hot)

The torture methods Roy uses on Nyles and the fact that he’s not mentally scarred?? How?? 

On that note I love that Nyles and Sarah keep their memories even if the day starts over. Would’ve been a completely different concept if they had to “meet each other for the first time” every day and it wouldn’t’ve allowed their relationship arc to evolve as it did 

Darla is the fucking shit 

Nyles in the baseball cap, amirite?

THE BARTENDER TALKING ABOUT HITTING A GUY WITH THE CAR SHE’S CURRENTLY GIVING NYLES A HANDJOB IN IS COMEDIC GOLD 

“You fucked Jerry Schlieffen?” “Well he fucked me.” Yes SIR. Andy Samberg’s characters are all bottoms and we’re here for it

Sarah’s tongue click and “nice try” when Nyles asks her about her sex life?? 

IDK WHY BUT SO GOD

Randy is hella annoying. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

THIS ENTIRE SCENE:

the fact that they both start waking up smiling because now at least they have each other 🥺😭🤯

uhm i love a good ship that’s like... best friends to lovers and the montage of them basically becoming besties killed me 

this outfit Y E S: 

sarah falling off the car and nyles laughing it off is relationship goals

the crashing plane I LOL’ED

okay so... big moment... the DANCING AND MATCHING OUTFITS? THEY ARE MY DREAM TEAM. Also how excited they are running away from the bar 🥺

IM POSITIVE THIS IS THE MOMENT NYLES KNOWS! LIKE HE DOESN’T ADMIT IT TO HIMSELF COMPLETELY BUT HE KNOWS 

the bomb in the cake and french pirate-skit? so fucking random but i lovee it because it’s so them

*DRUM ROLL* PERHAPS MY FAVORITE MOMENT IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE: 

STORYLINE WISE AND VISUALLY A++++

the deep talks by the fire were SO well written. they were actually deep and genuine, allowing the characters to grow and opening up to us as viewers but also remained fun and witty

sarah trying to get nyles to admit he cares for her and him joking it off??? the flirtinggg

really wish we’d gotten to know more about what nyles meant with “it drifts away: just like they all do.” because it really seemed to trigger something within him. Like WHO “They”???

the dinosaurs lmao no comment but at least they got a cute cuddly moment

from the very first millisecond inside the tent you can CLEARLY tell Sarah is just dying to do something about them!!!

 the disbelief on nyles’ face when sarah says “lets just get it over with” because she’d clearly stated he didn’t want to and even though he obviously did he’s respected it and not done anything further about it oh babey

we love some good making out:’))) 

NYLES HALTING TO TAKE IN THE MOMENT EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO SCREAM INTO THE VOID 

i will die for a post-sexy timez cuddle and how sarah is trying to staying awake to be besides him is just *explosion* 

this has to be *the moment* she realises 

and they’re both sooooo fucking happy when they wake up after damn love me like that pls

THE GROOM BOOO FUCK OFF CAN’T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO REMEMBER HIS NAME CHEATING SCUM 

THIS FACE:

Baby is trying so hard and is so cute and nervous about it. SARAH LISTEN TO HIM HE LOVES YOU.

HE FELT GOOD WAKING UP BECAUSE OF YOUUUU, GIRL. DO NOT CALL IT “FUN”, SARAH 

“Going to bed maybe just got a little better” 😭😭😭😭

The entire cop scene is just pure insanity, very Lonely Island and I’m here for it even though I just want Sarah to rEALLY LISTEN TO WHAT NYLES IS TRYING TO SAY 

“Pain is real” oh babey that means SO MANY THINGS 🥺💔

“I followed you into that cave because I liked you!” like jake would say: don’t love how we got here but we’re going where i want

“pretentious sad boy” me

not shocked that they’ve hooked up before because c h e m i s t r y but don’t like how it got out :)))

why is nyles’ one sleeve shirt rolled up? im triggered

drinking pure vodka? oh babey its gonna be okay 

WE LOVE A SMART BOI WHO RECOGNIZES HIS GIRL’S PERFUME 

Sarah’s parents singing:)) i would cry too, nyles

"I love her.” “I see... That’s interesting” lmao savage

I actually really love Roy’s character. It turns out to be very humble actually and he has some insightful and lowkey poetic that lines i love. Besides that he’s hilarious. 

SO the whole time i was wondering how they’d get out of the whole “same day forever”-thing, if they were to. and I LOVE LOVE LOVE that they had such a logical way out of it: science. Not anything cheesy like “a true love’s kiss” or “you learned your lesson”. Pure logic and Sarah’s hard work to get there. Huge fan of this. 

I will never get over how good Nyles looks waking up and Sarah is xtra pretty in that scene:’) 

Nyles just wants to stay in a loop forever because it means for sure that he gets to stay with Sarah forever and I’m lowkey into it but also like lowkey LISTEN TO HER AND GO WITH HER PLAN, NYLES

“I wanna stay with you” *sniffles*

“I love you. How about that?” PRETTY FUCKING GOOD 

I love Nyles’ character development. He started off so nonchalant and cold, closed off and by this point he’s the softest, smiliest in love fool I’ve ever seen and Andy does it so good. SAMBERG HEART EYES!!

“Nothing is real in here” YES SARAH UR LOVE IS

I’m taking Sarah’s asking Nyles to believe in her and leave with her as her first “I love you” because it’s very clear that she wants to leave with him rather than without. 

just- this entire scene i ugh <3 <3 <3 <3

BREAKING. UP. WITH. MISTY ! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

glass of wine filled to the brim? sarah’s my type of gal

the speech was really beautiful and sweet without being too cheesy and kudos to cristin for really delivering it like a pro! especially her “abe, don’t fuck this up” like yes girl kill him, chop him to pieces with your eyes!!! also camila is such really pretty bride

nyles looks like a cockatoo here :

nyles taking the shot and smashing the glass into the ground got me 🤭😵😏🥵

“I’m your son” I SCREAM

GIVE THE MAN A WHITE HORSE DAMNIT

Gotta admit Sarah looks like a bomb (lol nu pun intended) ass super hero in her bridesmaid dress and C4-gettup 

The sentence ending up being total grammatical gibberish but Nyles trying so. damn. hard is the sweetest thing ever and should and will go down in rom-com history. It’s super romantic but also well-balanced by humor and I just.. so good. This is the kind of characters and relationships I love and wanna write myself 

“you’re my favorite person that i’ve ever met” 🥺🥺🥺

“i’d rather die with you than live in this world without you” WHY AM I SO SINGLE SOMEONE LOVEE ME LIKE THIS 

okay so idk but “what if we get sick of each other?” “we’re already sick of each other. it’s the best.” is so so so soft, the way nyles says it like it doesn’t matter and is honestly another key moment for me: they’ve experienced basically everything imaginable during their time in the box/loop. they’ve liked, disliked, loved, hated each other and still: he loves her. the fact that nyles knows no matter what happens it won’t stop that because it’s them?? ouch my heart. 

this chaotic mess of a pairing?MESSY BOMB BRIDESMAID AND CURLY-HAIR HAWAII SHIRT-BOI!! MY OTp

Them dissing Nyles’ mom on their way into potential death? that’s love, baby 

the fUCKING KISSSSSSS MANNNNNNNNNN!!!! SO ICONIC AND THE EXPLOSION IN THE BACKGROUND AND JUST WE DESERVE THIS THEY DESERVE THIS EVERYONE DESERVES THISSSS!!! 

NEVER OVEER THIS EVER FOREVER NEVER

Ok so I was SURE that when it faded to black that it was done and I grew super ficking frustrated because it would leave us with this “the ending is up to whatever you chose”-kinda thing kinda a la Celeste and Jesse where it just feels unresolved and I WASN’T OKAY WITH THAT. So I’m so happy we got to know that it worked and the bebes will live happuilly ever after with Nyles’ shaggy dog:’) 

Their hands on each other’s knee >>>>>

all in all 100000/10 

[how-to-survive-a-factory-tour]

How to Survive a Factory Tour - Chapter 9

A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory FanFiction

PREVIOUS

—————

“What the heck are those?” My curiosity is sparked by the unusual sight, and I stand, walking over to the river bank. There, on the other side, stands a person. But they don’t look like a normal person… Not at all...

“What are you looking at?” Roman asks as he, Patton and Virgil come and stand by me. I point across the river to where the strange person is picking sweets from a bush.

“Woah, it’s a little person!” Patton gasps. “They’re so small…”

“Somehow even smaller than you, Logan. Didn’t know that was possible.” I shove Roman’s arm at this comment. “Ow, hey, I was kidding!”

We continue to watch the unusual person work. As time goes by, we notice more and more around the room, all harvesting various sweets and chocolates. They are most peculiar… They’re all about the size of a large doll. No higher than my knee. Ethan comes over and joins us after a bit, curious as to what we’re all staring at. Then Wonka comes over. “Ah, I see you found the Oompa Loompas!”

“The what?” Roman turns to him.

“Oompa Loompas. They’re my workers. They come from a country called Loompaland, and island just off Madagascar-“

“There’s no such place,” I cut over.

“Yes there is.”

“Mr Wonka, I got an A** in my geography GCSE-“

“Then you’ll know all about it. And, oh, what a terrible country it is.”

Wonka proceeds to tell us all about this supposed ‘Loompaland’. Apparently, he went there to discover new flavours for sweets, but he instead found the Oompa Loompas. They were starving, and were often the prey of (likely fictional) creatures called ‘Hornswogglers’, ‘Snozzwangers’ and ‘Wangdoodles’. So, Wonka helped them by offering them work in his factory in exchange for cocoa beans. They agreed and here they are.

If this completely absurd story is true, the connotations to the slave trade are too prominent to ignore. The Oompa Loompas were even shipped to America on a boat, packed together. Unfortunately, I am unable to inquire about this as Virgil speaks up.

“They were mentioned in the book… The whole story of how you got them is described exactly the same… Mr Wonka, how much of the book about the original tour is true?”

“It’s 100% factual.”

“Bullshit. There’s no way all that could happen in real life.”

“Indeed it can, my boy, and indeed it did. Augustus Gloop fell in this very river, and got sucked up those very pipes. The pipes lead to all the different rooms in the factory where chocolate is required. All the chocolate comes from here so that it is mixed by waterfall. It’s very important it is, as that’s what makes it so light and delicious.”

Virgil still doesn’t seem convinced. “But Violet… there’s no way she-”

“True.”

“Veruca never could have-”

“True.”

“But Mike-”

“True.”

Virgil’s silent for a moment. “... What about Charlie? At the end of the book, he wins the factory and he and his family move in. If it’s true, then where is he?”

Wonka doesn’t respond. But his face… he looks almost solemn. Only for a second, however, before his bright demeanour returns. “Oh, look! Here she comes!”

“Here who comes?” Roman asks.

Wonka points to a tunnel on the wall that the river flows through. Cutting through the melted chocolate is a large pink Viking-style boat. “Our transportation to the next room!”

Figuring I shouldn’t cross-contaminate food items between rooms, I take the gum I had been chewing out my mouth and stick it to a tree as the boat pulls up. Patton sees me and puts down the large gummy bear he had been eating.

The boat comes to a stop by the bank where we are all standing. Oompa Loompas are sat in rows, five per oar. As they all look at us, they all start laughing and giggling.

“What do they find so humorous?” I ask.

“It’s probably nothing,” Wonka shrugs. “They’re always joking and laughing about things. Now, come on, hop in!”

Wonka sits at the back of the boat, Roman and Virgil sit in the row in front of him, while Patton, myself and Ethan sit in the row in front of them.

“Onward! Set a course for… Hmm, where would you all like to go?”

“Ooh, is there a room with cookies and cakes?” Patton asks, legs swinging excitedly.

“I know just the place. Set a course for Dessert Island!”

The Oompa Loompas push the boat away from the bank, and start rowing us down the river.

“Here.” I turn and see Wonka has five cups and is scooping up cups of melted chocolate from the river, before he hands them to each of us. We all thank him, and I take a small sip. My sweet tooth takes over my knowledge that chocolate is very unhealthy, and I drink the rest in a few more gulps.

I hear a giggle beside me. “Lo, you got it all round your mouth.” Patton lifts the sleeve of the hoodie tied over his shoulders and wipes my mouth with it.

“Thank you, Patton…”

“No problem, Lo!”

I hear Roman whisper “I ship it” to Virgil behind me. What does that mean? He’s shipping an item of his from home to his hotel room, I’m guessing. In which case, his grammar was deplorable.

My thoughts are pulled away from Roman’s lack of literary skills when Patton lets out a content sigh. “This is nice, huh? Just drifting gently along a river…”

“Yes,” I agree. “It is rather relaxing.”

And, I can only assume, romantic. Would this be a good time to take Roman’s advice and try and confess my feelings to Patton?

I take a deep breath. Here we are, this is it. I just need to tell him how I feel and hope he reciprocates…

“Patton?”

“Yeah, Lo?”

“Um, there’s something I need to-“

“Dark tunnel incoming!” Ethan’s voice calls, cutting me off. We all turn to see we’re heading right towards a pitch black tunnel.

“Faster!” Wonka calls, and as we near the tunnel, we start to speed up. Then, as we enter, there’s a jolt, and suddenly we’re moving faster than a car on the motorway. I can only assume the Oompa Loompas are rowing quicker than should be humanly possible, as it’s too dark to see anything.

“How can they see where we’re going?!” Virgil calls.

“There’s no knowing where they’re going!” Wonka replies, hooting with laughter.

“There’s no earthly way of knowing

Which direction they are going!

There’s no knowing where they’re rowing,

Or which way they river’s flowing!

Not a speck of light is showing,

So the danger must be growing,

For the rowers keep on rowing,

And they’re certainly not showing

Any signs that they are slowing!”

“Well, this is great. Our tour leader’s gone crazy,” Virgil says.

“I haven’t gone crazy! Oh, by the way, hold on tight!”

“Hold on ti-?” My question’s cut off as we suddenly plummet, my voice being replaced with a scream. Luckily, my scream is dwarfed by Roman, who lets out a screech so loud I worry Virgil was deafened.

As we dart down, my hands hold the bench of the boat in a death grip, and I feel a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

“Switch on the lights!” Wonka yells, and suddenly the tunnel is flooded with bright coloured lights. I look down to see Patton is the one holding onto him, and my face heats up.

But then, with a loud splash, we reach the bottom of the drop, straightening up and slowing down.

Patton opens his eyes that had been closed tightly in fear, and looks up at me. He immediately lets go and leans back. “Oh, I-I’m sorry! I, uh… I just got scared I was gonna fall out…”

“It’s, um, it’s quite alright, Patton…”

We continue to gently flow along, the current carrying us past many doors with different room titles. One of them catches my eye and sparks my curiosity.

“What’s the ‘Inventing Room’?”

“That is where all my new and unfinished inventions are created and completed. If you’d like, we can head there after Dessert Island.”

“Don’t you mean ‘desert’?” Roman asks. “You keep pronouncing it wrong.”

“I know what I said,” is Wonka’s only response.

We float on for a couple more minutes, when Patton giggles.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just the lights, they’re making us all look different colours,” Patton explains, currently doused in yellow light. “You’re this bright reddy-purple.”

And he looks gorgeous, like he’s bathed in sunlight...

No! Shut up, gay thoughts, now isn’t the time! That flume killed the romantic mood, the moment’s over.

The boat starts to slow and veer closer to the wall. It comes to a complete stop outside of a door.

Wonka steps out and the rest of us follow. Once we’re all on dry land, he turns and opens the door labelled ‘Dessert Island’.

—————

NEXT

Taglist: @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing @clone-number-1 @pumpkinminette @why-should-i-tell-youu2

[sanami-love]

Slow and Steady Ch.2

Alright guys! I’m back. It’s only been about a week right? Sorry to keep you waiting. I hope you guys like the second chapter! This one is a bit shorter I believe, and this one’s gonna be a bit more spicy, and may even make you question the title of this fic lol Anyway, here you go guys! :D 

Sanji worked tirelessly to fix the crew their daily breakfast. Despite the fact that he felt like if he closed his eyes for too long, he would likely fall asleep standing. Still, even his weariness couldn't do anything to take the everlasting smile off his face. He still couldn't believe that Nami reciprocated his feelings. His beautiful Nami-San...he couldn't stop thinking about her after last night. Little hearts began forming at the end of his cigarette as he began thought about her. The way her light auburn hair swayed on her delicate, lightly freckled shoulders, her pretty brown-red eyes, the way she smelled like tangerines and parchment, the way she often had ink stains on her little fingers...She was just so electrifying. Even when she hadn't just struck him with a thunderbolt! And then there were her curves. Those legs, that waist, those brea- "Gah!" Sanji winced, burning himself for the third time that morning. He couldn't tell if it was sleep deprivation or thinking of Nami that had him so distracted this morning, but either way he needed to wake up. Just as he began reaching for the coffee pot; "Saaanjii!! More food!!" Luffy yelled across the kitchen, sitting at the front end of the dining table, banging his silverware against it. "Oi! Luffy! Shut up! Nami-San is trying to sleep!" Sanji yelled back a decible higher, realizing he likely just caused the chances of Nami waking up to skyrocket. "I want more fooood. How much longer do I gotta to wait?" Luffy asked, laying his head on the table and pouting like a sad child. "It'll be a few more minutes Luffy, be patient. The meat still isn't cooked thoroughly." Sanji said, now in a much quiter tone. Turning back to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mugfull and gulping it down. As he turned back to flip the seasoned fish over, he felt the presence of an elongated hand behind his back. "Luffy." Sanji began. "Do you remember what happened last time you tried to steal the meat out of the pan?" Sanji inquired in an ominous tone. "You burned your hand, ate the meat and burned your tongue, and got kicked the shit out of by me." Sanji stated, recalling the incident. "If you're that desperate for more food.." Sanji said, reaching over for a nearly expired loaf of bread. "Then eat this. It'll only be a couple more minutes." He finished, handing the bread over. Luffy grumbled, but still ate the bread happily. Shortly after, Sanji approached him with a massive plate full of seasoned fish that could feed at least six people. Luffy's eyes lit up as he gladly began eating the fish before Sanji had even finished handing him the plate. "Thanks Thanji! You're tha bethst!" Luffy said happily through mouthfuls of food. Sanji was about to scold luffy for talking with his mouth full, when the kitchen door opened and their tall skeleton musician walked in. "Yoho, Goodmorning Sanji-San, Luffy-San." Brook greeted them eloquently. "Sanji-san, might I have some tea to go with my breakfast?" He asked, sitting at the opposite end of the table. "The usual, coming right up." Sanji said, giving a slight smile to his skeletal friend. As time passed, the rest of the crew members excluding Nami came to join breakfast time. At this point, Sanji would become lost in his work. Moving diligently to meet all the crews dietary needs. And yet, even as he focused on his work he still couldn't get Nami out of his mind. "Nami-san is my girlfriend~.." He kept thinking, unable to keep a grin off his face. Of course, this didn't go unnoticed by some crew members. Namely Robin, Zoro, and Brook. "Oi. Shitcook. Stop imagining pervy shit while making my food. I don't want drool or any of your other bodily substances ruining my onigiri." Zoro snapped, clearly trying to wipe the smile of Sanji's face. "Fuck off Mosshead. Here's your damn onigiri. Try not to choke. Or don't, I don't really care." Sanji retorted, handing Zoro his onigiri and still smiling. Not even he was going to ruin his good mood. "Huh. Still smiling. Must've been a pretty good wet dream then huh?" Zoro sarcastically said, biting into his riceball. "Now now, boys." Robin said calmly, setting down her cup of tea. "Lets try to have a peaceful meal. It's such a nice morning." She said, turning to Zoro and patting his head. Zoro's raised an eyebrow at her, but relented. "Fine, whatever." He said, returning to his onigiri. "Heh. He might act tough but even he can't resist a pretty ladies charms every now and then." Sanji thought, giving a look of 'thank you' to Robin that she clearly accepted. "Guess I owe her a new book for that.." Sanji thought to himself. Robin had to admit, she was curious as to why he looked so chipper despite looking as if he'd had no sleep at all. She wasn't one to pry, though. Sanji made his way over to Brook, carrying a small serving of scones for the musician. "Ah, thank you Sanji-san." Brook said, eagerly taking one of the scones and dipping it into his tea. "Yoho, I have to say Sanji-san, you do look rather chipper this morning. Might I ask what has you so lively today?" Brook asked in his usual merry tone. "..What do I say? I don't really feel right about telling the crew about Nami and I's relationship without her permission.." Sanji thought for a moment. "Oh, I just had a good dream is all." Sanji lied, as he poured the musician more tea. "Ha! Knew it was a wet dream!" Zoro shouted across the kitchen. Sanji glared at him, and just as he was about to snap back at him, Robin reached over and pulled Zoro's ear, causing him to wince. "No more of that please. I'd like to be able to enjoy my morning." Robin said, giving Zoro a slight glare. "Ah, so it was that kind of dream. No wonder you look so happy!" Brook said, leaning over to whisper to Sanji. "Hey, hey, what color were her panties?" He asked eagerly, awaiting the cooks response. "Sorry Brook, wasn't that kind of dream. Mossheads just being a dipshit as usual." Sanji whispered back. "Sorry, I'll tell you later. Nami-san should be waking up soon so I need to bring her her meal." Sanji said, waving to him as he picked up Nami's platter and walked out of the kitchen. "That was close." He thought as he strolled through the cold misty deck of the Sunny. Truthfully he couldn't come up with anything convincing enough to tell Brook. Oh well, he was just happy to be able to get away from the others for a moment to see his beloved Nami-san. Currently, it was 10am. Nami should've had four hours of sleep and would likely be up. As much as he wished she could get more sleep, she was their navigator. Her role in the crew was one of, if not the most important jobs on the Sunny. Sanji reached into his jacket pocket and took out another one of his death brand cigarettes and lit it up as he neared the girls room. Taking a long drag just before knocking on the bedroom door. "Nami-san my dearest~..It's Sanji. I've brought you something lovely to eat." Sanji said in his usual chipper, lovey tone. A moment later, he heard a click and the door began to open. "Good morning, Sanji-Kun." Nami said with a smile. "Whatever you have, it smells amazing. Come on in." She said, yawning as she finished her sentence. Sanji entered the room and set the plate on the small circular table nestled between two red chairs. He turned to gaze at her, feeling overcome with joy as he did. She hadn't brushed her hair or gotten dressed for the day yet. She was wearing a long sleeve, form fitting yellow sweater and fuzzy blue pajama pants with little hearts on them. And yet she still looked so angelic. He pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down. First, taking a swig of her freshly squeezed orange juice.  Sanji took a seat in the other chair, sitting across from her. "You look so pretty today." He said, gazing at her. Nami raised an eyebrow, but smiled and continued to enjoy her meal. It wasn't unlike him to tell her she looked nice even when she looked a mess. "Whatever you say." She said, glancing away with a slight blush. Looking back to see Sanji had taken her hand in his own, gently rubbing his thumb against the back her hand. "So...now that we're dating...is there anything you'd like to do once we reach land?" Sanji asked, scratching his cheek. Nami blushed a little harder as watched him fiddle with some strands of his hair. "He's so cute when he's nervous.." She thought, trying to think of something she wanted to do date wise. "Um..Well, we don't have to be on land for a date. I do have one idea though.." Nami said, beginning to fiddle with her own hair. "Im all ears, my love." Sanji said eagerly. "Well...we could go down to the aquarium bar tonight and maybe have a few drinks. Sound good?" She said with a bright smile. That was a really good idea. The aquarium bar was a pretty romantic place to have a date too. He just hoped no one would just decide to hang out down there tonight. "Thats sounds wonderful, Nami-san. Its a date." He said gleefully, taking her empty cup and plate and stacking them. "You bet. And don't be late." Nami said jokingly as she stood up from her chair and walked to her vanity. "Wouldn't dream of it, love." Sanji said, watching as Nami began to brush her long hair out. Wanting to feel how soft her hair was. "Nami-san, would it be alright if I help fix your hair? I'm actually pretty good with hairstyling." Sanji inquired hopefully. He really wanted to run his fingers through those beautiful orange locks of hers. "So a master chef and a hairdresser, huh?" Nami joked as she handed him the brush. "Alright, show me what you can do." She said, standing back in front of the mirror. "Yes ma'am." Sanji said getting up from his seat to stand behind her. He began collecting her from around her shoulders and bringing it back, loving how soft it felt against his fingers. He brushed the hair out from the bottom and began to separate and braid it, bringing it up and putting together high braided bun. "Now, turn to face me." Sanji said. Nami turned around to face him, blushing from the proximity. She watched Sanji's face as he focused on fixing her bangs and pulling a few strands of hair loose to hang in front of her face. He was incredibly handsome. His eyes were so pretty, and his eyebrows had a strange charm to them. His jaw was well defined and his beard gave him a slightly rugged, sexy look. And his lips, they looked so soft. They looked so irresistably soft. Sanji tucked a single hair behind her ear, bringing his thumb to caress her cheek. He looked into her eyes, realizing she was staring at his lips. He began to look at her own, and couldnt resist leaning towards them. Their foreheads and noses touched, feeling each others breath on each other. Eyes becoming half-lidded, slowly inching closer until their lips were mere millimeters apart. Their lips brushed ever so gently, driving the two over the edge. Lips met eagerly in what felt like pure ecstacy, moving together in unison in a sweet, normal fashion at first. Sanji glided his tongue against her upper lip, begging for her own. Her tongue glided against his own, allowing their kiss to become more heated. Lips opened wider to fully taste each other as light moans filled the quiet room. He tasted like smoke and spices, and she tasted like sweet oranges. Sanji's hands began to wander down her sides, lightly running them up and down. Nami ran one hand through his hair excitedly, and one hand felt his chest with need. She ran her hand down to reach under his shirt, feeling the hardened muscle of his abs underneath. Sanji moaning slightly at the feeling of her soft hand and nails running against his skin. Sanji moved a hand to feel her hips, cautiously tucking his thumb in the side to feel her soft skin, and moving his other to just under her breast as he just barely felt her with his thumb. Nami began moving her hand downwards, slipping her fingers past his waistband, slowly trying to inch further downward. Sanji felt his hard member twitch with pure desperation to be touched by her. Nami slipped her fingers in halfway just as she heard the bedroom door open. The two immediately separated, faces stained tomato red as Robin looked at them with what was pure amusement on her face. "H-Hi Robin..." Nami said, dying of embarassment. She couldn't have walked in at a worse time. Sanji just had his hand on his neck, staring at the floor in sheer mortification. Robin couldn't have been anymore amused. "Well, I guess I know why you looked so happy this morning, Cook-san." Robin said smiling. "Sorry, I just dropped by to grab one of my books." She said, walking by the two nonchalantly and grabbing said book. She walked back to the door. "Don't worry, I won't say a word to the others if thats what the two of you want. Congratulations." Robin said as she began to close the door. "Have fun, Nami." Robin said with a teasing smile as she left. Nami fell to the floor in shame. "Well. That was completely mortifying." Nami said, glancing over at Sanji who was still an embarassed mess. "I-uh...Sorry, Nami-san. I got a little carried away." Sanji said, giving her a slight nervous smile. "Don't be sorry. I did too. Besides...it felt really good." Nami said, not daring to look him in the eyes as she said it. Sanji walked over her way and helped her back up. "Im glad you think so...It did for me too." He stated, placing a finger on her chin to lift her face up to his own. Sanji brought his lips to hers once again, but this time the kiss being short and sweet. "Nami-san...kissing you feels so wonderful. I honestly don't want to stop. But, we've got jobs to do. So, I'll leave you to get ready for the day." He said, bringing his arms around her for a moment. "That being said, I'll see you tonight in the aquarium." He said, smiling brightly as ever. "Yeah. Its a date. I'll see you then, Sanji-Kun." Nami said, smiling but still shaking from the prior embarassment.

[peachscribe]

Explain to me how if you’re my guard why I’m the one always saving your life? Prince Nico to the rescue of royal guard Will Solace... maybe

i actually felt so inspired by this (after so long - have you forgotten about this already?) that i wrote this in one sitting. hard to believe since it’s an absolute monster (not really, but 5332 words is a lot to write in one siting)

it’s late where i am, and so im going to be bad and not review this like i should,, forgive me if things don’t make sense or if there are typos. perhaps tomorrow (later today) i’ll post the edited/revised version on ao3

without further ado:

“Well, this is certainly a sticky situation,” Will said, because he was at the moment stuck to a wall. A rather archaic trap, but effective, apparently.

No one laughed at his joke, but he figured that was fair. He wasn’t laughing either, but he was smiling like a lunatic. An unfortunate side effect of a dizzying concoction nerves and confidence born of escaping many sticky situations without too much trouble.

“Gentlemen,” Will said conversationally, casually trying to pull his sword arm out of the tar his entire front side was glued to. “I’m sure we can talk this out.” The scent of it was pure awful, burnt rubber invading not only the nostril that was fully submerged, but the free one as well. He was already mourning his natural scent of sawdust and daisies that he always thought made him seem quite fetching. Now he would smell like the lovechild of a (non-romantic) fire and one of those monstrous machines that were becoming quite popular with Prince Nico’s Uncle Hephaestus. Fabulous, really.

It seemed the nice gentlemen didn’t want to talk it out because one of them wrapped his filthy fingers in Will’s (previously) freshly washed hair, yanking him back and causing a wonderful tearing sensation to begin to take root in the skin and hair stuck in the tar and the skin and hair that wasn’t stuck in the tar.

“Where’s the prince,” he growled in his ear, making the phrase seem much more like a statement than a question.

“Interesting that you should ask that,” Will said, wincing when the man pulled harder and actually pulled Will’s face out of the tar. He wondered vaguely if his eyebrow had survived. “I’m starting to wonder as well.”

The man slammed Will’s face back into the tar rather harshly and then spat tobacco on the side of Will’s face that had previously been clean.

“We’re not going to get anything out of him,” one of the other men said. “He’s trained by the Royal Guard.”

“That is true,” Will pointed out. “And I could tell you wonderful stories of my times during training. You know, there was this one night when my cohorts and I snuck out-”

“Could someone please shut him up?”

“I wish whoever the brave soul is luck in that endeavor,” Will said because he’d just caught sight of a lingering shadow in the one window that was in his line of eyesight.

The same filthy man from before (Will recognized him by his pungent scent of garbage that had fermented in the sun for a couple of days) leaned in again, his foul-smelling breath mixing with the already foul air of the tar. “You got something up your sleeve, pretty boy?”

“You think I’m pretty?” Will asked just as the front door of the cabin exploded.

Chaos ensued, although much of it Will was unable to see. He heard the familiar growls and barks of Nico’s three headed wolf and the screams of the men that had been holding him, and he assumed enough.

When a heavy silence descended over the room and only the heavy breathing of the wolf heads remained, he ventured to speak. “Well, I must admit that you’ve saved me from a rather sticky situation.”

He heard a sigh. The sheathing of a sword. “How many times have you made that joke since getting stuck to the wall?”

“Only enough to be annoying,” Will responded, and in the quiet that followed, Will imagined that Nico was smiling. “Do you have a suggestion on how to free me from my current prison?”

“Mrs. O’Leary,” Nico said, his light feet moving about the room, “please take care of this buffoon.” Mrs. O’Leary, the previously mentioned three headed wolf, bounded over to Will immediately, her three pink tongues digging into the tar surrounding him and lapping it up like it was a particularly nice treat.

“So,” Will drawled as Mrs. O’Leary went to town on his tar-covered trousers, “how’d you spend your hours free of me?”

“The theatre,” Nico responded, followed by the swishing of rope, “followed by a tavern that serves the greasy foods that Persephone’s mother so hates.” More rope, followed by the casual sliding of dead weight on the wooden floor. “And then tracking you down.”

“How exciting.” Mrs. O’Leary had made quick work of his legs and had moved on to his torso. It was torture to resist laughing. “Tell me, my dear prince, was it worth it?”

Nico grumbled something unintelligible, and then seemed to purposefully lose himself in the work of tying up the culprits (all of which were still breathing, despite the drama they’d all fussed about it) and gathering them all together.

At last, Will was unstuck from the wall, and he stepped back, stretching out his neck and admiring the Will-shaped hole in the tar. Much still clung to the front of his clothes and the side of his face, but it was better than being stuck. Mrs. O’Leary propped her paws up on his shoulders and slobbered happily over his face.

Will was a relatively smart man, and so he kept his mouth firmly closed during this ordeal, although he kept an eye open and observed the prince.

He was standing, back straight and positively regal, against a wall. He had unsheathed his sword while waiting for Will to be freed and was polishing the pure black metal with a cloth that Will knew he kept in his bag. His face was tired although his body didn’t seem to be, and his hair looked as if he’d just rolled out bed, directly contrasting the awake posture. There was no crown adorning the messy curls, and Will suspected that was on purpose.

When Mrs. O’Leary had finished with Will’s face and had moved on to the side of his head where (hopefully) hair remained, Will dared to speak.

“I told these nice men that I was the prince, but they didn’t seem to believe me,” Will said, gesturing to the tied up men and crossing his arms as Mrs. O’Leary made his hair stand up only on that one side.

“You look nothing like my father,” Nico said without looking up from his sword. “It’s no wonder they didn’t believe you.”

“Really?” Will asked. “I’ve always thought my nose was quite similar to his.”

Nico finally looked up at him then, dark eyebrow raised. Will could see it took a lot for him to maintain that expression and not break into a fit of laughter, no doubt at Will’s expense. “It seems the tar has had a fight with your eyebrow,” he said, confirming Will’s worst fear.

“Who won?” Will asked, touching the offending eyebrow and immediately knowing the answer. Only a few hairs were left.

“The tar. Most definitely.”

“I’ve sacrificed so much for you, Prince Nico. How much more are you and your dastardly schemes going to cost me?” The was the second time in as many weeks that Will’s glorious (if he did say so himself) appearance had suffered because of Nico. First it was being forced to cut his long, luxurious hair to just around his neck, and now it was this. One whole eyebrow. Gone.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you could save yourself, William,” Nico said, sheathing his sword once more and stuffing the cleaning cloth into his black leather bag. “What’s the good in being my personal knight when I’m the one saving you?”

“You say this as if the reason you’re having to save me isn’t that you are constantly putting me into bad situations,” Will quipped, and Nico scowled

“Is that any way to talk to a prince?”

“I suspect not, but I’m mourning the death of my best eyebrow, so you must excuse me.”

This is what made Nico’s face crack open into a crooked smile. Will thought it belonged right beside the stars. Nico ducked his face, quickly controlling his errant facial muscles and clearing his throat. “We must alert my father immediately concerning the kidnapping attempt,” he said, all prim and proper business as he straightened out his peasants’ shirt.

“These men will have to accompany us on our return to the castle,” Will responded, catching Nico’s stride in conversation and rolling with it. “Mrs. O’Leary will prevent them from leaving while we go and summon a carriage and a pull cart for the prisoners.”

They walked out of the cabin together, Nico having changed back into his princely attire and directing Mrs. O’Leary to stay behind. Will still wore his tar-stained white knight tunic, and he had picked up his golden sword from where it had been tossed when he had first entered the brawl with the unknown gentlemen. He was sure he was quite a sight with half his head all slobbered on and one whole eyebrow gone.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” Nico said, a sad attempt at reassurance tinging his voice as he pulled his golden crown out of his bag and fit it atop his curls.

“Well, if you’re saying that, then I know it’s bad.” He tried in vain to comb his wet hair covered in hellhound spit over the empty space, to no avail.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious.” Delivered in a deadpan. Nothing less of the prince, Will supposed.

“Speaking of bad,” Will said, eager to direct the conversation away from his missing eyebrow, “let’s discuss your habit of running away while in my care.”

“I’d rather not,” Nico grumbled.

“I’ve avoided telling your father,” Will continued as if Nico hadn’t spoken, “for your sake as well as my own, but I believe that it has become an excessive and needless problem.” Will cast a sideways glance at Nico as they entered the outskirts of the town. “The other knights say you’re perfectly behaved in their care. It’s only me you despise so much.”

“I don’t despise you,” Nico said, but that was as far as he got because they were then swarmed by townsfolk, demanding to know if it was truly the Prince of the Underworld standing before them. The reached out to him, but Will stood in front of him, hand on the hilt of his sword and eyes narrowed.

“This is indeed the prince you speak of,” Will said, making the line of the crowd push back a few steps. “And so you shall treat him with the respect he deserves.”

They all dropped to a knee or both knees, murmuring their prayers and praises for eternal life and prosperity. For Nico as well as themselves.

Despite Will being certain that Nico was quite embarrassed with this display, he jut his chin out and looked down his impressive hooked nose he’d inherited from his father. “Rise,” he said, and they did. Will stepped to Nico’s right side, hand still on his sword for the purpose of safety. Nico regarded the crowd with his deep set eyes, and then he spoke again. “My knight and I require a carriage for the purpose of returning back to the Underworld. We will also be needing a prisoner’s cart.”

The crowd looked around at each other. “We don’t have a carriage fit for a prince,” said a man with enough authority and sympathy in his voice for everyone to agree.

“A carriage fit for two people, whatever status, will be perfectly fine,” Nico replied, and the people sighed in relief. “The carriage will be returned, and a reward will be paid to its owner, as well as the rest of the town, for your hospitality.”

A chorus of praises rang out, and Will and Nico were escorted to the finest inn to await the preparations of the carriages and the prisoner’s pull cart.

Once they were alone enough, Will looked over at Nico, smiling broadly at him. “So you don’t despise me,” he prompted. Nico scowled.

“I’ll have your other eyebrow shaved off in your sleep.”

The men, after an interrogation conducted by Will that lasted far less of a time that he thought it would, were low-level criminals hired by an unknown person to kidnap the prince. For reasons unknown. What a great help they were, truly.

Will’s eyebrow grew back slowly and painfully, and he found himself checking its progress everyday in any mirror or flat surface of water when he had the chance. It had finally reached acceptable levels when Will was caught preening at his reflection in the waters of a fountain that stood in Persephone’s garden.

“One Narcissus is enough,” Nico said, and Will stood up from his perch on the fountain, saluting him and then breaking into a grin.

“At least I wasn’t making kissy faces at myself,” Will said, relaxing as Nico sat down on the fountain ledge and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You were far too close for my liking.”

“So what is to your liking?”

Nico’s eyes fell to his lap, and he turned away from Will, facing the fountain waters. He seemed almost like he had started counting the amount of golden coins that had been thrown into the magical waters.

“What brings you through the gardens in such a late hour?” Will asked, making Nico lose count of the coins.

“Well,” Nico said, still not looking at him and instead fiddling with his thumbs. “I was planning to sneak out.”

“Ooh,” Will cooed, sitting beside Nico at a safe distance for the both of them. “And you’re actually telling me as opposed to keeping me in the dark?”

“I’ll run now if you continue being strange about it,” Nico snapped, and Will laughed.

“Sorry, pretty prince. I’ll stay quiet.” Will mimed zipping his mouth shut. The pretty prince glared at him, pale face ablaze with a pink blush.

“There’s a festival Upstairs that I’ve been wanting to attend,” Nico continued, not breaking eye contact with Will, probably out of spite. “My father doesn’t like the idea because of the hitmen from that time-”

“Smart man.”

“-And I know he’s warned the knights about being persuaded by me-”

“This is true,” Will admitted with a nod. Hades had made the announcement earlier that day.

“-But I know that you have some things that you’d prefer my father not know,” Nico finished, expression blazing and determined. Will couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Yes,” Nico replied without hesitation.

“Prince Nico,” Will said, smiling a shaking his head, “if you wanted to invite me to the festival, all you had to do was ask.”

“So you’ll take me?”

“Sweet prince,” Will said, patting Nico’s cheek. “Absolutely not.”

Nico blanched, his perpetual scowl turning fierce. “But you just said-”

“That I’d be delighted to accompany you on a nice date through a festival, yes,” Will said, standing up and stretching out his limbs. “However, as much as you think I’m an idiot, I still believe in my duty to you and you father.” He offered a hand to Nico, which he took, and he helped the prince stand. “I swore to never purposely put you in harms’ way, and I plan to stand by that.”

“Why is it now that you choose to be valiant?” Nico asked, dropping his hand and shaking his head.

“Oh, little prince, I’ve always been valiant,” Will said, planting a hand on the small of Nico’s back and guiding him out of the gardens. “You’ve just never given me a chance to show off.”

Will took him back to his bedroom, making sure to keep his feet safely outside of the threshold. “Please sleep, Prince Nico,” Will said as Nico glared up at him. “Perhaps next year I can accompany you to this festival you so desire to attend.”

“Yeah, next year,” Nico scoffed, and then punched Will so hard in the jaw that stars danced in his eyes. He fell to the floor, and all went black.

Will woke up to a splitting headache and the familiar rumble of a carriage. Except the rumble was making his head rumble, and that was neither familiar nor pleasant. He groaned. His jaw throbbed.

“It’s good that you’re awake,” a nice voice said. Prince Nico. “We’re almost there.”

“You punched me,” Will said, opening his eyes and glaring over to Nico, who sat leisurely across from him.

“And cast a sleep spell on you,” Nico said, as if this wasn’t extremely offensive and criminal.

“For what purpose?” Will asked, sitting up and rubbing his aching jaw. He noted the warmth and weight of Mrs. O’Leary beside him with her heads resting in his lap. He gave her a pat.

Nico looked out the carriage window, scowling.

“I’ll find a way to turn this carriage around,” Will threatened.

“I’m never allowed freedom,” Nico muttered after a small space of silence. “Always guarded, always protected, as if I was never taught to defend myself.”

“You’re the only heir to an important kingdom - arguably the most important,” Will said. “What do you expect?”

“My father can walk outside of his kingdom, and he can do it without a bodyguard or a knight in shining armor.”

“Your father is also objectively terrifying.”

Nico’s sharp gaze turned on him. “Are you saying I’m not?”

“I must admit I’m biased,” Will said, and Nico rolled his eyes.

“Everyone is always preventing me from going out because of some mysterious threat,” Nico continued, shaking his head. “As if I won’t be threatened for my entire life. These things happen, and they happen, and they happen, and they never stop happening. And I’m told to cower in the face of things happening.”

Will pursed his lips. “What are you trying to prove, Prince?”

Nico turned his steady gaze to Will, all sharp angles and contrast. “That I’m not afraid to have fun.”

Having fun with Nico was probably the best thing that Will had ever semi-chosen to do. Nico was dressed in his peasants’ clothes, and he forced some on Will, too, and so they blended into the crowds of festival goers.

There were bright lights hung up on strings and stalls that glowed with the promise of prizes or food or both, and it was divine to hold Nico’s waist while attempting not to lose him in the crowd and pretend.

Pretend that they weren’t a knight and a prince. Pretend that they weren’t bound together by duty. Pretend that things were very different.

They took a break from the games at an empty picnic table, the spoils of their dominating the festivals games stuffed into cheap moleskine bags that they put by their feet. In front of them was a single plate of something fried and sweet with strawberry sauce, and already their fingers were covered in sugar and grease. Mrs. O’Leary sat upright, begging for a taste, and Nico let her lick three of his fingers.

“Now you know what you missed out on every time you abandoned me,” Will teased. “A good time with lots of laughs.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Nico said, swatting at the air. He didn’t look annoyed or angry, though, and in fact looked as though a smile was fighting its way to the surface.

“It’s okay to do that more often, you know,” Will said, lost in the pretend.

“What?” Nico asked, looking up from the plate of sugar. The smile was there, caught in the phase before its birth, right when it started to sparkle in his eyes.

“Smile,” Will said, pretending it didn’t take his breath away when the smile broke across Nico’s face. “It’s quite stunning.” Brighter than the festival lights, that’s for sure.

“And you wonder why I always ran from you,” Nico said, shaking his head and hiding his smile with another mouthful of the sugary sweet.

Will was still trying to figure out how to respond when someone yanked his head back and cold metal was pressed against his throat. Given that it was sharp and uncomfortable, Will guessed it was a knife. Nico stood, unsheathing his sword in the same breath as when the knife touched Will’s throat but more attackers surrounded the table. Mrs. O’Leary leaned close to the ground, growls low in her throats.

“Move and he dies,” said the person holding Will’s hair.

“What business?” Will asked, putting on his best imperial voice and tilting back his head to look his attacker in the eye. He was wearing a mask, a ridiculous one from the festival, and it wasn’t hard for Will to metaphorically look down his nose at him.

“We’re here for Prince Nico di Angelo of the Underworld, renowned dark sorcerer, heir to King Hades,” said one of the other attackers, also wearing a festival mask. That must’ve been how they were able to slip under Will’s radar, disregarding his distracted state.

“This is he,” Will replied coolly, and the group of attackers advanced. Nico opened his mouth, but Will shot him a look.

“The smaller one looks like him,” one of them commented, and Will rolled his eyes.

“We are wearing glamours,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “That one is my white knight, disguised as me in the case of this kind of event.”

The attackers shifted uncomfortably. “You’re lying,” said the man holding the knife to Will’s throat.

“Am I?” Will challenged. “See how quickly he drew his sword. See how he is ready to defend me although there are so many of you. He only stopped because I started talking.”

Will was sure Nico would slap him for this later.

None of the attackers seemed to be able to argue with his logic, but none of them were willing to take it at face value. The knife at his throat pressed harder. “Why would you expose your ruse if you are the prince?”

“I would like to survive the night,” Will quipped. The knife dug in harder.

“That’s not enough.”

“And I love him,” Will blurted out, acting as if the words hurt him to say out loud. They did, but in a different way than what he was portraying. He cast his eyes downwards. “I love him, and I would rather be taken than allow him to fall by your hands.”

The attackers laughed, and Will raised his eyes to lock gazes with Nico. He was surprised, he could tell, but Will didn’t bother wasting precious facial expressions when he was being so closely watched.

“Please,” he sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. “Take me and spare him.”

“Don’t do this, Prince,” Nico warned.

“My only wish is for you to be safe, my love,” Will said, opening his eyes and leveling a look heavy with meaning at him. “Safe and happy.”

Nico seemed to be relaxing into his character. His sword hand dropped, and he leaned forward, pleading and open. “How could I ever be happy without you by my side to protect?” he asked, and Will actually felt his heart squeeze in response.

He turned his face away. “Do not make this harder than it has to be, darling. Let me go.” Nico was a really good actor. He looked as though his heart was breaking.

“What a show,” the man holding Will’s head snarled. He yanked Will up so that he was standing, knife still pressed against his throat. “Beck and Selina, stay behind and take care of the knight. The rest of you come with me.”

Will was paraded off, the knife coming off from his neck as they entered the crowded parts of the festival and taking its place at the small of his back. “Scream, little prince, and I’ll make sure your death is slow and torturous.” Will nodded silently.

He was unceremoniously shoved into a carriage, a blindfold tied around his eyes and a gag stuffed into his mouth. The tied his wrists behind his back and took away his sword. And then they laughed and talked about normal things, as if they were normal and not currently kidnapping someone.

About an hour passed (Will had counted), and then he was paraded off the carriage and into someplace cold, and then to someplace cold and dark, where he heard locks clicking and the laughter fading. He counted, and prayed Nico was okay.

A day passed on the floor of the cold cellar - surely it must’ve been a cellar with how cold and damp it was - with no change. Will was hungry, but not starving, and although he was cold, he wasn’t freezing. All free thoughts were spent praying that Nico had made it to safety.

He was less sure the more time passed.

Another day passed, and then another. He was dehydrated and weak and probably the worst situation he’d ever been in because of Nico. But he didn’t blame him. He only begged the gods that he’d made it home safe.

It was during the third day that Will was forced up and poked and prodded through hallways and up staircases until his was panting with the effort to keep his balance. And then a hand shoved at his back, and he was forced to catch himself with his knees on hard, cold floor.

“Remove the blindfold,” said a rasping, cold voice that fit right in with the atmosphere. The blindfold was removed.

The bright light of day was harsh on Will’s sensitive eyes, and he was forced to close them right after he opened them. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, though they watered and burned, and he raised his face to stare at his captor.

It was a man withering away. Centimeters from death, though it looked as if he was closer to simply turning to ash. His hair was long and gray and brittle, seamlessly blending in with his beard, which matched the color of his robes, which matched the color of his skin. The only hint that he was alive at all was the surreal glow of his golden eyes, disks of color pressed into a statue of a dying man.

He sat on a throne made of gold, and the rest of the room was a mess of black and white. But Will spared only a glance at that. He focused on the man’s eyes, defiant without saying a word.

“You’re glamour has lasted a long time,” the old man said, as if it was a joke.

“No less quality expected for a prince,” Will replied, his voice rough and grating without an ounce of water to smooth it out.

“Where is the prince?”

“You’re looking at him,” Will replied, and there was a kick to Will’s back that made him double over in an attempt to catch his breath.

“He knows you’re lying,” said the voice of the man who’d captured him.

“Luke,” the old man chastised, “let’s be nice to our guest.” The golden disks had never left Will. He knew this even though there were no pupils to speak of. “I will ask you again. Where is the prince?”

He was asking it so nicely, but Will felt the aura of power and dread. He wasn’t a fool.

“Perhaps you should listen to what I’ve told you,” Will said, catching his breath. “You’re looking at him.”

“Tell us where the prince is, and your life will be spared,” the man said, sounding bored.

An unexplainable hope barreled through Will’s traitorous heart, and he found himself saying: “The prince is here.”

The man sighed, waving a frail hand. “Take him away.”

The one called Luke hauled Will to his feet rather roughly, and then shoved him to the door. And then the door burst open, and Will whirled, kneeing Luke between the legs and diving to the side as Prince Nico barged into the room, slashing Luke with the knife so quickly, the boy had no time to dodge the blade as it tore open the skin of his face. Luke cried out, falling to the ground and pressing his hands over the bleeding gash.

Nico stood like a knight, black sword unsheathed and sharp face positively warrior-like as he stared down the man in the chair. The air crackled with power, and then Will laughed.

“I told you,” he said, and then Nico helped Will to his feet as he continued laughing. The man said nothing.

“I will be taking what’s mine now,” Nico said, throwing out a hand and making the shadows of the room circle around each other to make a portal. He was just about the push Will through when the man spoke.

“I will find you again, Nico,” he said, calmly, patiently. “And when I do, you will be giving me what I want.”

“You’ll find me again, Kronos,” Nico said, just as calmly. “But I’ll find you first.”

And with that, he pushed Will through the portal and then jumped in after him.

When Will woke up, Prince Nico was resting his head on the hospital bed, fast asleep even as he clutched one of Will’s hands in his own.

Will had been catching up on the nutrients he’d missed out on while in captivity, and on sleep, which he’d been doing most of the hours of the day. Nico had visited over the past couple of days, but this type of vulnerability was uncommon. Will nudged him awake.

“Hey, pretty prince.”

“You’re feeling better,” Nico grumbled shifting and rubbing his face with his free hand. Will noticed that he didn’t let go of Will’s hand, and he tried not to focus on that too much.

“You’re entirely correct,” Will said, voice quiet even though he had his own personal room. But it was still dark, and it felt wrong to speak too loudly. “I feel ready to take on a few hydras and perhaps some greasy food.”

“You’ll throw it all up,” Nico replied, his voice rough with sleep.

“You sure know how to talk sweet to me,” Will teased, and Nico looked away. “But you’re correct. I would probably throw up all the hydras.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Nico said, and Will laughed, keeping it low in his throat, closer to his heart.

“You should be more clear with what you mean.”

“You first,” Nico quipped back.

“That’s fair,” Will said reasonably. “I meant that hydra skin is so tough and an absolute hellion to cook, and so eating it at present would be-” He stopped, laughing again when he saw Nico’s scowl. “Kidding.”

“I don’t know why I saved you,” Nico grumbled, burrowed his face into the hospital blankets.

“Well, technically, I saved you first,” Will said.

Nico shifted so that he could see Will, and one of his starry smiles pulled at his lips. “Then that makes us even.” He squeezed Will’s hand, and Will’s heart skipped a beat in response.

“You’re entirely unfair,” Will whispered, and the smile spread over Nico’s face, lighting up his eyes and showing his teeth, almost against his will.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Will squeezed his hand and brought it up to his lips, where he pressed a kiss to Nico’s knuckles.

A beat of stunned silence. Nico’s face was blazing.

“And you’re calling me unfair,” Nico said. “What was that for?”

“Saving me,” Will said, kissing Nico’s knuckles again.

Nico blinked, his breath hitching. “And that one?”

“Because I wanted to,” Will said, pressing another kiss to his knuckles. “Because I meant it when I said I wanted you to be happy and safe.” Another kiss. “Because I meant it when I said I loved you.”

It was a confession. A dangerous one, and they both knew it.

But Nico just ducked his head, pulling their conjoined hands down to his lips, and pressing a kiss of his own to Will’s knuckles. “Because I meant it when I said I couldn’t be happy without you by my side.”

It was dangerous. It was probably looked down upon. But when they fell asleep again, dawn close and warm, their hands were still together, and smiles rested on their lips. The waking sun didn’t wake them, but it welcomed them with open arms.

thanks for reading!

[darcyfirth]

Hartwin, 5 or 11, or both😊

read this on ao3 

The first time they met, Harry was six and Eggsy was twenty-eight and to Harry, the man was just a mere stranger. He also wore a dark trench coat which was said to hide all of his secrets. Harry was about to scream out for his Mum when Eggsy hurriedly pulled out a large lollipop inside one of his many pockets to thrust it in Harry’s small hands. 

“I don’t like candies. They’re too sweet for my baby teeth,” he said seriously. 

Eggsy just smiled and asked him, “What do you like then?” 

“Chocolate and mint biscuits. But not the kind that smells like toothpaste,” he stuck out his tongue to indicate disgust. 

“Noted,” the man said and disappeared into thin air. 

Harry didn’t tell his Mum about this encounter, he knew nobody would believe his story, so he just placed the lollipop inside the fridge and forgot about it all together. 

Harry was fifteen and sobbing in his room when they met again. He almost fell out from his chair when the strange man in a suit and a trench coat popped out outside his windows, a small, awkward smile played on his lips. 

Wiping the tears on his face with his sleeves, Harry asked, “What the hell are you doing in my garden?” 

“Why are you crying?” The man tilted his head, concern showing unabashed. 

“It’s none of your business.” Harry looked away, sniffles a little. He was young, much too young, the innocence in his voice shatters the most tender part in Eggsy’s heart. 

“Tell me, I’ve got your brown and green treats.” He dangled his plastic bag from Tesco. 

“How do you know?” And that was how Eggsy got Harry to tell him about the bullies at school who hated the fact that Harry liked two things: butterflies and boys. 

Harry ate three biscuits, saved the rest for later, and Eggsy looked at him fondly as he petted Harry’s head. 

Harry let him. 

The third time they met, Harry was already an official Kingsman agent. He was twenty-three and his face was free of lines and exhaustion, his warm brown eyes still eager and bright, his smile still tugged at Eggsy’s heart. 

“Screw it. Let’s just blow it up and call it a day,” Harry said to Merlin and to himself. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” said Eggsy from the previously empty space to Harry’s right. His sudden appearance earned him a gun pointing straight to his head. Harry’s reflex had always been one of his strengths. 

“You. What are you doing here?” 

“You remember!” cried Eggsy, his grin incandescent. “You forgot about me that last time, yeah? It hurt me a bit, but I recovered pretty fast, like Rox said, because you were just a wee little kid with pudgy arms and cheeks.” 

“This is not where normal citizens should be running about. There’s a bomb inside that bank and everyone’s already evacuated, you should leave right now.” The spy lifted his chin as he withdrew the gun. 

“Oh, but not everyone,” Eggsy said slowly. Taking two small steps forward, he whispers, “Check for every nook and cranny: second rule of being a spy for dummies.”  

This time, he vaporised without a trace, and Harry returned to save one Lee Unwin and his mother. When he got home, there was a packet of biscuits inside his pocket. 

The next time they met, Harry was shot twice, one bullet had grazed in his right leg, the other his left arm. His bulletproof suit took most of the damage, but a knife to his stomach proved to be near fatal. Help was coming, he knew; could he make it out alive, he wasn’t quite as sure. 

He lay limply on the tarmac, around him were bodies of his enemies, they were far more fortunate than him for their deaths were swift and painless. 

Harry’s eyes were open wide, taking in everything around him: the sky above him clear and blue, the sunlight blinding and warm, the breeze cool and teasing against his cheeks, he felt a soft hand touching his forehead and smelt a hint of wild flowers.   

“You’re not allowed to die, Harry,” cried a man crouching beside him. 

“Oh, you’re here,” smiled Harry, the blood in his mouth made it a bit harder to speak. 

“We haven’t even met yet. You’re not to die. Not on my watch.” And he opened his black suitcase to take out his tools. 

“What are you saying? We’ve met at least three times,” he said weakly. 

But the man didn’t hear him, he was too busy trying to keep Harry alive, and Harry was just trying to see his face.

When he woke up in the medical ward of the mansion, bandaged and thirsty as hell, he thought everything was simply a dream. Until he went to retrieve his personal effects and saw the crumpled packet of biscuits and a note inside his pocket. Harry smiled.

He was only thirty years old. 

They met again on Harry’s first honey trap mission, he was worrying himself sick. Everything was riding on this and he didn’t want to fail Arthur. His uncle was never a kind man when he was disappointed. 

But Harry knew nothing of the things lovers do, and even if he had seen movies, the romantic aspect of a relationship had never seem too appealing to him. Merlin said he would do fine, because with his looks, the boss’ brother would do the rest of the work for him without Harry even lifting a single finger. On the other hand, Merlin often lied about the amount of sugar he took in his tea, therefore his words were taken with a grain of salt.

“Nervous? Butterflies in your stomach?” giggled Eggsy when he closed the door to the hotel room. 

“Why are you here now?” groaned Harry from his place on the bed. 

“Because you need help.” 

“I do not. There’s absolutely nothing that you can do-” 

Without a single warning, his words were cut off by Eggsy’s mouth on his, the first contact of their lips sucked all the air from Harry’s lungs. Then Eggsy’s hands wormed their way into Harry’s hair and tugged, Harry melted as if he was made of liquid, and his lips pressed back firmly against Eggsy’s. 

A million thoughts crowded Harry’s mind which was, at that moment, entirely focused on cataloguing the softness of Eggsy’s lips and the faint suggestion of stubble on his jaw and how Eggsy still smelt of wild flowers and apparently he tasted like overly sweet candies and sour lemon drops. 

Eggsy pulled back slightly and Harry pressed forward to chase his lips, they kissed again, with a hint of urgency this time, it was sloppy and wet and Harry adored every minute of it. 

“Better yet?” asked Eggsy when they finally let go, but his arms were still on Harry’s lapels. 

“Not- erm, not too bad. I think.” 

“You think?” 

“I have no previous data to compare it with,” he said shyly. 

Eggsy just grinned wider and moved to fix his hair and his tie for him, humming while doing so. 

With a gentle tap to Harry’s shoulder, he winked and said, “Go get ‘im, tiger.” 

Harry Hart was thirty-two when he had his first kiss and he still didn’t know the name of the man who took it.

It was years until they had their first real encounter. 

Harry was thirty-seven and he didn’t recognise Eggsy. And Eggsy was far too young to remember. 

The name Lee Unwin didn’t even do anything to jog Harry’s memory. 

Seventh time is a charm, people often said. 

People also often looked the same at age twenty-three and twenty-eight, not much physical change occurred during that time for anybody, if at all. 

And so, Harry laughed to himself bitterly, this was going to be a long day.    

Harry slammed the door to the lab, the two people inside jumped and moved to pull out their guns, only to be lowered once they saw who was coming in. 

“Which time is it now?” he asked, looking at Eggsy.

“Fifth? I think?” Eggsy grinned nervously but he stepped forward into Harry’s defence regardless. His fight-or-flight response just didn’t work around Harry anymore. 

“Good. Let’s stop right there.” 

“But I still want to see you in your 40s.” 

“I looked the same way I do now,” he said with an air of finality.  

“You were really adorable when you were six,” Eggsy sighed, his face spoke of acceptance.

“Why did you volunteer for this experiment?” Why did you appear in my life? Why did you affect me so much? Why did you let me wait for so long?   

Eggsy cupped Harry’s face in his warm hands and said, “I realised I was in love with you when all of my decisions began to revolve around you. Joining Kingsman, killing Chester King and Valentine, moving to your house, going to Kentucky and finding that you’re still alive, kissing you and marrying you. My life’s never been the same the moment you stepped into it.”

“And-” Harry hesitated, “do you regret it?” 

Shaking his head, Eggsy beamed, “No. I just want to have a tiny presence in yours, is all. I tried to help when I could. You told me you were so alone, always, on the jet, remember? And it never quite fades into nothing, so when a chance came up, I just took it.” 

As he was deserted of languages and vocabulary to express his feelings, Harry simply held Eggsy in his arms and squeezed him. 

Thank you, he meant to say. I don’t believe I even come close to deserving you.

Eggsy kissed his cheeks as an answer. The feeling is mutual, love.

dialogue writing prompts

read previous fills here

[zoemurph]

to have a friend, chapter eight: $192

on ao3 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

holy shit do NOT expect updates from me this fast after november ends!!!!! i'm frantically doing nano as fast as possible and i am MAJORLY fucking myself over. after this is posted i'm writing 4 essays and catching up on readings (whoops)

this chapter has sooo much going on but a huge thank you to both sarah and flor for making it possible with your very different but very good ideas <3

warnings: depression, anxiety, references to suicide/past suicide attempts/self harm, some poor eating habits, a few mentions of drugs

enjoy and please read the end note on ao3~

High school is bulshit. Connor has known this since he first stepped into the annoyingly bright hallways freshman year because some asshole decided skylights were a good idea. It’s six hours of bullshit, with a bullshit twenty three minute lunch thrown somewhere in the middle.

It’s a lot of bullshit.

Somehow, having a friend makes it…less bullshit. A fake friend. Evan makes everything suck a little less. There’s something to look forward to when he shows up at ass o’clock in the morning. There’s a reason to push through the day, even if it’s just seeing Evan’s smile as he puts books back into his locker. Tuesdays are arguably the best because Connor gets a solid twenty extra minutes with Evan at lunch.

Which in and of itself is its own can of bullshit. A can that Connor should not have opened, but here they fucking are.

There are a few times where Connor genuinely considers telling Evan about his feelings. Platonic and romantic. And then he laughs at himself because no fucking way. On what planet would Evan Hansen like him in any capacity?

Connor is lucky that he’s been able to hold on to Evan as a fake friend. He’s not going to push his luck.

Every time he smiles at Evan he pushes his luck a little more. Every time he asks Evan to hang out without having a legit reason for it he pushes his luck. Every time he thinks about Evan—

Connor focuses on friendship. He focuses on friendship because he will settle for friendship. He would give anything to be Evan’s real friend.

It’s ridiculous but it’s true.

Connor is in way too fucking deep.

“Where have you been?” Larry asks from the couch when Connor opens the front door.

Connor rolls his eyes. “I was with Evan.” And Jared. It was weird but not the worst. Jared kept claiming he could beat Evan at Mario Kart and kept losing and had to buy the pizza. Even if all Connor got out of those three hours was the priceless look on Jared’s face when Connor rolled his pizza up like a burrito with the toppings on the outside, it was worth it.

“Hm.”

Connor shuts the door and pulls off his boots. He drops them by Zoe’s converse. “I told Zoe where I was.”

“So you’re talking to your sister again?”

Connor pauses. He was going to go grab a drink, but apparently not. “Why do you care?”

Larry lowers his phone. “Because she’s your sister.”

“…and?”

“How long have you known Evan?” Larry asks.

Connor frowns. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Answer the question, Connor.”

Connor grimaces at the sharp tone. “I don’t fucking know—”

“Language.”

“—like seven months? Why does it matter?”  

Larry slides his phone into his pocket. “And how long have you known Zoe?”

Connor scoffs. “Seriously? Are you about to yell at me for spending time with my friend?”

Larry crosses his arms. “He’s always around.”

“Yeah, because he’s my friend and I like him? Zoe’s with her friends all the time, and you don’t say shit about that.” Connor walks into the dining room. If Larry wants to have this conversation, he either has to follow Connor or yell.

“Connor,” Larry says warningly.

“Maybe Zoe doesn’t want to spend time with me,” Connor snaps. Because Zoe doesn’t. And that’s fine. Connor has made her life hell so he doesn’t blame her for not wanting to have anything to do with him.

Larry stalks into the dining room and sometimes Connor forgets that Larry is where he gets his height. “That’s not the point.”

Connor throws his arm out. “Then what is the point!?”

“You have a better relationship with Evan than with your sister.”

Connor stares at him. “Why does this matter.” For some reason this hurts. It stings like he’s just submerged papercut covered hands in lemon juice. It hurts too much for fire to keep burning.

“You’ve known him for less than a year,” Larry says, voice low and dangerous.

“You think you’d be happy that I’ve found an actual friend,” Connor says numbly. The lie burns his mouth.

“You spend far more time with him than Zoe—”

“He actually wants to be around me!” Connor protests. Because he will listen to his father tear him down, but he won’t listen to him say anything about Evan. Not Evan. “Zoe—”

“Is your sister!” Larry yells. Connor feels his blood run cold. “When was the last time you were actually a brother to her!?”

Connor feels sick. The world cracks and crumbles around the edges and his insides freeze and shatter. He laughs. It hurts his chest. “When was the last time you were a father to me?” he whispers.

Larry’s expression doesn’t change. It stays hard. Cold and distant.

When was the last time— 

Connor holds eye contact as long as he can. But he’s broken and the world around him is numbing and dying.

So he leaves.

He pushes past Larry, dropping his eyes to the floor with his tongue heavy in his mouth. He shoves his boots on and throws the door open.

“Where are you going?” Larry yells. Because he can keep doing this. He can do this for hours.

Connor looks out at their driveway. The dying grass and dead plants in neat rows. Brown and wilted and dying and dead. “Why do you care?” he asks.

He slams the door behind him.

It feels good to have a door to slam.

—«·»—

His feet bring him to the playground. There aren’t many places to go in this town.

It’s getting dark. There’s a singular light by the school that still turns on with the other streetlights. It illuminates parts of the playground in a hazy glow.

It doesn’t look real.

Connor sits under the stairs that lead up to the slide. If he closes his eyes, he can bring himself back to elementary school. He digs his hand into the wood chips, cold and jagged and stabbing at his skin. He can pretend. He can hear screaming and laughter and kids running up the stairs trying not to slip. Kids hiding under here, whispering secrets to each other. Someone throws the woodchips at someone else and gets yelled at. They play clapping games and tic-tac-toe in the dirt. They pull up grass and throw it in the air and fall off the monkeybars and fight over the swings and stand under the trees and play in the mud—

Connor takes a shaky breath as hot tears run down his cheek. He scrubs them away with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

He hates crying. He hates how it makes him feel. He hates how tears feel, he hates the runny nose, he hates the sobbing and the ragged breathing and how it makes him feel weak.

He sniffs and wipes away more tears. God, he needs to get high. But he refuses to go home and his stash is running out because he’s low on cash because he’s been spending it all on Evan.

Evan.

Connor flexes his hands — they’re cramped from the cold and from the fists he’s been squeezing them in — and pulls his phone out of his pocket. At least it hasn’t shut off from the cold yet, that’s happened to him before and it’s annoying to deal with.

From: Connor To: Evan      tell zoe im fine just needed to blow off steam      emphasize im not with you

He’s surprised he can type actual words let alone with no spelling mistakes. His hands are cold and shaking. He presses his phone against his forehead and takes a slow breath.

Fuck.

Every atom in his body wants to walk to Evan’s right now. He just wants to be near Evan. There’s something about Evan that’s undeniably calming, even though Evan could be described as nervous energy barely held together in a human form. Something about Evan that makes him feel less at war with himself.

But he already used up his time with Evan for the day. Even just texting Evan feels like too much.

His phone buzzes against his forehead.

From: Evan To: Connor      Ok  j ust did!!      Is everyhting ok??? Do you need ot talk ??

Connor stares at the message. He kind of want to cry again, which fucking sucks. And he told Evan that he would tell him if something was wrong but— no.

From: Connor To: Evan      no not now      maybe later

Connor stares at their conversations.

He asked Evan about cats at four in the morning once. Evan hadn’t responded until he woke up two hours later — good — but when he did he had a bunch of random cat facts. And pictures of Jared’s cat to share.

It felt like friendship. That’s what friendship feels like, right? Connor doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. But he thinks, somehow, he’s broken things. Whatever they are. Because he’s too attached. He’s too involved. Everything is too much.

He digs his fingers into the woodchips again.

Connor can’t decide if it’s better if Evan likes him or hates him.

—«·»—

Zoe texts him. He knows because his phone buzzes and he looks down and he sees her name right above Evan’s. Connor’s phone is at 4%. He turns on airplane mode and locks it without reading any of their texts.

Connor rests his chin on his knees and stares ahead into the darkness.

He doesn’t want to walk home. He knows he has to or he’ll probably freeze to death but that wouldn’t be too bad, would it?

No, that’s a bad idea.

Connor stretches his legs out in front of him. They feel weird, he’s spent so long with them pulled up against his chest. If he stands he might fall over.

He can’t feel his hands when he gets up off the ground. He climbs out from under the slide and holds onto the railing as his legs remember how they’re supposed to work.

He’s tired.

Connor squints into the darkness as he leaves the playground. The streets are so poorly lit in this area that he’s probably going to fall and break something. That’s what happens when people don’t use an area. They don’t care for it. And then some asshole teenager breaks his fucking leg walking home in the dark.

His phone would probably die before he could call for help too.

Connor stuffs his hands in his pockets and starts walking. He knows he should probably pay more attention, but he barely pays attention to the few cars on the roads as he makes his way down the sidewalk. As he gets into a more residential area, it gets a little brighter.

He looks up to cross a street and locks eyes with a doe standing in someone’s yard. It stares at him for a long moment before bounding away into the darkness.

Connor looks both ways and crosses the street, stepping around a puddle that’s starting to freeze over.

He stops when he gets to the bottom of his driveway.

If Larry tries to talk to him when he goes inside, he’ll leave. Connor’s already decided. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, but he’ll leave.

Connor huffs. He really just wants his bed right now.

The door is unlocked when he tries the doorknob. He frowns and slowly pushes the door open. A lamp is on in the living room, though the rest of the rooms are dark.

He quietly takes his boots off and closes and locks the door as softly as possible.

“Connor?” Cynthia asks as soon as he takes another step into the house.

Connor sighs. “Yeah it’s me.”

She gets up from the couch and hurries over to where he’s standing by the front door. “I was so worried,” she whispers, reaching up to touch his cheek. “Oh, Con, you’re freezing.”

“It is November,” Connor tries to joke. The singular stings.

The crease in Cynthia’s forehead gets deeper.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Zoe said Evan texted her— were you with him?”

Connor pulls away. “No,” he says sharply. “I wasn’t. I don’t spend every fucking moment with him, god.” He walks toward the kitchen. His hands are still ice and he needs something to warm them.

“I never said you did.” Cynthia follows him. “Your father—”

“Don’t.”

Cynthia sighs. “Connor, we can’t pretend that didn’t happen.”

“I’m going to try.” He debates making coffee, but all that will get from his mom is a disapproving look. He reaches for Zoe’s mint hot chocolate instead.

Cynthia makes a frustrated noise. “Where did you go, Connor?”

“Out.” He grabs the first mug he sees. He resists the urge to drop it when he realizes it’s one of Larry’s, old and orange and so well used that the logo has washed off the side of it.

“Were you out smoking again?”

“No.” He almost wants to laugh. He wishes. He takes the milk out of the fridge and pours it into the mug. He’s too tired to do anything more than microwave milk right now.

“Are you sure?”

Connor sighs and turns to Cynthia with the mug in his left hand. “Mom, you would know if I had been high tonight. Weed smells? Remember?” He brushes past her and puts the mug in the microwave.

Cynthia watches him with sad eyes. She always looks sad and it’s Connor’s fault which is… It’s kind of shitty. “I was terrified,” she says softly.

Connor grimaces.

“I kept thinking… I was so worried that maybe you…”

If she starts crying— Connor doesn’t actually know what he’ll do. “I was fine,” he promises. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“Would you tell me if you were going to?”

Connor can’t meet her eyes. He watches the numbers count down on the microwave. He pulls the door open before it can beep. Cynthia sighs as he puts too much hot chocolate powder in the milk. Connor stirs carefully, trying not to spill all over the counter.

“You can always talk to me, sweetheart,” Cynthia says, squeezing his shoulder. Connor shrugs and she presses a kiss to his cheek. “We can talk in the morning. Sleep well.”

Connor stares down into his hot chocolate as she leaves the kitchen.

He has the strong urge to just sit on the floor and waste away.

He takes his hot chocolate up to his room and sits in bed and watches the Great British Baking Show on his laptop. It feels weirdly fake.

At some point he falls asleep. It all feels the same.

“Connor. Connor. Connor!”

Connor groans and rolls over so he’s not facing his doorway.

“Connor, if you don’t get up now, you’re walking to school.”

He squeezes his eyes shut tighter. “‘m not going,” he mumbles.

Zoe grabs his shoulder and shakes him. “Get up!”

Connor shoves her hand away. “Go away!”

“I’m not dealing with your shit—”

“I’m not going!” Connor twists to glare at her. “Fuck off, I’m not going.”

Zoe stares at him. She’s all ready. Her hair is braided over one shoulder, her makeup is done. Connor can’t even remember when she started wearing makeup. He doesn’t know when Zoe grew up.

“Did you hear me?” he snaps. “I’m not going to school.”

She takes a step away. “Okay. Okay. Fine. You’re not going.” She keeps looking at him. Why is she looking at him like that? “Go back to sleep.” She slips out of the room and Connor keep looking at the space she occupied.

He hears the front door open and close. He pulls the covers over his head and goes back to sleep.

—«·»—

Connor wakes up a little bit before noon.

His head hurts and his mouth tastes like death. He stumbles out of bed just to brush his teeth. He probably wouldn’t move other than the fact that his mouth is gross.

While he’s looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as he mindlessly brushes his teeth, he realizes he never changed out of yesterday’s closes. He’s still wearing ripped jeans and an old sweatshirt.

His phone is still sitting on his desk with 2% left. Connor plugs it in and turns off airplane mode and puts on sweatpants that are a little too big and a hoodie that has old paint stains on it. Then he gets back in bed.

He watches videos on his laptop, not really paying attention to what’s on the screen. He looks away in surprise when his phone vibrates. He picks it up and skims through the messages. He never read the ones from last night.

From: Evan To: Connor      Ok IM gonna hol d you to that ok??

From: Z To: C      Why the fuck did Evan just text me????      Where are you?      What happened all I heard was Dad yelling and then you were gone      Connor      Don’t fucking ignore me

Missed call and voicemail from Z

Missed call from Z

From: Z To: C      Pick up asshole

Missed call from Z

From: Evan To: Connor      Umm Zoes freaking ou ton me?      Connr what happened wheer are y ou ?

Missed call from Z

From: Z To: C      Fuck you      Ok?      Seriously fuck you      You’re killing mom      I hope you’re fucking happy      If we find you dead in a ditch somewhere I swear

From: Evan To: Connor      Pl ease answ er some on e

From: Z To: C      I heard you and mom in the kitchen. Fuck you. You can’t do this      You’re terrifying Connor      You scare the shit out of me      I know you won’t respond tonight. I’ll tell Evan you’re ok      This shit isn’t funny

From: Evan To: Connor      Zo ejust text dme Im glad youre ok but I wsih you answered your phone      I know thing s get hard but please let people know yoru esafe because otherwise peoplestart to think the wrs t and then they bother you and dont let you leave their sight      We just want the bes t for you we want you to be ok      Ill see you tomorrwo

From: Z To: C      Just told Evan you won’t be here today. I’m guessing you still haven’t responded to him.      Maybe try to be a good friend.      Or even just a friend.

From: Evan To: Connor      Zoe said you werent coming in today?? A reyou ok?      Thats hte worst question to ask IM so sorry      Please talk ot me Connor      Its importan t      Im coming over after school      I knw thats invading on your personal space but I need to know if youre ok andif youre not going to answer texts I don tknow how else to reach you      I have to help alana with stuco stuff because no on eelse wants to hang posters but Ill be there afterward even if its only for like two minutes can we please talk??

“I’m home!” Zoe shouts.

Connor glances up to the top of his phone to see the time. Shit. It’s already two. He doesn’t know how he lost so much time to YouTube. Which means Evan will be here…soon.

From: Connor To: Evan      ok

“Connor?” Zoe calls out.

Connor stares at her texts and feels his stomach turn. “What?” he yells back.

“Come get your boots! Mom wants us to move ours shoes!”

He scowls and lays back down. “Fuck off!”

She yells at him to get them again, but he just puts headphones in and ignores her. He lays in bed and stares at the wall and listens to music that is way too loud. It would be nice to feel something right now. He distantly hears Zoe yell again and tries to turn the music up louder. The volume doesn’t increase and he makes a face and does a silent eulogy for his eardrums.

Zoe shouts his name again and Connor sighs and yanks out his earbuds. He tried. “What?!”

He can’t make out whatever she says next, but then she shouts, “You’re a dick!”

“Not fucking news,” he snaps. He’s about to put his headphones back in when Evan appears in his doorway. He’s still wearing his backpack and his arms are filled with food and there’s something tucked under his arm.

Connor stares at him. “What the fuck.”

Evan laughs awkwardly. “No dishes in the sink. We realized you probably didn’t eat today.” He looks down at the food he’s holding. There are chips and a container of strawberries and a loaf of bread and he’s carefully balancing a bowl on top of the strawberries.

“Why didn’t you—”

“Zoe had to run,” Evan says. “Something about an emergency piano job?”

Connor squints. “I forgot she plays piano.”

Evan nods. “Someone’s accompaniment is sick so I think she has to fill in. Can you, uh…”

“Oh, right.” Connor gets out of bed and takes the bowl from Evan. It’s filled with leftover mac n cheese. He puts it on the desk and then takes the chips.

“A-anyway, Zoe had to run and two trips are for suckers.” Evan puts the strawberries and bread down on the desk.

Connor rolls his eyes. “Okay.”

“These are also for you.” Evan pulls a stack of mail out from under his arm. “Looks like mostly college stuff.”

“Fucking college board,” Connor mutters. “Never should’ve taken the SATs.”

“Yeah, same. They won’t leave me alone. Oh! And Alana gave me notes for you for english. She started saying something about like…chiasmic?”

“Chiasmus,” Connor mutters, looking through the mail. Nothing he cares about. Great. He can set it on fire.

“Yeah that’s it!” Evan takes off his backpack and puts it on the floor to take out a notebook.

Connor stares at him. “Evan?”

Evan looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Are… Why are you wearing my boots?”

“Oh.” Evan stands up straighter and lifts one of his feet. “Zoe kept yelling at you to bring your boots upstairs. Figured if I was bringing you all this I just…take them too?”

Connor stares at him. Evan looks kind of ridiculous. Connor’s all too familiar black combat boots are paired with Evan’s usual khakis and a gray sweatshirt with a striped polo peaking out from under it. The boots go up a little too high on Evan’s shins which adds to the look and Connor is now noticing that they give Evan a few inches that he definitely does not actually have.

“Is this what it’s like to be tall?” Evan asks with a smile.

Connor snorts. “No, Hansen. It’s not.”

Evan shrugs. “I’ll take it.”

“Aren’t those kind of big for you?” Connor’s mind is still trying to process this. Evan is wearing his shoes. That’s definitely not something he’s thought about before. Or ever considered. He thinks his brain might be resetting.

“Oh god yes.” Evan sits down on Connor’s bed and unlaces one of the boots. “It’s actually a miracle I didn’t like…fall down your stairs or something. That would’ve been embarrassing.”

“And painful.”

“That too.” Evan pulls off the boot. He’s still wearing his old sneakers.

Connor opens and closes his mouth a few times. “Hey, Ev?”

Evan starts untying the other boot. “Yup?”

“You’re wearing…your shoes in my boots?”

Evan looks Connor in the eye. “I already told you, two trips are for suckers.”  

Connor laughs. It’s weird to laugh right now, like it’s the wrong emotion to feel. But he laughs and smiles at Evan because there is something about Evan wearing sneakers in his boots that’s ridiculous but also makes Connor’s stomach fill with butterflies. “Okay, Ev. Whatever you say.” He falls onto his front on the bed next to Evan. The moment feels too light. And then all of Evan’s texts come back at him in a crushing wave.

Connor grimaces. “Um…sorry for last night.”  

Evan glances back at him over his shoulder. “I…” He rubs a hand over his face. “You scared us.” He says it softly, like a secret, and stares at his feet.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Connor admits. “I just… Fuck, I just needed to get out. And then my phone was almost dead and I didn’t want to talk to people… I fucked up.”

Evan nods. He wordlessly pulls his sneakers off and then crosses his knees on the bed.

“I had a fight with Larry it was…” Connor rolls onto his back and sits up. “I needed to be alone, I guess. I wasn’t really thinking about other people when I left. I didn’t even bring my house key.”

Evan scoots further onto the bed. “What did you fight about?”

Connor searches Evan’s face. His eyes trail over Evan’s freckles. They dot his face like stars. “Nothing serious,” he mumbles. “It just got out of hand.”

Evan leans back on his hands. “Is that why you didn’t come to school today?”

Connor runs a hand through his hair. “I guess. I just… Zoe woke me up and getting out of bed just seemed like the worst fucking option ever. I think I yelled at her, but I barely remember waking up.” He grabs the bowl of mac n cheese off the desk. Food. Right.

Evan nods. “I… There are days like that. Where getting up makes me want to cry.” He holds out a hand. “Can I have the chips?”

“That sucks.” Connor hands over the bag of chips and continues eating mac n cheese. The sooner he finishes this the sooner he can go back to not being a person.

“Yeah, kind of.”

Connor sighs. “Aren’t we a fucking pair.” He pushes pasta around the bowl.

Evan tilts his head. “Yeah,” he mumbles.

Connor frowns. “What is it?”

Evan shakes his head. “Nothing. I thought of something, but it’s not important.”

“Are you sure?”

Evan nods and reaches for Connor’s laptop. “Let’s just watch something and pretend our lives aren’t horrible.”

Connor watches Evan carefully as Evan opens YouTube and scrolls through the recommended videos until he finds one that isn’t too weird sounding. “Yeah that sounds like a good plan.” He puts his bowl back on the desk— he only had a few bites but his stomach is kind of done with food.

Connor takes the laptop from Evan and scoots over so they can both lean against the pillows. He rests the laptop on his knees. Evan’s arm presses against Connor’s and Connor tries not to think about it. He tries to focus on the random video that Evan chose. It’s probably funny or something.

But he can’t. Because Evan is here.

Evan is warm and curled toward Connor and his hair smells nice and he’s leaning his head against Connor’s shoulder to see the screen better. And Connor’s heart is doing this weird thing where it feels like it’s being squeezed which is honestly so fucking rude.

Evan sighs and moves a little closer.

Yup. This is hell.  

—«·»—

“Connor!”

Connor’s heart races as he wakes with a jerk. He’s about to move when he notices the weight on his torso. He looks down to see Evan’s head resting on his chest.

Connor stops breathing.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy—

“Connor?”

Connor groans and squints into the bright light of the hallway. When did he fall asleep? When did it get so fucking dark out? Why is Evan sleeping on him? Why is Zoe always so loud? “Wha?”

“You aren’t dead.” A smile plays at the corner of her mouth. Connor squints at her. “Get your ass downstairs, we’re about to—”

Evan sits up, rubbing his eyes.

Zoe stares at him. Her eyes go from Connor to Evan. Connor wants to go back to sleep. He wants Evan cuddled against him because fuck that was really nice.

“Zoe?” Evan asks, voice soft.

Connor is not mentally equipped for this.

“…thought Evan went home,” Zoe says slowly.

“No,” Connor says. “Nap.”

“Right. Right.” She tucks her hair behind her ear. “Cool. Okay.” She clears her throat. “We were going to…” She gestures over her shoulder. “You know…”  

Connor narrows his eyes as he tries to figure out what she means.

“Friday night? Shabbat?”

Connor props himself up on his elbows. “Oh. Right.” He looks to Evan. Evan’s hair is messy and sticking up in all directions and it’s making Connor’s heart do weird things.

Zoe follows his gaze. “Uh… Evan can…join us? If he…?” She gives Connor a desperate look. “Or stay here? Or sleep…? Um…” She raises her eyebrows at Connor. Connor shakes his head.

“Uh…I don’t really…” Evan clears his throat. “My mom and I— we don’t really do anything for Shabbat at home…because… My mom works a lot so we don’t— I don’t really…know what I’m supposed to do?”

Tension seems to leave Zoe as she smiles at Evan. “Don’t worry about it, we can show you. Connor doesn’t know what he’s doing either.”

Connor flips her off and throws off his covers. “I won’t be insulted in my own fucking home,” he mutters.

Evan crawls over Connor’s legs to get out of bed. “You sure I w-won’t ruin it?” he asks Zoe, tugging on his shirt.

“Swear,” she says, drawing an x over her heart. “We haven’t set the house on fire yet, so you’ll be fine.”

Evan steps past her into the hallway and Zoe immediately raises her eyebrows at Connor. Connor gives her a look.

“What is this,” she hisses into his ear.

“What do you mean?” he whispers back.

She gestures to Evan. “When did you two get together?”

Connor jerks away. “What?”

Zoe stares at him. “You’re—”

“No!” He lowers his voice. “Zoe what the fuck—”

“I don’t know! He gets you to eat and sleep what the fuck am I supposed to think?”

“Not that?”

“A-are you two coming?” Evan asks from the top of the stairs.

Connor and Zoe exchange a look.

“Later,” Zoe says.

“No.” Connor walks over to Evan and tugs on his sleeve. “Let’s go.”

Zoe squeezes past them on the stairs, flicking the back of Connor’s head as she goes. “Mom! Evan’s joining us!”

Evan grabs Connor’s hand at the foot of the stairs. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do,” he whispers with wide eyes.

“It’s fine,” Connor promises. “Just stand next to me and do what I do. But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Evan looks toward the kitchen. “I… It’ll be fine. Yeah. I-I want to do this.”

Connor gives him a small smile and pulls him into the dining room. Cynthia places down another glass as they walk in and smiles at Evan. Evan nods and fiddles with his hands and Connor resists the annoyingly strong urge to hold his hand.

Zoe passes around her purple kippot from a drawer near the sink, and Connor wonders how long it’ll take before his falls off this time. He watches Evan read the inscription inside of the date of her bat mitzvah, before nervously pressing it on his head.

They stand behind their chairs at the table, small glasses of grape juice — or in Larry’s case, red wine — next to their plates. Connor watches as Cynthia lights the candles and waves her hands over them before covering her eyes so she can’t see the flames as she sings a short prayer for the candles.

Connor tries to concentrate on the Hebrew instead of the glow reflected in Evan’s eyes. Those are bad thoughts. And it’s also not the time for them.

Cynthia moves to her seat and lifts her wine glass. Connor nudges Evan as the rest of the family does the same. Evan shoots him a thankful look and a tiny smile. They keep the glasses aloft as Cynthia makes Kiddush, only awkwardly joining in at the end of the blessing.

Connor remembers Zoe learning the other parts of it for her bat mitzvah, but she probably feels too uncomfortable to sing along with Evan here. Not that Evan is the most awkward and uncomfortable part of their dysfunctional family. 

Everyone takes a sip of their drinks — Evan a little belatedly — and Cynthia removes the ornate cover from her handmade loaves of challah on the cutting board. Connor remembers when she used to buy challah for them, ordered specially from a bakery, shiny and with white flour. Sometimes on holidays they had raisins.

Now she bakes them gluten free and several weeks in advance, but at least he remembers the blessing for once (the food was really the part of Hebrew school he looked forward to), so he joins in quietly with everyone, trying not to focus on Evan’s wavery stuttering. The bread is sliced and the cutting board is passed around, and they all take their seats.

Connor hears an audible sigh of relief from Zoe. Evan looks to Connor and gives him a half smile. He’s gripping the hem of his shirt in his hands under the table. Connor smiles back.

Zoe is still right, they haven’t burned the house down.

Dinner is awkward. Honestly, Connor wasn’t expecting anything else. It’s awkward and quiet and the little talking that is done is done by Zoe and Cynthia. Connor does his best to just not look in Larry’s direction. He will ignore this as long as he possibly can. Next to him, Evan is tense and keeps his eyes mostly on his plate. Sometimes him and Connor make eye contact and Evan will give him a tiny smile and Connor’s heart tries out a fun new pattern. Evan keeps touching his kippah, sometimes adjusting it, eyebrows furrowing whenever he does. He’s probably worried about it slipping or falling into the soup or something and honestly, Connor relates.

They survive. That’s the important part.

“Told you it’d be fine,” Connor says as they go back up to his bedroom. Evan probably has to go home at some point but Connor is very pointedly not thinking about that.

Evan laughs. “I thought my kippah was going to fall off. I’d probably find a way to make it catch fire.”

“I’d be impressed.”

Connor eyes the stack of snacks on his desk before grabbing the carton of strawberries and sitting on the edge of his bed.

Connor holds out a strawberry and Evan takes it while saying, “You know, we just ate.” Connor shrugs. “Fruit is healthy.”

“I mean you aren’t wrong.” Evan drops down on the bed next to Connor.

Connor stares at him for a few moments. He’s probably got some sort of embarrassingly soft look on his face but it’s fine. Then he remembers that Evan is here. “Oh shit, I have money here some—”

“No,” Evan interrupts.

Connor shakes his head. “We agreed—”

“Fuck Jared’s list,” Evan says. He glances to the doorway and lowers his voice. “I wanted to be here, Con. I wanted to see you. D-don’t… You don’t have to pay me.”

“Are you sure?” Connor asks softly. He feels…like he’s using Evan but worse. Because this is not the agreement.

Evan nods. “I’m sure.”

Connor runs a hand through his hair and looks away. “Okay,” he says, stomach turning. It’s okay. It’s fine. “Okay.” 

[winterflash-2019]

Better Part:11

1 month later

Bria was scared she never admitted it but she was truly terrified. She loves Barry she loves team flash she doesn’t want to leave everyone behind. She believes Barry will save her but at the same time in the back of her head she knew she couldn’t escape death.

She turns around and looks at Barry’s sleeping form and smiles he looks so peaceful so relaxed like he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.She gets up and goes to the bathroom and looks at herself in the mirror it was currently 8am she has to wake up Barry in 30 minutes.

She takes a shower and gets dressed she set up her outfit specifically for this day. Shes wearing a white off the shoulder long sleeve shirt and a pink skirt that stops at her knees with pink heels and she curls her short hair.

By the time she’s finished getting ready its 8:30 and she turns around to go wake up barry but he’s already behind her.

“I woke up and you was gone” he says as he yawns

“I couldn’t sleep so I just decided to go ahead and get ready” she says quietly

“Baby girl it’s gonna be okay don’t worry” Barry says as he saw the troubled expression on her face.

“I know you got me Barr” Bria says and kisses him

“But if things go wrong don’t lose yourself okay”

Barry nods his head and hugs her tight he wanted to stay like this for eternity.

-Timeskip at Star Labs-

Everything was going fine everyone was trying to think of a plan. It was when Cisco needed a tool that he left in his work shop and Bria volunteered to go get it everything went downhill.

As Bria walked in the work shop she immediately sees the tool Cisco needed on his desk. She grabs it but when she turns around she’s facing Savitars smirking face. She goes to scream but he puts his hand on her mouth.

Cisco is monitoring the cameras and sees Savitar holding Bria

“Oh my god Barry"Cisco says and Barry runs to look at the footage.

Savitar looks at the camera “if you want her flash you can meet me on infantino street” Savitar says and kisses Bria’s cheek and speeds away.

“Cisco we have to get her back ” Barry says frantically voice cracking in the process

“We will Barry we will we’re still thinking of a plan”

“To hell with a plan We need to get her back NOW”

“Okay Barry I’m sorry for saying this but we are not getting Bria back if we don’t have a plan instead we’re going to wing it and she’ll die in your arms… like the vision you saw and you don’t want that do you"Iris says sternly

“Of course not “Barry says quietly

“Then we need a plan"Joe says and Eddie nods

Wally and Caitlyn has been quiet they were extremely upset they tried to prepare themselves for this day but it never really work Bria was always their for them and her death will be hard for them.

Time skip: 7:00pm

Bria opens her eyes to see Savitar smirking down at her.

“Wakey wakey sweet cheeks” he says and she frowns.


“Why are you doing this"She says

“Don’t ask questions doll you see I know all about you pretending to not be afraid but baby I know the truth you’re scared of death scared of leaving everyone behind” Savitar says and he leans forward so that he’s in her face and she gulps

“P-Please just let me go okay whatever I did I’m sorry” Bria stutters

“It doesn’t work like that darling “Savitar says

Suddenly Bria got an idea this was future barry she was talking too. Her Barry still had to be in there somewhere the Barry that fell in love with her.

"Barry listen to me I know you’re still in there somewhere you don’t want to do this okay I know you Barr and this isn’t you” Bria says genuinely

“I’m not Barry"Savitar says

"Barr please just think about what you’re doing”

“I SAID IM NOT BARRY ” Savitar yells and slaps Bria and she yelps

“Now lets go I’m pretty sure your boy toy is already at infantino street” Barry says while aggressively pulling her up by her hair and speeds away

-Time skip 9:00pm -

“So everyone got the plan right"Cisco asks and everyone nods

"I’ll go over it once more anyway"Barry says and everyone internally groans this would be the 5th time he went over the plan.

"Okay so Joe, H.R , and Eddie will be on the roof with the guns preparing to shoot, Wally will come up behind Savi- Barry pauses and grabs his head

"Barry hey what’s going on "Iris says and grips his shoulder

"It’s Savitar he knows the plan”

“SHIT what the hell are we supposed to do now” eddie says

“We’re still going through with the plan alright Cisco ,Caitlyn, and Iris stays here”. Barry says and everyone nods

“Lets go we can’t waste anymore time"Joe says

- Infantino street -

Savitar stands in front of Barry smirking and holding Bria up by her neck

"You’re not getting away with this” Barry says

“Oh but Barry I already have"Savitar says and throws Bria to the ground and charges at Barry.


Savitar and Barry are fighting to the death,he didn’t want the love of his life to be taken from him or savitar would succeed in breaking Barry piece by piece until the last piece, Bria was unfixable.

"Who the hell do you think you are to put your hands on my baby girl”

“I’m Savitar the god of speed and I will get my vengeance” Savitar says and he speeds back to Bria and picks her up by her throat and she tries to remove his hands.

“I told you I’ll get her eventually flash”

“Just let her go” Barry says with his arms out cautiously

“Its time for you to realize”

“JUST LET HER GO PLEASE ” Barry yells and he looks at Bria

“Barry I love you” Bria says as her eyes started watering

“Hey no don’t say that alright you’re gonna be alright baby ,PLEASE I’m begging you”

“BARRY” Bria screams

“GUYS SHOOT"Barry yells but no gun fire was heard joe , h.r and eddie were frozen in fear

"Never underestimate me Barry” Savitar says as he raises his blade.

“NOOOOO"Barry screams and starts running suddenly all his memories of Bria starts playing in front of him .

-Memories-

"It’s okay I totally understand and of course I’ll go on a date with you uh”

“Barry Allen”

“Barry, my name is Bria”The dark skinned girl smiles

-

“Barry this date has been amazing seriously I was having a bad day but you made it better” Bria smiles as she and Barry steps onto her porch.

“Well its the least I could do you know with how that customer treated you today and plus I really like you"Barry smiles and pulls her closer

"Well its a good thing I really like you too Barry Allen"Bria says quietly and steps on her tippy toes and kisses his cheek 
-

"I’m the flash” Barry says as he picks her up and runs to Star Labs and puts her down

Bria turns around in awe and runs up to Barry and bear hugs him and wraps her legs around his waist

“ OH MY GOSH MY BOYFRIEND IS THE FLASH ” -

“Hey come back here with my goggles” Barry says while chasing after her in normal speed

Bria turns around to face him and sticks her tongue out” Catch me if you can Barr” Barry flashes in front of her and snatches the goggles out her hands “that fast enough for you” Barry says cockily Bria giggles “no fair” -

Bria sits in Barrys lap “so I was thinking about having a romantic dinner tonight at home”

“Of course babe I get off at 8 okay"Barry says and she smiles her beautiful smile at him -


“I heard you I heard everything you said and I just want you to know that I’m not going anywhere Barry Allen you’re stuck with me forever flash” Bria says with a smile - 
“Barr I’m pregnant ” Bria whispers

“A-Are you serious I’m going to be a dad” Barry says excitedly and Bria nods and they hug each other

Bria pulls back and grabs his chin while

staring in his eyes"I love you Barry Allen”

“I love you too”

-
“What” Bria says while smiling

“I just really love you “Barry says quietly

“I love you too barr”

“Are you okay” Barry says as he runs her shoulders and Bria takes her time and thinks for a second before leaning closer into Barry

“Yeah I’m okay…you okay” Bria says as she looks up at him

“I’m okay as long as you’re okay ” Barry says and kisses her forehead

End of memories

Barry looks at Bria’s face as he tries his best to run faster and she gives a small smile before Savitar pierces his blade through her back and her arms fall limp at her sides and her head goes back as she gasps with tears rolling down her face Savitar drops her and runs off. Barry catches her before she hits the ground

“Hey Bria please” Barry sobs as he shakes Bria trying to wake her

“No please” Barry sobs more as he tries to stop the bleeding

“Don’t leave me please Bria, I-I need you” Barry looks at her closed eyes and limp body in his arms he knows it no use as he feels her pulse it was too late she was gone.

Barry pulls her against his chest and yells out of frustration. Tears streamed down his face as he sobbed and sobbed he would never get the chance to hear her laugh again or see her beautiful smile. He wouldn’t get to have kids with her or propose to her like he had planned. He tried everything he could to protect her but in the end he failed once again. He promised her he was going to save her but he didn’t keep his promise.

He wraps his hands around her limp body while he rocks side to side. Her head falling back as he leaned down to the ground and back up at this point Barry was covered in blood, his baby girls blood .

"I can’t do this” he sobs as he puts his head in the crook of her neck. Savitar has succeeded in destroying Barry, his world just falling apart right in front of him and like Savitar said he’ll never get over this.

The woman he loved was gone.