#and using the entire vine instead just a bit

[deadwooddross]

Could you tell us more about these creatures you call 'ghouls'?

Sure! Short answer: Invasive species of amimalcules that can shapeshift depending on what they eat Long answer: In my Revenants setting ghouls are tiny brainless, amoeba-like creatures who eat dead matter. Plant, animal, so on so forth, they eat it up. However! They are naturally adapted for eating souls, not physical matter, and can't actually digest like 90% of anything they eat. Instead it just gets absorbed into them, either pulled into a little pocket dimension or utilized into it's own mass if it's a useful appendage for locomotion (or otherwise functioning better in this environment they dont actually belong to). They quite literally are what they eat, and usually somewhat resemble whatever they eat the most. They also tend to stay very small, as they cant often eat anything much larger than them whole. But when it DOES happen, they may start to get freaky the bigger they get and the more Parts they find useful. This sometimes just ends up being like...a worm with little rat hands. A vine with a million little spider eyes. Unsettling tiny shit like that, if they ever make it out of their more typical watery habitats at all. HOWEVER! Things start to Really change once they manage to eat brain matter in significant amounts, that's when they become a bit of a wildcard. The smarter they get the more they gain a reputation as pests, gravedigging scavengers, or in some cultures: local idols/deities. Especially around the surgeon cities, where a few peoples particular funerary practices happened to result in ghouls with easy access to entire fresh human labyrinths (brains). Higher odds of notably intelligent ghouls, which are otherwise pretty rare At a certain level of self awareness and stored matter, they can usually take Preferred forms and will make more specific, aesthetic choices in how they look, and that's how you get Specific Guys. The "guardian ghouls" therefore, would just be some funky guys with a varied diet. What exactly they DO with their newfound awareness of the world is a tossup, some may have far more alien perceptions than others.

[a-stars-art-blog]

I love when silly captions become actual works

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

Fern x Reader PT3(Final)

part 1

part 2

a/n: this is the final part of Fern’s main story, but not the end! You can still make Fern requests and I may rewrite this mini series in the future when I have time.

Fern had been depressed lately. He was a fairy, a dainty little thing, and you were now pregnant. He watched as you waddled around, struggling to do things.

If he were just bigger, he could ensure you never had to lift a finger.

All he could do was use magic to help when he could. Vines sprouted to grab things out of your reach or play with your pussy when you were feeling needy.

Fern wanted you so badly, to properly fuck into you and stretch out your fat cunt like he had before.

At night his wings fluttered softly as he rubbed your pregnant belly, kissing it. When his child was born, would he even be big enough to hold them? It made his heart ache to even think of such a thing. How could he protect his family when he was the size of a small doll?

That’s why he made a tough decision. Fern backed a bag, kissed your forehead and promised he would be back.

There were tales of a witch that lived in the center of the forest. She’d grant a single wish for anyone that came to her… but for a price.

He knocked once on the dirty window, noticing it was cracked and the wooden frame was chipped. Did anyone even live there?

The door creaked open, an old crone beckoning him in. “Hurry, I don’t have all day. Go on and tell me what you want.”

Fern sat on an upside down teacup, watching as the witch bustled about the dusty old cabin looking through books and half empty potion bottles.

“Uh… I wanted to know if you can make me… the size of a human.”

The witch paused, glancing at him. “I can, for a price. What are you willing to give me in exchange?”

~

It had been an entire day since you last saw Fern. He wasn’t the type to be out late, always returning before dark, so it was alarming that he had been gone for more than a few hours.

It was a bit hard walking now. You were six months along, but looked like you were closer to nine. Fern liked to joke that you seemed about ready to burst while laying his tiny head on your belly.

You could tell that his size was bothering him even more lately. As your pregnancy progressed, you needed more help, the kind someone as small as him couldn’t provide.

Despite what others may think, Fern was a proud fairy and hated that he wasn’t able to help his pregnant lover.

Fern wanted to provide and care for you, but that wasn’t really possible when he couldn’t even do most things for himself.

When the second day without any sightings of him filled around, you started to panic. It really wasn’t like him to be gone so long, especially when you were carrying his child.

‘Where could he be?’

Nearly a week passed without him. It was both depressing and terrifying, leaving you nearly bedridden at times. Everything seemed harder with Fern gone.

Even if he couldn’t do much of the heavy lifting, he used his magic to keep you from getting morning sickness, always comforted you when you were hormonal, and made sure all of your vegetables stayed fresh.

Without him, the world felt cold and uninviting. He made all the gray clouds disappear, but now that he was gone the sun had left with him.

You sat in your rocking chair as tears fell down your cheeks. After crying so much, your eyes were puffy and sore.

Even knitting for your unborn child was a chore these days, and you had only finished a single foot when you heard a knock at your door.

For a moment you thought Fern would be behind it… but that was stupid. He was the size of your hand, there’s no way he could knock that loud.

You didn’t rush to greet your guest. Instead you slowly put down the onesie you had been knitting and stood.

Trudging towards the door, you slowly unlocked it and pulled towards yourself…

“Hello, my love.”

You were breathless, eyes wide and mouth agape as you looked up to see a hair of brown curls and eyes as green as fresh oak leaves.

A hand reached out, cupping your cheek and swiping at your tears as you began to cry.

“Fern…”

You sobbed into his chest, warms wrapped tightly around him. He hugged you back, his eyes softening when your baby bump pressed into his abdomen.

“I’m so sorry, love. There was something I had to take care of, something so important I had to leave you for a while.”

As your lip wobbled, Fern began to explain what had happened.

After the witch asked him what he’d give in return, Fern was quick to answer.

“My immortality.”

You covered your mouth, eyes going wide as you swallowed harshly. “You… gave that up to be the same size as me?”

He nodded, smiling fondly as he tilted your chin up. “And I’d do it a thousand times over, love.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his lips to yours a gentle, yet needy kiss. Although it felt amazing to kiss him after such a stressful week without him, you pulled back after a moment.

“But… why did you stay away for so long?”

Fern went pale, scratching the back of his head with a nervous laugh. “Let’s just say the process to become tall was… long and painful. That old witch enjoyed it too, I’m sure.”

After a moment of simply enjoying each other’s presence, you both walked inside.

After that, Fern waited on you hand and foot. He adored you, that was for sure. Every meal, activity, and even bathroom visit was managed by him.

Fern smiled down at you as he helped you into a bath, his eyes lingering in your heavy and swollen breasts.

When you hissed and winced in pain as your hands brushed against your sensitive nipples, Fern cooed out sympathetically.

“Here, just relax.”

His wings fluttered as his hands groped your fat tits, massaging and squishing them lightly. You let out such a delicious noise that he couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss your neck.

Fern’s cock twitched to life when milk spurted from your perky buds. He always got so hard when he was reminded you were heavily pregnant with his young.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it?”

His hand slipped between your legs, a vine replacing the now missing one at your tit while his other continued massaging you.

“Mmph… Fern…”

You had been so needy lately, begging for him to properly fuck you since he had returned. But he was hesitant. Fern didn’t want to potentially harm you or his unborn child…

But with some reassurance from you, the fairy joined you in the tub. He settled you onto his lap, continuing his ministrations.

His cock nudged at your warm cunt, desperate to be enveloped by your velvety walls.

And you wanted him just as much.

Fern groaned against your neck, keeping a hand on your baby bump for leverage as he bounced you up and down on his cock. It felt so good to stretch you out again and have you clench around him.

The vines rubbed at your clit, making you tighten up even more. You came again and again, your body way more sensitive due to your pregnancy.

He loved getting to fill you up with his seed. Watching the hot, white cum leak out of your cunt as he rinsed you off made him want to do it all over again.

But Fern wanted to go easy on you until after your pregnancy.

~

Months passed by, and Fern held onto your hand as you gave birth. Labor hadn’t been easy, but he was by your side the entire time.

“It’s a girl…”

You held onto your baby, eyes half lidded from exhaustion. Fern was an absolute mess, his eyes puffy and red as he sniffled.

“She’s beautiful…”

Fern handled almost everything as you recovered, and as your baby girl grew, her wings started to slowly develop.

“She has wings… is she..?”

“Immortal? Maybe, but I’m not sure… I impregnated you before the witch took my immortality, but she is half human…”

You kissed her little head, letting her nurse as your now husband knelt in front of you.

“I don’t want that for her, Fern. She would outlive all of us. Wouldn’t that be lonely?”

Fern paused to think, slowly reaching out to place a hand over your belly.

“… it wouldn’t be if we… gave her a sibling.”

And so the two of you had several children through the years, slowly repopulating the fairy race. You’d grow old together, and even if your children lived forever, at least they would have each other.

————————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi

[vin-taege]

Hi! I loved your awkward chishiya flirting sooo much <3 The way you write is so in character even with him being nervous about showing affection. Can you write him being completely oblivious he’s liked yn the whole time they’ve been through the games; he thought he was just protecting them out of trying to be a better person until Kuina is like you moron you’re clearly in love w them!!

And he’s like oh fuck, what are feelings?? I have them?? His thought process as he tries to deny it and then him having some awkward interactions w yn bc he doesn’t know how to act now he’s aware he likes her and then is desperately trying to flirt with no idea how to at all

Tokens of Appreciation

Summary: Chishiya tells himself that he sees you only as a friend, despite doing his best to give you a gift.

Genre: fluff

Pairing: reader x chishiya

Words: 2.4k

Note: I tweaked this a little to show more of him being in denial and still in the middle of processing it ^^ I didn't want it to be too close to the other awkward flirting fic, but I hope you still like it! Also god, I;m so sorry it took more than a year ; O; Good news is that I'm almost done with my thesis, so I have a bit more time to write :DD

Chishiya set the screwdriver down with a frustrated sigh. The music box sat in front of him, open yet still without song. He saw this on the day of the six of clubs game. The car that was supposed to pick them up got a flat tire and stranded them for a good hour. As much as he hated the militants for their incompetence, he was grateful that he had extra time to scavenge around the nearby shops. It was in one of the metalwork stalls where he found it.

It was fairly light, small enough that you could hold it when you brought both hands together. The outside looked like a small pot, with the lid having scalloped edges. Ornate, gold vines swirled around the sides of the box, leading up to the front. At the center of it was a teardrop-shaped gemstone that refracted prisms under light. Inside was a small rabbit instead of a typical ballerina. It posed with its arms up mid-dance, pointy ears curved back as it looked up.

That was what made Chishiya decide that this was the perfect gift for you. At the beginning of your friendship—before you had worn down his walls with “incessant” conversation—you had off-handedly mentioned a memory of your childhood toy.

“Oh, look at that!” you picked up the small piece of candy. The packaging still boasted its classic colors of red, blue, white, and black. Turning around, you held it out to Chishiya. “I used to eat this all the time when I was a kid.”

He wrinkled his nose in disgust. This was the ninth room around the Beach that you’ve ‘investigated’—a fancy word you liked to use instead of ‘snooped around.’ “You don’t know how long that’s been there. Plus, you’ll get cavities.”

“Candy doesn’t expire,” you stuck your tongue out at him, swiftly unwrapping the sweet and popping it in your mouth. You smoothed out the wrapper, particularly the area around the illustrated rabbit.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true—”

“He looks like the bunny plush I had.” Chishiya knit his eyebrows in confusion before glancing at the wrapper. He shrugged, feigning indifference.

“All rabbits look the same.”

“No, idiot. This one has pointy ears instead of rounded ones.”

“What’s that?” Kuina’s voice nearly made him knock over the entire thing. He flinched, throwing a blanket over his project. Clearing his throat, he stood up and narrowed his eyes at the girl.

“What did I tell you about knocking?”

Despite his small frame blocking the table from view, Kuina side-stepped around him, swiftly pulling the cloth right off. He hissed, moving to take the music box, but Kuina was faster, swiping it off the table and bringing it up to her eye level.

“Wow,” she enunciated, dragging the word. “This is for them, isn’t it?”

“No,” he tried not to stutter. He reached for it before Kuina held it above him. Her eyes were glued to the meticulous details. “If you drop that, I will kill you next game and make it look like an accident.”

She chortled, throwing her head back. Her loudness grew on him—is what he always told himself. Being his only friend when the Beach was only starting to form, he learned quickly how to tolerate Kuina’s more bubbly personality.

“What’s it for? Their birthday coming up?”

“No. I’m just making sure all our pieces are in place.” Kuina let him nab the item back. She watched as he wrapped it in the blanket, tucking it safely back into a drawer. 

“You totally like her,” she snorted.

��No, I don’t!” It came out too fast, too loudly. Chishiya’s face was starting to redden. His lips were pressed in a thin line, eyes downcast. It took a moment for him to collect himself. “We need her for the plan.”

“Yeah, right. It’s been half a year. Whatever long game you’re playing is over,” she smirked at him, plopping on his bed. “If anything, you’re the one getting played.”

“I don’t like her that way,” he crossed his arms defensively.

“Keep telling yourself that, lover boy,” Kuina chuckled, throwing a pillow at him. Chishiya swatted it away, face beet-red.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, lover boy?”

“Kuina!”

Three soft knocks interrupted their banter. Chishiya froze when you opened the door, slipping in with a mischievous grin. Your arms were behind your back, hands hidden from their view. A faint crinkling gave Chishiya a hint as to what you were holding. 

You stepped towards him, making him instinctively block the drawer the music box was in. Your grin spread wider, making your cheeks look unbearably adorable. Wait, did he really think that?

“I have something for you,” you said almost teasingly. You thrust your hand to his chest, pressing a package of biscuits on him. He wasn’t religious, but he prayed that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat thrumming out his rib cage.

Glancing down, he gave the biscuits a curious look-over. The wrapper was pink and white, with small cartoon strawberries spread around it. Attempting to take it from you gently, his fingers grazed over the back of your hand, flustering you both. Quickly, you whipped your head towards Kuina, chucking her the other item.

She caught the lighter with ease, excitedly flicking it on. Kuina was certain the militants threw it out after the pool fire incident. Totally not your trio’s fault. “Woah! Where’d you get these?”

“I was in Tatta’s storage space,” you beamed proudly.

Chishiya’s blood curdled. He squeezed the biscuits, though still careful not to break them. Shifting his weight to one foot, he scrunched his face in distaste. “What were you doing with Tatta?”

“Nothing, we were just hanging out. Ann dragged him into the hallway for a quick conversation so I had time to ‘investigate,’” you motioned with air quotes.

“What are you hanging out with him for?” The blunt words left his mouth before he could process them. 

His heart shrivelled a little when your smile faded. Taken aback, you clasped your hands, suddenly self-conscious. “I thought he was nice and making another friend around here didn’t seem like a bad idea.”

“Well, what if he’s just another sleaze like Niragi? You know how some of the men slobber like dogs here. And you’re in a closed space with just him? Just the two of you in a room? Together? Do you know how stupid that is? What if something happened and Kuina and I were in this room and we couldn’t hear you and—”

“What Chishiya is saying—” Kuina spoke over him, sending him a sharp glare despite her pinched smile. “—is that we just want you to be careful around here. I think Tatta is a fun guy too, but don’t let your guard down that easily okay?”

You nodded wordlessly, avoiding Chishiya’s eyes. Unbeknownst to you, his look softened, fingers releasing their tight grip on the biscuits. He slouched, silently berating himself for sounding so harsh, especially after you’ve just given him a gift. Oh god, you gave him a gift! He looked back at the cookies, strawberry-flavored no doubt. Perhaps it was your attention to detail that chipped at his armor. The way you remembered how he took two teaspoons of sugar with his tea and how you’d sometimes take his hoodie after a rough game and bring it back smelling of fabric softener.

Just normal things good friends would do for each other. Because that’s what you were—good friends.

“Chishiya?”

“What?” He blinked slowly, glancing at Kuina through silver hair framing his face. 

“I said I’m gonna get us drinks from the bar. You sound like you need it.” She stood up, motioning for you to take her place on the bed. You shot her a small smile, though your mood has obviously been dampened. 

Kuina passed near Chishiya, lowering her voice to whisper, “Fix your mess.”

When the door shut with a soft click, it was quiet for a few awkward moments. The room felt like a held breath, with Chishiya still standing, holding the biscuits like an idiot, while you were sitting on his bed, regarding him a huge eye sore in the middle of the spacious hotel room. Being a high-profile diamonds player bought him certain luxuries, despite how unnecessarily flashy he deemed them. 

“I know you’re just looking out for me, but you really could be nicer sometimes.” He almost didn’t catch what you said, your voice soft. “I just wanted to get you something nice.”

He sighed, more so at his own stupidity. He pushed himself off the drawer and sat beside you, your knees touching. Pinching the corner of the wrapper, he ripped the packaging open, angling the biscuits towards you. Your knee tensed beside him, making guilt claw at his stomach more.

“Take one,” he said, almost demandingly. You huffed, gingerly taking a piece. It was a small, pillow-shaped shell. You bit into it, bringing your hand back to look at the strawberry filling inside. Chishiya hummed in approval as soon as the sweet cream hit his tongue.

Wordlessly, you shared the biscuits—his own form of apology. You scooted closer to him, a silent act of forgiveness he quickly picked up on. Always the clever man, yet he could never figure himself out.

“I just don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Anyone with eyes can see how beautiful you are. If anyone here tried anything on you, I’d have to put rat poison in their alcohol. Do you know how troublesome that is?” he wrinkled his nose, pointedly munching.

A grin crept into your face. Your eyes flitted towards his face, dark brown eyes meeting yours. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Chishiya was stunned for a second. Blood rushed to his cheeks and the furrow in his brows deepened. He stammered, “No. No! That’s not what I meant. I mean that I’m just worried about you!”

You brought your face just a tad bit closer to his. “You worry about me?”

“No, no! I mean, you’re just a good ally and I don’t have any other strong feelings about you. I’m doing this for the sake of our alliance—”

He didn’t notice as you took the last biscuit, gingerly pushing it against his lips. He froze, eyes wide as he took in your appearance. An orange glow from the setting sun wrapped around your silhouette. You looked heavenly, like an angel beckoning him to the next life. Despite all logic screaming at him, he would gladly take your hand and go wherever that may be. 

You pushed the biscuit past his lips, the soft pair almost chasing after your fingertip as you pulled away. Curling your finger, you wiped the corner of his mouth with the edge of your knuckles. His breath stilled in his chest.

Chishiya leaned closer, your pull towards him magnetic. Shakily, he brought a hand up, about to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He’s seen this move once before, during a promotional commercial for a drama. He was reviewing for his finals at the time, taking only a few seconds to stare coldly at his roommate because of how loud the TV was. Evidently, he never put it into practice before.

“Ow!” you jolted back, hands cupping your face. Somehow, despite his brilliant mind, he accidentally poked you in the eye. You grit your teeth in pain, globs of tears running down your cheek. 

“Shit, I’m sorry!” He tried prying your eyes away from your face, using his free arm to wrap around your back. “I’m so sorry. Shit. Don’t rub it, it’ll get worse. Come here.”

Assisting you through your blurry vision, he managed to walk you to his bathroom. He turned the faucet on, making you bend over the sink. Forcing stillness into his hand, he caught the water, gently splashing it against your reddening eye. You hissed, jolting back at the contact, though a firm hand on your back kept you in place.

“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to.” The distress was evident in his voice. You’ve never seen him in such shambles before, not even during games where he was at the brink of death.

“I know, ‘Shiya. It’s okay,” you managed to smile at him. He wiped your eyes with a soft towel, bringing it down for a second to gently grip your chin. He nudged your head up, only enough for him to check on your eye. He let out a deep sigh before pressing the towel back. At least the pain has died down a bit now. “How bad is it?”

“It’s not fatal.”

You snorted, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. His lips twitched almost into a grin, though he was still slouched over in embarrassment. “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for feeding you.”

“I… I-I didn’t mean to. Honestly!” He shoved his other hand into his hoodie pocket. Suddenly, the floor was the most interesting thing in the room. You chuckled lightly at his antics. There was something so boyish about the way he stood, almost as if he wanted his hoodie to swallow him whole.

You brought your hand up, wrapping it around his on the towel. His cheeks heated up, though still defiant in meeting your gaze. You stroked the back of his hand with your thumb, surprised that he hasn’t pulled away yet.

“I’m sorry I poked your eye. I was just trying to…” he trailed off. How was he even going to explain himself out of this one? “There was dirt on your face. You should take a bath from time to time.”

“I do take baths!” you exclaimed, swatting at him again. You jabbed a finger to his chest, tone riddled with tease. “You’re just so obsessed with me.”

He finally allowed himself to smile, the smile that made everything feel normal again. At that moment, you weren’t players in the Borderland fighting for your life every other day. You were just two friends, for now. Chishiya is a tough nut to crack, but between your laughter sounding like tinkling bells and the euphoric buzz he gets from being around you, he’d be able to sort himself out. He just needs to take it one step at a time, starting with making that music box sing for you again. 

Because that's what good friends do. God, he was such a good friend.

Back in the main room, the entrance door swung open, followed by the sound of glass bottles clinking against each other. Kuina proudly declared, “I got us the stuff!”

“Did you bring ice?” Chishiya called out to her.

“Of course!” Even from the bathroom, you could hear her huff.

“Good, because we need a bunch of it here.”

[sinner-as-saint]

no masters or kings

Priest!Bucky x Reader 

Run-through: Father Barnes’ life had been rather peaceful for years. He never complained though, he chose this. Between mass on Sundays, bible study sessions during the week, and office hours, the amount of time he has left he dedicated to reading and keeping his body active. There wasn’t much to do in this small, almost forgotten town. Then a new face appeared. A woman, married to some businessman who leaves her all by herself while he grows his fortune in the city. Father Barnes seemed determined at first, to herd and care for the new, young, lonely little lamb. But that is until he found himself tempted to sin like never before. 

Themes: priest!bucky, smut, degrading kink, infidelity, explicit language, (sacrilege, blasphemy, and all the other bad stuff)

a/n: i’m going hell anyway so yeah, PILFS <3 

“It’s very late.” 

His hushed voice echoed in the empty, dark church. Your back stiffened as you froze, standing by the pews. You turned around slowly and found him standing at the entrance, the rain falling noisily behind him. As if creating a curtain to separate you two from the world outside. 

You knew where the switches were but you didn’t turn on the light when you walked in. There was just enough light coming from the outside to allow you to move properly and see. So you couldn’t exactly see the expression on his face. 

But you saw that he was drenched, completely. He must’ve gone on a run, you figured, and instead of going back home for the night, he saw the little light at the church doorstep and decided to come check who was here. 

“I… I couldn’t sleep.” You whispered back, watching him as he stepped inside and shook his head – reminding you a little of a dog shaking – as he tried to get the rain water out of his hair. “You once said you always left the church unlocked so I thought…,” You sighed, “I should probably go.” 

“No.” He was quick to say, in that tone. Your body tensed up. “Stay.” He added quietly. 

You looked at him. Drenched jacket, wet track pants sticking to his body, he was breathing heavily so he must’ve ran all the way here. He did that often, he once said. He liked running at night. 

You watched as he stepped closer to where you stood. That little bit of grey in his beard drove you insane. Suddenly you couldn’t think. 

He had that look about him which you could only describe as ‘priestly’. Wise, slightly older, calm. He was the kind of man you’d want to open up to. You’d want him to see all that was dark and wrong inside your human heart only so he could use that firm, strong voice and tell you that it’s all gonna be okay. That you were forgiven. Loved. And never alone. 

You watched as he unzipped his jacket, revealing that ridiculously tight black shirt inside which clung to his ridiculously muscular torso. 

“Did you need me?” He asked, again in that voice. That comforting voice that made everything okay. 

You knew what he meant. How he meant it. You knew he meant it in an innocuous way. But fuck if your mind didn’t go straight to that sinful pit it stays in. Temptation, like a vicious vine, reached and wrapped around your brain as you struggled to speak. 

It was always like this. Ever since the first time you stepped foot in this space and found Father Barnes sitting in silence all by himself. At first you mistook him for being just a parishioner. Black slacks, black shirt with the sleeves rolled up till his elbows, only when he turned around to face you did you notice the white collar. But by then it was too late and in your head you’d already imagined his naked body taking yours, owning you, using you. 

That day, you could tell he could almost read your mind. You were embarrassed so you excused yourself and left quickly. And anytime you wanted to be back here, and be good and behave, one look at Father Barnes and you felt like you were burning with all that pent up desire. 

It wasn’t entirely your fault. When you married your husband, you knew what you were getting into. You knew you married a man who was already married to his job in the city. But your parents couldn’t let such a wealthy, beneficial, and strong alliance go. You were given a luxurious life. There was nothing you lacked. 

You had a lavish home here in this small town, a wedding gift from your busy husband who visited maybe twice a year. You had it all. Money, vintage cars, horses you loved, a home you liked taking care of, privacy, all of it. 

All except company. Intimacy. Feeling a warm body press up against yours at night. Feeling warm skin against yours in the early hours of a lazy morning. You never got to hold hands with anyone, or get a hug. Or share a meal with. Or go on walks with. You were all alone here. And maybe that loneliness pushed you to visit the church the first time. 

Ever since, Father Barnes had become a habit. Watching him, picturing him doing unholy things to you, noticing him whenever you were at a coffee shop, or the library. You yearned for him. And it was all only heightened by the fact that he was so unreachable. So kind. So unlike how you wanted him to be. To him, you were just another lost soul he wanted to guide. 

Did you need me? 

Yes. Yes you did. In the most dirtiest of ways one can imagine. He was a handsome man. Kind blue eyes, long black hair that nearly reached his shoulders, a face only God could’ve created, and that body that he liked to take care of. He was a dream. 

And a priest. 

“I…” You struggled to find your words. “I thought a walk would help tire me out and put me to sleep. But then it started raining so here I am.” You gave him a faint smile. 

He returned one back. 

He ran his fingers through his wet, long hair and said, “I can keep you company for a while, if you want.” 

He waited. Then you said, “I’d like that.” 

–

Bucky was praying in his head as he asked you to take a seat, then sat down beside you. 

He prayed to God, in fact to anyone and anything that would listen to him. God, gods, universe, the freaking stars in the night sky which weren’t visible right now because it was pouring like it was the end of the world. He prayed you wouldn’t glimpse down and see the thing growing in his pants. 

He was ashamed. 

Ever since he first saw you, there was this pull he’d never felt before. It was like having burning hot claws sink into his flesh each time he laid eyes on you. Out on the streets, in the coffee shops, in the library, in the little diners, at the freaking grocery store, in parking lots – it was a small town so he saw you a lot. 

He had to walk by your extravagant property each time he went to the bakery, and each time he felt like a little boy who was excited to see whether or not the pretty girl would be outside this time to smile and give him a little wave. 

Then each time he saw you in this church it was somehow way worse. Like being here made the temptation more sinful. 

Bucky looked up at the cross and mentally begged. Make it stop. This is wrong. Make it stop. 

“You know you don’t have to do this.” Your gentle voice spoke. “I’m sure you need your sleep.” 

“It would be wrong of me to leave you here all by yourself.” He said, realising that this was the longest conversation you two had had. Usually you were too shy to even look him in the eyes. You kept your sentences short and always looked caught. 

So he liked this. 

Silence. 

Then you said, “I was never religious, you know?” There was a faint smile in that tone, he didn’t have to look to know. 

“Are you now?” 

He could feel your shrug. “I don’t know.” You answered. “I don’t think I have what it takes to be… so desperately good. Like you, for instance.” 

Oh if only you knew… 

Bucky shifted in his seat. Mentally begged God some more as the quiet tone of your voice made it hard for him to even sit still. He wanted to let out some of the primal aggression he was feeling. Squeeze something. Bite something. Sink into something. Preferably your tight hot body. 

Heavens. He sighed. Help me. 

Clearing his throat he said, “You don’t have to be if you don’t want to. It’s enough for me that you feel comfortable enough just to come here and feel like you’re not alone.” 

A moment of silence passed, with just the sound of heavy rain in the background. “But it’s not enough for me.” Then you quickly added, as if embarrassed that you must have overshared, “I shouldn’t be saying these things.” 

“Why not?” He frowned. What things? 

You let out a soft chuckle that only sent more blood down to his rock hard cock. Bucky clenched his fists, struggling. 

“It’s the middle of the night. I should go.” You said. 

No. He didn’t want you to go. “If there are things you need to voice out,” He said, “Would the booth make you feel more comfortable?” 

You chuckled again, turning your head to look at him. Bucky let his eyes roam all over you very, very quickly. Dark trousers, dark jacket, a scarf around your neck… too many layers. He almost groaned as he imagined himself peeling all those layers off of you. 

“Oh Father Barnes,” You sighed. “Maybe another time.” 

Then you left. Leaving him confused, aroused, and feeling way too much. 

— 

The next time Bucky saw you was yet again, on a random rainy night. After his daily run, he noticed the small lamp outside the church door was lit and ran all the way to the church to check out who it was. 

He ignored the boyish hope in his heart which begged that it’d be you. Yet he breathed out in relief when he saw it truly was you. 

“Can’t sleep?” He asked, hoping his tone wasn’t too teasing. 

You gave him a small smile and nodded. “Would you… um, last time you mentioned the booth. Do you think, I mean, I know it’s late and–,” 

He cut you off by walking over and placing his hands on your shoulders. “Whatever makes you feel more comfortable. Follow me.” 

You did. 

–

Sitting down on the wooden bench felt weird. You’d never done it before. Never been inside the wooden box. The space was small, dark wooden panels on all sides. A small opening allowed you to partially see Father Barnes on the other side, that is if it was during the daytime. Right now, it was all too dark. You only knew he was there by the sound of movement. 

The air smelled like candle wax and incense. It felt mysterious, intimate almost to be here with him. It felt weirdly comforting. Maybe this is why people come back, you thought. 

“You’ve never done this, have you?” He asked. 

“No.” You replied, feeling a little out of place. 

“Well, we begin with the sign of the cross…” He trailed off, as if hoping you’d do it along with him. You did. Then silence. “Now, you may tell me about the things you left without saying last time.” 

You took a deep breath. Then said, “I think I’ve been alone for way too long.” 

There was a pause before he spoke. “Alone? You mean in this town?” 

You exhaled calmly and explained, “I mean in my marriage.” 

–

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed. Alone in your marriage? God help him. This was not helping his sick, twisted fantasies. All those times he fantasised as he walked by your expensive home about how he could just walk in and find where you are and demand you let him take you. Your husband wouldn’t be home. He never was, everyone knew that. Most people pitied you, the rest envied your lifestyle. But he… oh it was his most sinful fantasy till date. 

He forced himself to ask, even though he was in no shape to hear the answer, “What is it that makes you feel this way? Is there a lack of some kind?” 

He heard your shaky breath, as if you were debating whether you should tell him. “I…” You started, then stopped. Then sighed and finally said, “I’ve never been with my husband.” You explained further. “We both agreed that our marriage was only a way to solidify the business transactions between our families. We both agreed we wouldn’t be a conventional couple. He craved his busy work like in the city and I liked the tranquillity of a small town.” You paused. 

Bucky listened intently. 

“So I knew what I was getting into when I got married and moved here, while my husband remained in the city. We only see each other maybe for two weekends out of the year and that too only during the holidays when we need to put on a show for our families and smile and look happy in family photos. And I was fine with it.” Another defeated sigh. “But then it got lonely.” 

Bucky sucked in a breath as he shook his head slightly, begging God again. Don’t let my mind go there. Don’t let the fantasies seem attainable. Please. He begged. But he also needed to say something back. Something priestly. And quick. 

“I see.” He cleared his throat, refusing to even acknowledge the growing desire in his pants. Yet again. “So it’s the distance. How long has this been the case?” 

You replied, “Since the very start. I’ve never been with him, you see?” 

No. No. No. 

“Never lived with him? Never felt a sense of companionship? I admit, that must be very hard. To feel alone in a marriage–,” 

“Father Barnes,” It sounded like you were begging in shame as you interrupted him. “I have never had sex with him. Or anyone. Ever since I got married two years ago. Do you understand now?” 

“Oh.” 

You let out a soft chuckle. “Oh? I guess it must come naturally to you. To dodge those, um, desires but, I’m only human. I’m a woman, with needs. I… it worries me sometimes because often it is all I can think about all day.” Another humourless laugh. “I don’t have much to do, you see? I do enjoy the simplicity of the small town. I love my animals, my staff, I get to do things I’ve always wanted to do. I can drive around and read, and paint, and cook, and I truly do enjoy my company but sometimes… It can be very lonely. One time I–,” 

You cut yourself off. And silence followed. Tormenting Bucky even more as you left him wondering. And oh did he wonder. About your lonely nights. About you in your luxurious home, in your large bed, fingers sliding in and out from in between your thighs, crying out loud as you make yourself come. Poor you. Rich, lonely wife of a careless, rich man. Forced to take care of your needs all by yourself. 

If only there was an equally lonely man able to keep you company. If only… 

“What?” He asked, because he needed to know. “One time you what?” 

“I… you know there are people who provide services. For women like me.” Your breathy voice was driving him to the fucking edge. 

“Women like you?” 

“Yes.” Your voice was more firm now, almost like you were smiling in a mischievous way. “You know? Rich, lonely women. I almost, I mean for the longest time I contemplated hiring a male escort. But then I didn’t.” 

“I see.” He said again. “Feeling alone and neglected can result in wanting companionship in whatever form is available.” 

He was barely holding on to fucking sanity now. 

“But it was wrong, wasn’t it? To want to be with another man, any man at this point to be honest.” You sighed. “It’s like an itch that never goes away. And it makes me…” You paused, then said, “It makes me want things, crave things, crave people that I shouldn’t. It’s getting worse and worse,” You confessed. “Sometimes I leave the doors and windows unlocked or opened, even at night,” You sighed, struggling too by the sound of it, “Shamelessly hoping someone might just walk in and–,”

“Stop.” He said, using a voice he never did before. He had never interrupted a penitent so rudely. So suddenly. But he heard his own twisted fantasy come out of your mouth in that breathy tone he would lose it. “Please,” He begged in a lowered voice. 

Then he heard your gasp. Like you were ashamed. Alone in that wooden box, drowning in your desires and temptation. Right there, in this dark night, right fucking there for him to take. To taste. To touch. He was no one but a starved male at that point. He was nothing but the desires in his head. The fantasy. The claws of sin dug into him, reaching places he thought he’d shut off forever but there they were, open and raw and wanting. Wanting you. 

He didn’t know when he got out of his side of the booth and opened the other side to find you with a surprised look on your face. Surprised, but with lust in your eyes. 

“Father Barnes?” 

Bucky was crossing that line he shouldn’t. He knew he was. There was no going back. Not as he knelt down right in front of you. The space was cramped but he didn’t care. He knelt in between your legs and looked up at you. 

“You said you craved people you shouldn’t. Is one of them me?” He asked. 

–

The tension was too much. The air around you shifted. You looked down at him, not regretting the dress you wore because now you could feel him in between your bare legs. Even in the dark his body tormented you. He was still cold and drenched from the rain earlier. But so firm with your thighs pressing around him. 

“Yes.” You answered, truthfully. 

His warm hands were on your bare thighs immediately. Rubbing up and down like he had all the time in the world. “Is that so?” He questioned. His tone was lower, darker. Grave. Fuck. “Is that why you wore a pretty dress to come see me? In the middle of the night?” 

He leaned in, lips brushing against your collarbones and neck as he breathed. His warm breath making you squirm and shiver. You bit back a moan as he slowly slid his hands under your dress. 

He looked down at his hands disappearing beneath your dress for a quick moment before he looked back up into your eyes in disbelief. 

“Did you wear this for me?” He asked upon further inspecting your body, as his fingers brushed against the softest, thinnest of lace underwear. “Surely you didn’t wear this for your husband who never comes home to you, hmm? Answer me.” 

“No.” You answered firmly. “I didn’t wear it for him.” Of course you didn’t. Your husband treated you like you were non-existent. Not that you minded. 

Bucky chuckled, his mouth still exploring your skin. His stubble rough against your soft skin. “And what did you think was gonna happen here? Showing up dressed like a shameless woman. Did you hope you could tempt me into touching you?” He whispered. 

His fingers slowly slid past your underwear, exploring the warmth there. You let out a soft moan, your own fingers sliding into his hair as he groaned upon feeling how wet you were. 

One moment he had a little bit of sanity left where he kept telling himself that he could stop at any moment if he wanted to. But then he slid his finger inside you, and the soft moan you let out was his undoing. 

He couldn’t hold back anymore, he leaned in to kiss you. Hard and fast, before his mouth found its way down your neck again, until he wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and sucked. Hard. 

You couldn’t help but gasp and moan as his warm mouth wrapped around your flesh, wetting the fabric of your dress. Then he shifted to the other one, making you whine and squirm against him. Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently as he toyed with your breasts. 

And then he was eagerly bunching up your dress so he could taste what he wanted the most, that wetness in between your legs. “Good women don’t do this, you know?” He whispered, “What if someone comes in here right now and decides they need some peaceful alone time? What then?” 

You whined as he lowered your underwear, throwing it aside carelessly. You knew nobody would come in here right now. It was the middle of the night again. This whole small town was asleep. Not even one car drove on the road. But you still played into the fantasy because it was so hot. You were burning, feeling the touch of a man after so long. 

“They’d catch us.” You said, “They’d catch you.” You groaned, doing absolutely nothing to stop him. 

Bucky chuckled, “Or maybe they’d see you spreading your legs like a desperate whore for me and decide they want to watch the show. Maybe they’d even grab a chair and sit, and watch as I make you feel good.” You whined upon hearing his words. He couldn’t help the smirk. “You like that? Hmm? The possibility of someone finding you in here, legs spreading and your arousal dripping out of you? Does that make you feel powerful? Wanted?” 

“Please…” You begged, quietly. 

Then he gave you what you wanted. And you let him. You let him taste you until he had his fill. You let him take one of your legs and put it over his shoulder which opened you up even more to his warm, eager mouth. To his tongue which slid in and out and up and down until you were almost crying in pleasure. 

“Look at you,” He said, kissing down your inner thigh. “Spreading your legs for a man of God like a shameless little slut, hmm? Is that what you are?” 

He ate you out until you were trembling, until your arousal was dripping down his chin. “Fuck, please!” You cried out, fingers tugging on his hair. His tongue, his lips, the gentle suction of his warm mouth –  it was all too much. 

“Is this what you wanted? All those times you left your doors and windows unlocked, did you ever wish I would wander in and just take you however I wanted?” He moved his head side to side, his coarse stubble brushing against your soft inner thighs. “Hmm? Did you ever think about me while touching yourself, you filthy little whore?” 

“Yes…” You whined and trembled, trying to keep your voice down as he made you lose your mind by eating you out like a starved man. 

Which he was. It was like he was tasting the most forbidden of fruits after years of being denied. Like he was suddenly unchained and free. Hungry. 

You whined as he pulled away without letting you come. You wondered if he regretted this, if he would kick you out but he only pulled you off the bench, flipped the two of you around in the dark so that he was the one sitting on the bench now and pulled you onto his lap. 

You were surprised for only a moment, but then got over it as you found your impatient hands at the waistband of his track pants. You paused, for only a moment, fingers toying with the waistband of his underwear, you looked up into his eyes, they shone even in the near complete dark. Like he was… godly. 

“Are you sure you want–,” 

He cut you off, firmly. Using that tone again. “I will die right here if I don’t take you right now, you hear me?” 

You nodded, reaching for his cock as you said in a shaky voice, “I’ve wanted you for so long.” 

“Did you?” His voice was suddenly deeper than earlier. 

You nodded, wondering if he even saw it in the dark. But you didn’t care, not as you wrapped your hand around his hard cock, hearing him hiss in pleasure as you lifted off of his lap, aligned the tip of his cock to your entrance before gently sinking down on him. 

“Oh fuck,” You cried out as you slid down his thick cock, his stare burning on your face as he thrust up into you, all the way in. 

“Fuck,” He swore, then leaned in to give you a wet, messy kiss as he thrust his hips up. He hadn’t done this in a long, long time but nature took over. He wanted more, more, more. “This is all you wanted, huh? Always giving me those eyes, always giving me that look,” He sounded stern. Almost mad. “You were basically always around me like a bitch in heat, hmm? Is this cock all you were craving? While living in your nice big house, your husband away earning money for you to spend, all this time you’ve been thinking about me, hmm?” 

“Yes…” You whined as he grabbed your hips and guided you up and down his cock, stretching you out in the process. You held onto his shoulders as you rode his cock, bouncing on it while you moaned for him, bending a little so as to not hit the roof of the booth. 

“Yes what?” He asked, sounding all cocky and less priestly as he smacked your thigh. 

“Father Barnes,” You corrected yourself, “You’re all I wanted. You’re all I think about.” You felt him fill you up nicely each time, the pressure in between your legs getting hotter and hotter. He was better than you could’ve ever imagined. Bigger, even. 

“You don’t even care how wrong this is, do you?��� He threw his head back, grunting at how good you felt. “You don’t even care what you’re doing to a pious man like myself.” He let out a strained moan, as he thrust into you over and over again, while also bringing you down on his cock each time with enough force to make your tits bounce. “I thought about you too, you know? About this tight little cunt, dripping and hungry for me. Some nights I would’ve done anything for just a taste of you.” 

His words were too much. The whole situation was too much. Too good. The space felt hot, stuffy, and sinful. “Please, I need to come. Please.” You said, unable to hold back your moans when he placed his thumb over your clit and rubbed it gently, in sync with his thrusts. It only made you clench harder around him. 

You bit your lip to hold back your moans as he thrust his hips up more into you, your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came so close to coming undone for him. 

“You’re gonna come for me, little lamb?” He asked, “You’re gonna come all over my cock like a shameless woman, huh? Not caring about where we are, what time it is, or what your husband might think if he ever finds out, you don’t care, do you?” He chuckled. “You’re too cock-drunk to care, too much of a little slut for me to care, huh?” 

You answered after a loud whimper, “Yes… please.” 

He cupped your cheek and traced your mouth with his thumb, “Go on. Come all over my cock. Come for me…” 

Your walls clenched violently around his cock. You came hard, whimpering and crying for him and gasping for breath. 

Bucky came right after you, feeling his whole body tingle like this was the closest to heaven he’ll ever get. His warm load spilling inside you as he wrapped his arms around you and held you like you were the most fragile thing in the world. Like he hadn’t just rammed his cock in and out of you like an animal. Like he hadn’t just sinned in so many ways. 

You caught your breath, wrapped in his strong arms. Your head rested on his shoulder as you tried to calm your racing heart. You could feel his cock twitch inside you, his cum flowing out of you. 

“You’re not gonna hire any stranger to come and keep you company, you hear me?” 

You nodded, face brushing against his damp shirt and his warm neck. It felt good here, in his embrace. It felt safe. 

“I’m here, and you’re mine to take care of now. When you need to be fucked, you come find me. Is that understood?” 

You smirked, then said, “Yes, Father Barnes.” 

---

part 2

[rabotimagines]

Do you have more Insecticons?

"Instinct" GN BOT Reader x The Insecticons

Summary: The Insecticons trying to seduce reader while reader doesn't know what the hell is happening.

G1 Characters: The Insecticons, Sideswipes here too (you flirt with each other a little too but casually.)

Genre/Theme: Insecticons failing to seduce Reader.

Pronouns: You, Your, Yours, Their, Them, They

Notes: Autobot Reader! Referencing G1 episodes at the start. Part 2 of this.

You really should've known better. Really, you should have.

After someone let it slip, you knew how to make those energon goodies. The Insecticons wound up kidnapping you. Which half of It you don't even remember because of the mind control shell and the orders they gave you. But it was a day and a half for your friends to get you back from them.

Then they kidnapped you a second time when they were hopped up on that stuff that made them grow a few size classes. Oh yeah, that one ended with Shrapnel exploding because, of course, it did.

So you really should know better.

But the invasive plant fiasco happened, and you got to watch the insecticons clone army get absolutely devoured by those plants. And you were the only one watching what was the original Insecticons freaking out and desperately trying to free Kickback from the clutches of one of said plants.

You should be relieved they were gonna get eaten. It would make your jobs guarding earth a lot easier.

But looking at them panic and Kickback begging, and frankly, it actually looked like he was a nanoklick from bursting into tears. Kinda just- eh, what was the human phrase Carly used to describe that guy she had that encounter with? A pathetic bastard? Yeah, that sounds right. They looked like such pathetic bastards that you couldn't help feeling sorry for them.

You cared way too much in general.

But that's primarily why you were an Autobot and not a Decepticon.

With a sigh, you ran over and promptly slammed your pede onto the vines latched around Kickbacks leg. The plant sensing you close latched another vine out and wrapped it around your arm. You only pressed down harder on the one you were stepping on. And Bombshell and Shrapnel managed to yank Kickback free of the plants' vice grip.

They barely looked your way before booking it away from the killer plants grasp and up into the sky.

Honestly, you really did care too much. You shot Blaster a message to come your way to free you when another vine shot out to wrap around your thigh. The two limbs slowly begun to drag you closer to the main bulb of the plant.

At least these things only ate Insecticons.

-

You were stuck on patrol with Sideswipe during a slow shift. The klicks crawling by agonizingly slow. After the sixth round of your patrol route with absolutely nothing of note happening, you'd opted to take a quick break.

You were both in your root modes, and Sideswipe had moved next to the tree you were already leaning against. You arched an optic ridge at him silently, wondering what he was doing at the tree you'd already claimed as your own.

He mimicked a yawn- like the humans would do, and stretched his arms high and- his arm went over your pauldron. Sideswipe then dragged you a bit closer to his frame, and you could only level him with a blank expression.

"What? It's not like we're doing nothin' could be doing... something." Sideswipe exaggeratedly waggled his optic ridge and made the most ridiculous expression, so you knew he wasn't being serious. "Something fun maybeeee?" He nearly leaned his entire frame weight onto you, and you would've fallen if you didn't make sure to hold him up. This slagger.

Though despite your mild annoyance, your derma quirked upwards. Because two could play this game after all.

Instead of pushing Sideswipe away or breaking away like you assume he was expecting, you only leaned further against him. Your servo moved to trace the dip of his Autobot symbol. You met his gaze and arched an optic brow. And you asked if Sideswipe really thought he could handle you.

Amusement curled in your frame when Sideswipe's optics brightened a touch.

And before you could shove him away and tell him to get real, a shout made you both jump away from each other.

"Autobot!" Bombshell appeared out of the shrubbery in his alt mode. You both automatically reached for your weapons, but Bombshell kept talking. "I challenge you to a duel! No blasters, only frames!" Bombshell announced while staring right at Sideswipe.

Sideswipe thought on it for only half a nano-klick before grinning. "You're on bug boy!" You could only sigh over the response. Of course, the fight junky would take it up with no questions asked.

Which is how you end up standing on the side, watching them both circle one another like a pair of territorial turbofoxes. You'd found a dirt patch in the trees, and it was where they'd started brawling. Sideswipe lundged first and after a big scuffle ended up on Bombshell's back. Bombshell rightfully started bucking and swinging to get Sideswipe off of him. You try to cheer Sideswipe on telling him not to make the Autobots look bad and to keep it together.

But eventually, Sideswipe loses his grip he had on Bombshell's back and gets bucked off. Then Bombshell rushed him, and you half assumed Sideswipe was about to get impaled right in front of you. Only Sideswipe dodged, making Bombshell's horn scrap underneath Sideswipe's frame instead of directly stabbing him.

Bombshell then launched Sideswipe off his horn with a vengeance.

You watched Sideswipe sail into a tree and land in the dirt with a loud crash of branches and metal.

"Yes! Victory is mine!" Bombshell announced aloud and actually started shuffling like he was celebrating his win.

You call out and ask Sideswipe if he's okay.

"Yeah! Kinda scuffed but I'm fine."

Another shout makes you jolt and you turn to see Shrapnel's alt mode jump out of the shrubbery this time into the dirt clearing. But he's got his gaze set right on Bombshell instead of you or Sideswipe.

Shrapnel advanced towards Bombshell "Mine! Mine-!" He repeated aloud.

"No! Not yours! Mine!" Bombshell snapped back, his plating ruffling and shaking in anger. And just like that, they started circling each other like Sideswipe and Bombshell had.

What the pit were they even fighting over? The win?

They charged each other, and after a quick scuffle, Shrapnel managed to grab Bombshell with his big mandibles. Shrapnel whipped around and threw Bombshell against a tree. The wood cracked, and the tree fell with a load crash. "I won! I won-!" Shrapnel quickly started celebrating.

But Bombshell didn't stay down, and he came back via rushing Shrapnel through the bushes. His horn slamming Shrapnel right in the side and sending his alt mode skidding against the ground. Shrapnel hissed, and Bombshell actually growled back at him. Seriously, what are they fighting over!? Shrapnel then let loose a discharge of his electricity, and just like that, you dived to join Sideswipe in the shrubbery.

You both decided to ditch the two of them to start making your way back to the patrol route, while you spit balled ideas on what all that was between each other. Only not too long after you started going, did you start hearing- something.

It almost sounded like- Powerglide trying to take off? Like metal spinning fast and precise. You stared at one another before electing to follow through with your patrol and investigate it.

You ended up tracking the noise together through the woods until you got closer and closer. And eventually you ended up close enough to see a frame in the woods clinging on a tree. You could see- purple and gray- oh Primus, it's Kickback.

And Kickback was? Was he making the sound? You focused your optics and could make out his alt mode legs drumming against his own wings. The reverberated noise you'd been hearing was the drumming sound of very quick metal on metal touches.

You stepped on a branch, and the sound immediately cut out. Kickback glanced your way, and you both tensed.

Only he started drumming the sound up on his wings once more while making optic contact with you in his alt mode. You cycled your optics and continued to stare astonished at the display.

A loud crash made you all snap your attention towards Shrapnel and Bombshell, who both tumbled into your area in a mess of angry bug limbs. Bombshell forced Shrapnel's helm to the side when he pushed him down, and Shrapnel let loose another discharge of his electricity. It engulfed the area making you jerk back. The burning prickles of it ghosted along your frame. Kickback yelling in pain told you he was not as fortunate as you two were.

As soon as the wave of electricity stopped, Bombshell dropped to his side and had to make an effort to get back up again. Shrapnel rose only for Kickback to descend on both of them with a vengeance. It turned into an all-out scrap between the three of them, climbing and swiping and kicking and- a shot of stray electricity nearly hit Sideswipe in the helm. You both looked at each other and turned on a pede and quickly made your way back towards your route and away from the Insecticons apparent madness.

You'd take your boring patrol shift over this any day of the week.

-

"Hold it!" Bombshell snapped, putting a leg each on Shrapnel and Kickbacks helms pushing their alt modes closer to the ground. "Where are they?" At the question, they both glanced left and right and realized like he did that you were gone.

They all broke away from one another to transform back into root mode and start cursing.

"Slagger! Slagger-! That Autobot took off with them- with them-!" Shrapnel angerly clenched his mandibles and stood up. Glancing around seeing if there was any sign for which direction you'd taken off in.

"You two ruined my show! They were interested even!" Kickback pushed Shrapnel and pointed at Bombshell. "They were focusing right on me, and you ruined it!" Kickback swung back and smashed a rock to bits with his pede, sending broken rock flying into the air. His antennas twitched, and his plating quivered in his own displeasure.

"Whatever! Whatever-! Like they'd actually go with you! You-!" Shrapnel glared at Kickback, and Kickback hissed back at him with a sneer.

"Be quiet, both of you!" Bombshell snapped and shoved them both away from one another. "Clearly, we need to re plan our seduction strategy." Kickback and Shrapnel huffed but didn't argue. "We needed that failure to remind us we aren't just trying to be their mate. We've got the entirety of the Autobots to compete with."

They couldn't argue with Bombshell on it because it was true. They were going to be fighting all the Autobots for your attention. While they were busy fighting each other, that red Autobot easily swiped you away from them.

"We'll need to work together to make them our mate." Bombshell turned and started making his way towards a clearing in the trees. "So no more fighting over them between us until we make them ours. Got it?"

"Sounds like a plan- plan-!" Shrapnel followed after Bombshell.

"Fine- the Autobots won't know what hit them when they choose us." Kickback trailed after the both of them smiling as he imagined the scene.

"We'll make them ours soon enough." With that, they all transformed back into alt mode and took to the skies. Keeping their optics open for a familiar sight of your color of paint.

[heliosunny]

Love your writing 😍 about anaxa and phainon

Hoping that I can see more of them✨

Since I've just updated Yandere!Phainon, I'll write Yandere!Anaxa. Thank you for supporting me🩵

Yandere!Anaxa x Florist!Reader

In a quiet kingdom known for its lush flora, you run a small but thriving flower shop, using your magic to cultivate rare and powerful plants. Strong-willed and sharp-tongued, you care little for wealth or titles, only for the flowers that bloom under your care. Then he walks in.

A man shrouded in mystery and danger, arrives with a strange plant in hand and an offer to research it

The bell above your shop’s door chimed softly, signaling a customer. You barely looked up from where you were tending to a tray of delicate orchids, brushing your fingertips over their petals.

“Welcome” you said, voice steady yet warm. “Take your time.”

No response. How strange, most visitors, whether locals or travelers, at least offered a greeting. You turned your gaze toward the entrance only to find a man standing motionless, barely past the threshold.

And the moment your eyes met his, chaos erupted. The vines and roots in your shop, normally docile, swaying gently under your magic suddenly lashed out, twisting and lunging toward him like living creatures with a mind of their own. Thorns glinted under the lantern light, reaching to pierce into his skin.

You moved instantly.

Lifting a hand, you called forth your magic, your power sweeping through the air like an unseen force. The aggressive vines froze, caught mid-air, mere inches from his throat. With a flick of your wrist, they recoiled and slithered back, retreating into the soil.

You let out a slow breath before turning your sharp gaze to the stranger.

Now that you had a better look, you could see why your plants had reacted so violently.

The man before you was no ordinary traveler.

Dark fabric clung to his tall frame, adorned with silver accents and lined with enchanted thread that shimmered faintly under the light. His hair, a cascade of green, framed striking eyes that watched you without a hint of fear.

If anything…

He looked amused.

“I see” he murmured, his tone smooth, almost lazy. “They don’t like me.”

Your grip on your magic remained firm. “That makes two of us.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Oh? And here I thought florists were supposed to be welcoming.”

You didn’t smile. “Florists don’t typically get customers who trigger an unprovoked magical attack.”

His gaze flickered to the now-docile vines before returning to you. “Unprovoked, hm?”

You narrowed your eyes. There was something about him. Something unnatural. Your plants had never reacted like that before, not even to dangerous men. Which meant… This man was something else entirely.

Despite the warning signs, you did not turn him away. You were no fool. Forcing him out would only make him return.

Instead, you did what you did best, you observed.

You allowed him to browse your shop, watching from behind the counter as he idly picked up flowers, rolling their stems between his gloved fingers.

The tension in your shop was thick. Your plants remained still, but you could feel them watching, waiting.

Finally, the man turned to you, holding up a single white lily. “I’ll take this one.”

You eyed him. “A white lily?”

He hummed. “Is that a problem?”

You set down your gardening shears, stepping out from behind the counter. “That flower means purity and devotion.”

Another chuckle. “How fitting.”

You frowned. “For you?”

“For you” he corrected smoothly.

You stared. He held the lily up, brushing the petals along his fingers. “You protected me, didn’t you? Even when your magic screamed otherwise?”

“You weren’t in danger” you said evenly. “I was protecting my shop from needless damage. Not you.”

He tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Before you could respond, he did something unforgivable.

He brought the lily to his lips and bit down on the petals.

You snapped. Without thinking, you moved. In a blur of motion, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, slamming him against the wooden counter with surprising strength.

His smirk faltered, eyes widening just slightly.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You leaned in close, voice dangerously soft.

“Don't do that to my flowers.”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Apologies” he purred, unbothered by his current position. “I was just curious.”

Your grip on his wrist remained firm. Tight to the point you could feel his pulse. Steady. Unnaturally calm. A normal man would have tensed, would have recoiled at your sudden aggression.

But he didn't. He simply studied your reaction.

Your eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze softened—just slightly.

Then, he smiled. Is that interest you saw in his eyes?

“I think” he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, “I’d like to find that out with you.”

And somehow, despite everything, despite the danger that curled around him like a cloak, you had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

-----

The moment Anaxa placed the plant in your hands, you felt it. It was alive. Not in the way all plants were, this was something else.

The veins in its leaves pulsed faintly, like a slow heartbeat. The roots twitched as if sensing your presence, curling toward your fingers.

You tore your gaze away from it, leveling Anaxa with a sharp look. “Where did you find this?”

His smirk was slow, deliberate. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m the one researching it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Then consider it a mystery for you to solve.”

You frowned. He was hiding something.

But that didn’t matter, not yet.

For now, the plant held your full attention. You ran your fingers along the stem, noting the strange texture. Not quite wood, not quite flesh. Somewhere in between.

“How long do I have?” you asked.

Anaxa’s eyes flickered, amused by your immediate interest. “No rush. Take as long as you need.”

“Even if it takes years?”

His lips curled. “I have patience.”

You narrowed your eyes. That was a lie.

No man who smirked like that, who watched you like that, was capable of patience.

But you said nothing. Instead, you turned away, already lost in thought.

This plant… it could change everything.

Days turned to weeks, and the more you uncovered about the plant, the more you realized it was wrong. It absorbed magic. Fed off of it. Craved it.

Your greenhouse had become a battleground of willpower, your magic straining to contain the unnatural hunger of its roots.

But more concerning than the plant itself was him. Anaxa visited often. Too often.

Always watching. Always hovering just close enough that his presence became a shadow at your back, his warmth bleeding into your space.

It was suffocating and you hated that. You didn't use to working under such stressful environment.

“You’re distracted today” he murmured, leaning against the wooden counter as he watched you work.

You didn’t look up. “I have a guest who refuses to leave. I wonder why.”

A low chuckle. “Is that what I am? A guest?”

“What else would you be?”

He hummed, pushing off the counter. You felt him step closer, his presence a tangible weight behind you.

“You tell me, florist.”

The way he said that title, it wasn’t mockery.

It was fond.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your shears. “You’re getting in the way of my work.”

“I don’t mind” he said smoothly.

“I do.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, slow, measured, testing. You felt the ghost of his fingertips skim over your wrist, a barely-there touch and yet it burned.

You turned sharply, your shears flashing between the two of you, the blade stopping just before his throat.

Anaxa merely raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful when you threaten me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding and something inside you twisted.

Not in anger.

Not in fear.

In something far more dangerous.

And from the way his eyes darkened, he knew. Your breath was steady. Your hand did not shake. The shears remained pressed lightly against his throat, just enough for him to feel the cold metal against his skin. But Anaxa… he wasn’t afraid. If anything, he leaned in.

His voice was thick with amusement. “What now, little florist? Will you cut me down like your flowers?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes locked onto his. “Maybe.”

His smirk widened. “Do it.”

Your fingers tensed. Damn him. He was testing you. You hated that part of you, the part he had awakened, that wanted to push back.

You lowered the shears, stepping away. “I have work to do.”

Anaxa chuckled, touching his throat where the shears had been, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. A shame. I would have liked to see how deep you'd go.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t tempt me.”

Despite everything, you still let him into your shop.

Anaxa never made himself scarce, always finding reasons to linger, offering idle conversation, watching as you worked, leaving small, carefully chosen gifts.

A book on ancient flora he knew you’d been searching for. A rare seed he procured from a distant kingdom. Even something as simple as a hot cup of tea on particularly exhausting days.

It was all calculated. And it was working. Because despite your wariness, despite knowing exactly what kind of man he was, you found yourself hesitating less when he got close. And Anaxa noticed.

One evening, as you were tending to the strange plant he had brought, you felt him step behind you. His fingers brushed your wrist, guiding your hand over the leaves.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

The plant pulsed beneath your touch.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He hummed, his fingers curling slightly over yours. “Just like you, it thrives on attention.”

Your lips parted to argue, to deny, to push him away. But your traitorous body remained still. That silence was all he needed.

His grip tightened. Just long enough to remind you who was winning this game.

The first incident happened three days later.

A neighboring florist, one of your longtime friends—vanished.

The second incident followed soon after.

Another florist. A merchant. Anyone who spent too much time near you. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just whispers of disappearances.

And then, the third incident.

This time, the attack was aimed at you.

A masked figure cornered you late at night, their blade glinting under the dim lantern light. But you were no helpless damsel. Before they could strike, you reached into your apron, pulled out a handful of crushed lilies and blew the powder into their face.

The paralysis was instant. The would-be assassin barely had time to stagger before crumpling to the ground, unmoving. You stepped back, breathing heavily, heart hammering.

Then, from the darkness, a slow clap.

You turned, only to find him.

Anaxa stood in the shadows, watching you with that infuriating, satisfied smile.

“You handled that well” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into fists. “This was your doing.”

“Was it?” He tilted his head, stepping closer, eyes never leaving yours. “Strange… I seem to remember warning you that this town had become dangerous.”

You glared. “You expect me to believe this was a coincidence?”

“I expect you to be smart enough to see the truth.” He stopped a mere breath away from you, his fingers reaching out to trace along the petals of the flower in your hair.

“You need me, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “And I’m the only one who will stay.”

Your pulse pounded. Not with fear.

But with the bitter realization that he wasn’t wrong.

The disappearances. The attack. The uncertainty in the air. Who else could you trust now?

He had woven himself into your life. And somehow, you had let him. But that didn’t mean you had lost.

Not yet.

So instead of pulling away, instead of rejecting his words, you met his gaze head-on.

“You think you’ve won?” you murmured.

His smile widened. “Haven’t I?”

You leaned in slightly, your breath ghosting against his skin, your fingers grazing his wrist. And then, in a single swift motion. You twisted his arm behind his back, slammed him against the shop’s wooden post, and pressed the sharp tip of your pruning shears to his throat.

Anaxa let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Ah…” His voice was practically shaking with delight. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Your grip tightened. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart hammering, waiting for the moment he’d retaliate—waiting for him to strike. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into the blade. A thin line of crimson beaded against his pale skin, but he didn’t flinch.

He only smiled.

“Keep me close” he whispered. “Or watch how far I’ll go to get to you.”

A warning. A promise. A challenge.

And for the first time, you realized this wasn’t a game you could walk away from.

You felt the world blur around you.

Heat crept into your veins, slow and insidious, twisting through your body like roots burrowing deep into the earth. Your fingers trembled as you gripped the counter, trying to steady yourself.

Your vision swam, colors bleeding together. Across from you, Anaxa stood, watching you with sick satisfaction.

You had been poisoned.

Not to kill. Not to harm.

But to bind.

“What… did you do?” Your voice came out breathless, weaker than you wanted it to be.

Anaxa’s smile was slow, patient, victorious.

“Shh.” He stepped closer, brushing a gloved hand against your flushed cheek. “Let it settle, little flower. There’s no use fighting it.”

Your breathing hitched. The warmth pooling in your body was unnatural, like a vine curling around your heart, tightening, twisting, refusing to let go.

Your knees nearly buckled. Anaxa caught you effortlessly, guiding you against his chest, holding you as if he had done this before.

As if he had been waiting for this moment.

“You’re strong” he murmured, pressing his lips against your hair. “I knew you wouldn’t fall easily.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Fight. Your mind screamed at you. Resist.

But the weight in your limbs, the fog in your head, it was drowning you.

And worst of all, beneath the confusion and anger, something inside you craved the feeling.

The warmth. The presence. His hands on you. His voice in your ears.

You forced yourself to move, shoving against his chest. He allowed it, stepping back just enough to watch you struggle.

Your glare should have been sharp, but the dizziness dulled it. “You… bastard.”

Anaxa chuckled, tilting his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a delicate glass vial.

Inside, swirling with a faint glow, was the same plant you had spent weeks researching.

Understanding slammed into you.

The plant. The rumors. The disappearances.

Your breath came short and shallow. “You planned this from the beginning.”

Anaxa smiled.

“Of course I did.”

Your mind was still reeling, but one thing was clear—Anaxa was not just some wandering researcher.

He was someone powerful. Someone who had influence. And now that you thought about it, his posture, his way of speaking, the way he expected to be obeyed. It was all too familiar.

Royalty.

Your lips parted in realization. “You—”

“I rule the neighbor kingdom, Y/N.” He said it softly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “And now, so will you.”

Your stomach twisted. “I never wanted that.”

“But you need it,” he countered. “And you need me.”

You clenched your fists. “What I need is for you to let me go.”

He smiled, patient as ever. “But you won’t leave.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And why is that?”

Anaxa’s stepped closer, his fingers brushing your pulse point. “Because I’ve rooted myself in you.”

Your breath caught.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was low, hypnotic. “That pull. That ache.”

The poison makes you crave him.

Anaxa leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours.

“You are mine now.”

For days, you tried to fight it.

The bond, the warmth, the way his presence made your pulse race.

His voice in your ears. His hands guiding yours as you tended to the flowers. His whispers at night, promising, coaxing, binding.

You hated him. You hated how good he was at this. At pulling you in. At making you his.

And worst of all?

Somewhere along the way…

You had stopped trying to leave.

There was no escape from him. You will soon wither in his arms just like that lily.

[citrustan]

Can you please do a rich seokjin x reader wherein he grovels for oc 🙏😭 Like he did not defend oc when his parents were being mean to her and even defended them something like that hahaha I live for angst fics so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️ (Thank you in advance btw! I really really enjoy your fics!)

hii thanks! love it when requests are specific!! please send in more of these :D

'm dividing this into two parts because it's too long for me to call it a drabble

please, please, please [1/2] (ksj)

pairing: seokjin x reader

genre: sugar daddy turned boyfriend!seokjin x middle-class, unemployed!reader ALSO dilf!seokjin. angst, fluff, and barely-there smut (in the next part) yet again because i'm taking tiny baby steps towards the big girl stuff.

warnings: there's an ex-wife, unkind parents, and typical rich people behaviour: take that as you may!

The evening had started on a high note.

The birds were chirping, the breeze was gentle. Yada yada. You centred yourself with your boyfriend's son, Sehun's, giggles, to distract slash calm yourself. At the same time, Seokjin's entire family and friends (and you) gathered under the warm glow of temporary lamps installed specifically for the occasion in his backyard.

Admittedly, it's borderline disrespectful to call it a backyard when it was easily over an acre of lush grassland, adorned with flower fields, and a horse farm. With champagne-equipped golf carts, decorated with wisterias and vines, used to transport the party goers from one place to another, and well-dressed staff to guide everyone. And you kept seeing the fairest doves. You wonder if that was natural or of they were introduced to the area for the party.

You knew your boyfriend slash sugar daddy was rich, but you had no idea just how rich.

As the evening progressed, the mood, specifically yours, began to shift---bit by bit, for the worse. Your once nervous yet lively aura had grown strained.

It was such a shit-show.

Starting with Seokjin's parents who couldn't pretend to be nice for the life of them, or was that intentional? Perhaps to scare you off or something. Because it worked.

They were distant, awkward, and nothing like Seokjin had described them to be. You were under the impression that you'd be meeting your second family, an extension of your own.

Boy, were you mistaken.

You were met with so much... inhospitality and indifference.

It was so bad you had to walk away from your table a few times just to stop your tears from falling and ruining your makeup.

They kept talking about Sehun's mother and Seokjin's perfect ex-wife, as if you weren't sitting right across them. Speaking of their relationship in present tense--- 'Oh, you're so beautiful together.' 'The perfect family.' 'She's the best daughter-in-law anyone could ask for.'

All the while, you're the one with a promise ring on your finger.

Seokjin, obviously, interrupted them everytime. But even he eventually tired himself out too.

Every time you attempted to make conversation with the pair, you were met with blank stares.

You couldn't even escape them because Sehun was off with his caretaker, being his 6 year old self, uncaring of where he is. You had nobody to go to except the man you were already seated next to.

"Seokjin," his mother began, "When you mentioned planning a soirée, I assumed you were getting back with Yewon."

His father added, "Your mother and I were so happy."

Were.

Seokjin exchanged an uneasy look with you.

You expected him to defend you. Maybe just give them a little scolding. Or a simple yet stern 'be normal.'

But instead, he just scoffs and laughs.

That was it.

Shakily sighing, you excused yourself for the seventh time that night to lick your wounds in privacy.

This time, when you didn't return after ten minutes, Seokjin comes looking for you, immediately finding you stood near his favourite Magnolia tree.

You looked like you were in deep thought and a little tipsy. And you were thinking up a storm. How was this going to play out? Would you be made to break up with each other? Would Seokjin leave you?

He paused to your right, "_____, I know this isn't enough but I really am sorry. I had no idea they'd react this way."

Defeated, you whisper, "I don't even know how to act. I mean... it doesn't matter because it's not like they'd even notice."

You add, "And you're right. It's not enough." Angry, you rapidly turn to face him, "You keep letting them treat me like I'm invisible. And they keep talking about Yewon and your, oh, so perfect marriage as if she didn't cheat on you. I mean, you technically cheated on each other later anyway, right?"

Seokjin's expression darkened. He tilted his head in disbelief, "_____. I can't believe you'd bring that up."

"Is that why they don't like me? Because they know I'm your mistress?"

Seokjin's scowl deepens, "Don't talk about yourself like that, _____."

Oh!

Mockingly raising your brow at him, you laugh, "Oh, but it's okay for mommy and daddy to talk about me 'like that'?" You make air quotations at 'like that.'

"Of course, it isn't! But, that's just how they are. They're horrible people, _____." He exasperates, "And I know there's no changing their mind. So do yourself a favour and just... don't bother about what they think or say. It's not important." He's breathing heavy when he finishes.

You painstakingly digest each of his words.

Now, there are two possible meanings of his advice.

Don't worry about mommy and daddy because you and I are the only ones who matter!

OR

Don't worry about mommy and daddy because you're disposable anyway!

But, you're not sober enough to decide yet.

Seokjin caresses your naked, cold, arm with a warm hand. His fingers travel up to your décolletage, grazing against it, then further upwards to gently fix the diamond necklace he bought you on your last birthday.

He then takes his blazer off to drape it over your shivering shoulders.

Seokjin looks at you, carefully choosing his tone to reflect his state of mind: apologetic, "I promise we can leave after Yewon gets here. My parents invited her too. And, she'll be taking Sehun to her place today."

You wait for him to continue because you know there's more.

"We'll greet her. Cordially. Bid goodbye immediately after. And see Sehun once before we head to your place. Is that... Would you be okay with that?"

The fact that Seokjin, as the host, was going to leave his own party for you makes you feel guilty. But you knew you would not be able to deal with Seokjin's relatives any longer.

So you nod once, "Ok."

He links your arms together and walks you back to the main event where they serve the good stuff. Yay for you!

*

"Seokie! You look great. _____, you too! Your hair looks amazing." Yewon grins at you.

"Thank you, Yewon. You look beautiful as well." Seokjin answers for the two of you as you drunkenly smile at her.

(Two) hours had passed since Seokjin promised you you could leave after Yewon arrived. Which meant you had two too many hours to down the seemingly bottomless Champagne flutes.

Yewon observes you with concern and raises a brow at your boyfriend. Seokjin simply nodded in response, with his arm still wrapped around you, supporting your weight.

Not oblivious to the silent conversation going on in front of you, you nuzzle your face directly into his chest.

Yewon is lovely. She's the best ex-wife any girlfriend could've asked for. Respectful, friendly even, and... normal.

Still, you've always been jealous of their relationship.

They still had chemistry, and were great co-parents.

There was nothing stopping Seokjin from going back to her. Well, there's you, but had you not been in his life, you wonder if they'd have gotten back together.

"There you are! Kim Yewon, my favourite daughter." Holding Yewon by her waist, Seokjin's mother feigns anger, "Now, why did it take you so long to get here?"

Was she 12? You hate her. So much. All you want is for Seokjin to make her... stop.

"In all honesty, I overslept." Yewon smiles, embarrassed.

Mrs. Kim sighs dramatically, "Well, you are a doctor. You deserve to rest. You work too hard."

"Ah, yes... Maybe... Why don't we go find Sehun? _____ and Seokjin are leaving soon." Yewon is evidently aware of how his family is reacting to you, and wants to minimize all of her interactions and words exchanged with the Kims.

At that Mrs. Kim looks at her son bewildered, "You're going to leave your own party? That's just rude."

THAT'S rude?

"I'm sorry, mom. We," Seokjin raises your clasped hands up, "have important plans."

"Well... What could be more important than family? You're just going to leave your son and his mother to fend for themselves?"

.

>:(

.

Hm.

Now... what happens in the next few minutes, you blame slash credit the alcohol.

You don't understand why he had to lie because you certainly had no issue with telling the real reason you were leaving.

"That's right, Mrs. Kim, Seokjin chose me. We don't have," you make air quotes when you say this, "important plans, we, my boyfriend and I, we, just want to get as far away from you as possible because you have a chip up your ass and you walk around with a stick on your shoulder."

Seokjin and Yewon froze.

"And Seokjin hates you." You spat. "He hates you so much he planned a gigantic party just so he wouldn't have to spend more than a few minutes with you at once."

You want to stop but your mouth works faster than your brain.

"Seokjin hates you so much he always needs other people around you to cut the tension."

At this point you were word vomiting.

"He hates you so much he keeps himself busy with work. And when he's not at work, he's with me. And my family," - "_____, stop talking," Seokjin sternly scolds.

But you don't hear him, "- because he loves me. And Sehun, and he loves my mother because she isn't a narcissistic bitch who treats her son like-" You stop.

Seokjin squeezes your hand as if he were begging you to shut the fuck up as Mrs. Kim stares at you in contempt; her face red, nose flared, jaw, and fists clenched.

But you don't budge, "His marriage is over. Understand that. It's like you don't even care about what he's been through."

"_____, please."

Seokjin's request has fallen to deaf ears once again.

You continue, "All you do is criticize his choices and decisions. You don't even care that Yewon cheated on your son because you're just as up her ass as you are up your own."

At that, Seokjin instantly drags you away from the two women. Both Mrs. Kims.

He takes you back to the tree.

You half expect him to make out with you because he looked... somewhat worked up.

The pins in your hair are starting to feel a little too tight and you feel sweaty even though it's freezing.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?"

You drunkenly stare at him, eyes widened in genuine confusion. You place a hand on your chest, "Me?"

"You had no right to cause a scene like that. I told you we were leaving. I was handling it."

But he was, in fact, not handling it. You helped him!

Seokjin needed someone to back him up. If he couldn't stand up for himself, you didn't expect him to stand up for you.

You owlishly blink up at him.

"_____, this isn't high school. You're not a child. You can't go around yelling at adults about how mean they are."

"I was just trying to hel-"

"This isn't a movie, _____. This is real life. My life. And Yewon's. My mother didn't know the real reason we broke up. And you had no right to tell her."

Now, that's news to you. And what the hell? Do you even exist in this picture?

"Well, obviously, I didn't fucking know that. And, thanks a lot. Now I know just how much I mean to you." You begin pulling your hair pins out as you turn to leave his premises.

"_____." Seokjin gently grabs your wrist, "We're not done here."

You rip yourself away from his grip, "I think we are! Obviously, you have no space for me in your life. And Yewon's!" Your lips quiver contrasting the accusatory words that just slipped through your tongue.

He rolls his eyes, "_____, that's not what I meant. You know that's not what I was saying."

You resembled an angry kitten with your hair a little wild from pulling all those clips out, and eyes red and puffy as if you'd start tearing up any time now.

"I don't want to be your fuckdoll anymore! I'm done!" With a shaky yet final sigh, you turn back around, lift your gown so you don't trip, and storm off.

While you didn't want him to stop you because you were in no mood to fight a grown man, you were more upset that he just let you walk away from him.

You didn't want to end your relationship like this. Although you know this isn't permanent, you can't help but wonder if he'd even try with you anymore.

note: so tumblr ate up part of this story and the other note i had added, so this is me rewriting it. i can't make asks private so here we are. i'm upset my writing didn't get saved. i don't know if this version is better or worse.

either way, please tell me what you think.

[rippersz]

thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

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There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer. 

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life. 

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace. 

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again. 

And a community she would never have again. 

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform. 

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower. 

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t. 

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted. 

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance. 

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released. 

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up. 

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care. 

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing. 

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring. 

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note. 

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that. 

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal. 

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy. 

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You had a favourite song. 

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song. 

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness). 

You had a favourite song. 

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands. 

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop. 

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips. 

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven. 

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place. 

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together. 

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end. 

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born. 

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned. 

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion? 

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her? 

“Darling? What’s wrong?” 

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms. 

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder. 

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break. 

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.” 

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog. 

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt. 

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia. 

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet. 

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?” 

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.” 

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened. 

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one. 

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved. 

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill. 

And why succumb to death when you could love instead? 

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.” 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

And she loved you. 

Lucky and strong.

Your rose. 

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The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

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[gayofthefae]

PandaFilmsOfficial on Youtube pointed out that there are what look to be black veins under Will's eyes

Now that I see them, they resemble the veins Billy saw on his arms while he was possessed and what we saw on Will's face during his - I guess "exorcism".

This was not Will being killed. Barb had slugs crawling out of her mouth and was I believe discarded on the floor. Will was held up on the wall with a vine deeply embedded in his throat. And black under his skin.

Vecna wasn't trying to kill him then either. "It wants to kill you?" "Not me". That has always been true.

This was a first attempt at possession.

I often think of Lucifer in Supernatural, who was very powerful and couldn't possess just any body because the body would weaken from it, but wanted to possess one of the main characters whose body was strong enough: Sam. But he was unable to get to Sam and instead settled for another body that couldn't take it as well, the primary actor we see as Lucifer.

This makes me think of both the first demogorgon and Billy. Until he could have Will, he had to use another host to get him, so he used the demogorgon. He then succeeded at getting Will but lost him, at which point he tried to replicate his features as best he could: William, born to homophobic abusive father in late March.

But Billy was much weaker in multiple ways. We see the black veins appear much more quickly and unlike Will, Billy is immediately completely unable to fight Vecna's control at all. Not only that, but we also see many symptoms we didn't with Will. Will described only feeling a little bit under the weather and his temperature changing, but Billy is depicted as being extremely light headed with blurry vision, ears ringing, stumbling around, and panting upon his possession.

And notably, unlike Will, Billy was expendable. Billy was killed at the first sign of fighting back. Will fought back all week, even repeatedly attempting sabotage, but a finger was never laid on him. Even despite this resistance, Vecna desperately clung to Will's body as long as possible even in extreme, near unsurvivable heat.

He also did not just possess Billy the second time but a large portion of the town when before, he had only needed Will.

Because he never needed just any host. From the very beginning, he needed Will. Something about Will made only him strong enough to host Vecna in the way that Henry was. The demogorgon was a frantic, impulsive move upon the opening of the gate and was always temporary. I wouldn't be survived if the plan all along was to wait for another gate to be opened to seize the opportunity to get Will. And Billy's body was too weak. It was properly subservient and humanly muscular, but it was not strong enough to house him. He attempted to replicate the power by hosting hundreds instead, but still, it didn't amount.

Only Will would suffice, he learned. He had to get him back, even if he had to tear the town apart to do it.

Vecna's original goal was to possess Will. Not to kill him. Even in season 1, he was not treated like the other victims - killed and discarded. He was literally propped up. He was consumed. It it were about the "shark" instincts of a demogorgon and an animal's need to hunt, why was Will's entire body intact? He was not eaten for animalistic sustenance. Not to mention that Will wasn't even bleeding when he was followed from the street (potentially Mike's house, given the lights' flicker) to his backyard shed. And it had been hours since we saw him captured at Castle Byers in the upside and he was not dead. Why not kill him right then and there? Why not eat him like the deer? Why prop him up? Why crawl down his throat?

Because the goal wasn't to kill him. It was to consume him. To possess him. Barb's face appears colors of bruised and frozen. Ruptured blood vessels, things like that. But Will's is unblemished aside from some sleepless eye bags and black veins under his skin. Under his eyes, even, the only part of his physical body we know to have been changed by his possession.

I don't know if the intention was to possess and return him as a spy like his usage in season 2 or to utilize him in the upside down but I do know one thing: we still do not know Vecna's true goal. "World domination" was described by Gaten as the previous season's stated goal but that Vecna's was more complex. And this makes sense. There's a season left, we aren't done with twists - we can't be, that would make no sense - so it is natural and expected that we do not yet know his true, specific goal. I am also quite curious why Henry can't come through. Why does he need a host in the first when I gate is open? Can he no longer survive outside of the upside down? Is Will more powerful than Henry?

What we do know now is that it is likely that Vecna's initial goal was to possess Will. Not kill him. The demogorgon and Billy were substitutes. He wanted El to join him because he once saw her as his equal the way he now saw Will, but she refused. She was an obstacle to Will and he had to kill her to get him. Beyond that, he had to grow in power to be able to come through himself at will. And when Will left his reach, he had to coax him back.

He wants Will back. We know this. He tore the town apart to get him but didn't touch a single other soul when he had him. But we don't know what he needs him for. But we know that whatever his goal, he needs Will. And only Will will suffice.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY THREE

in which you never make it past the stairs.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, single use of 'Y/N', upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 5.4k+

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

23:00 ──────────────ㅇ─ 24:00

“Be honest with me, Eddie. Do you like her?” 

Eddie feels pathetic when all he can do is hum in response to Nancy’s voice over the line, mind moving in slow motion as looks down at you. You’re here, in his apartment and curled up on his couch. You’re here, and you’re his for twenty four hours, if he can just stop fucking it all up. 

He should have known the hum wouldn’t satisfy his best friend.

“No. I want a real answer,” she scolds, and he can imagine her frustrated scowl she wears as he gives her nothing. But he just feels defeated – he’s at a loss for words right now, “Don’t over think it – do you really like her?”

No. No, I do not just like her. I fucking love her. And I really shouldn’t, but I do, and I can’t change that. 

“I… I think I do.” 

“I just said to not think about it. It’s a yes or no question, Munson. Don’t… Fine, don’t be honest with me. Be honest with yourself. So I’m going to ask you one last time, and I recommend you don’t think about it, because every time you do, it seems like all you do is push her further away. Do you, Edward Munson, like Y/N?” 

“I do. I really fuckin’ do.”

More than Nancy could understand. More than even he understands. He likes you, more than just in the sense of what Nancy was referring to. He likes you as a person. He likes the way you challenge him, that you won’t take his shit. He likes the way you keep up with him even if you are motivated by a fire of hatred he’d built with his own two hands. He likes the way you clearly care about people, evident with how you treat everyone else. He likes the way you never cease to surprise him. He just… likes everything about you. Every single part of you he has been gifted with witnessing even when he’s undeserving, he fucking adores.

He never stood a chance. From the moment he first met you in that bar, it was always going to end this way for Eddie. All you had to do was lay your eyes on him, and his fate was sealed.

So, yeah. Eddie Munson likes you. Eddie Munson loves you. 

—

HOUR TWENTY THREE - 3:00 PM

You don’t even make it outside the apartment building.

You make it down the hallway, sniffling the entire way and ignoring the curious glances from the neighbor that walks past you. Clearly, the entire building must have heard your fight with Eddie. They probably even heard the debauchery you two had taken part in on his balcony beforehand. 

They probably think you’re insane. You don’t really care. 

Once you enter the stairwell, it all becomes a bit too much. Your head is spinning as you take a few of the steps before you give up, dropping down to sit on one and succumbing to the dizzying feeling with your head between your knees. It’s a lot – Eddie has given you a plethora of information, too much to be able to stomach all in one go but necessary to offer you all at once. 

He always loved you. He’d felt it too, that first night. All your blooms and all your vines hadn’t been what gave you away, but instead his own garden that had begun. And instead of tending to it as you had been prepared to with your own, he’d gone and drowned it. He’d taken away any glimpse of sunshine and cut off all nutrients, tried to starve the thing inside of him away and burn it with unnecessary hatred. 

It was all so unnecessary. So, so unnecessary. 

The girl you once were isn’t something of the past. You were foolish to believe there was any separation – between who you were the first night and now, between who Eddie was that night and who he was as you left him behind. You’re both still the same people, still in the same position. 

You never stopped looking for Eddie in every room you entered. You never stopped biting your tongue at the thought of starting a conversation with him, never stopped aching to reach out for him even as he filled the ocean between you two. Every single date you’d gone on after meeting him had been a flurry of excuses. 

No, not excuses. Comparisons.

Every single person that had shown you interest in the last year had been subjected to a side by side comparison to the man you couldn’t have. To the man you thought you’d held in the palms of your hands for a night, only to have it all taken away so suddenly. None of them drank whiskey and coke. None of them wore rings on their knuckles that they would fidget with when nervous. None of them reacted when you’d stumble beside them, none of them ever offered to foot the bills of the dates they took you on. And every time you noticed these insignificant details, you’d only think of moments with a certain long-haired metalhead. 

You’d spent a year convincing yourself that there was only bad. Spent a year ignoring that nagging in the back of your head, when Eddie had been the worst fucking actor you’d ever met. He was right – his affection had seeped out time and time again, had reached out and wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Most of the time, it was your irritation that led to any arguments turning into true fights. 

You weren’t innocent in this. The blame is shared. You’d both been victims, time and time again, of absolute self-destruction. 

When your phone rings, you indulge yourself in the hope that it’s Eddie. 

It’s Steve.

“Hello-”

“What the fuck happened?” Steve cuts right to the chase, ignoring your greeting, “What the fuck does Eddie mean the bet is off?”

He’d called Steve. Obviously.

“It means the bet is off,” you feel a fresh wave of tears choke you up, “We didn’t last the full twenty four hours. We lost.”

Steve’s scoff echoes over the line, “You’re telling me that with not even two hours to spare, the two of you now find it to be a bit much? It’s been twenty two hours, nearly twenty three, what harm is there in a few mo-”

“A lot of harm, actually,” you cut him off this time, in no mood to be scolded like a child. None of them knew what had happened. None of them knew how everything had changed so drastically between you and Eddie, “I- I called it off. It was me. I’ll come up with the money for you guys, just give me a few weeks.” 

Do they know about Eddie’s feelings? Had you been the only one so oblivious to being caught up in a lie?

“Hold on, hold on,” Steve tries to soothe you, but it does nothing. When a sob escapes you, the dam finally breaking through, he grows even more panicked, “What the actual fuck happened?”

You don’t answer the question. “Can you come pick me up?” 

“I- Excuse me?”

“I need a ride,” you gasp out, swiping rapidly at your face to hide the evidence of your breakdown as you can hear someone walking up the stairs, “Can you- Christ, Harrington, can you just come pick me up?” 

More neighbors. More nosey glances. Fuck them. 

“No.” 

You almost think you heard Steve wrong. “What?”

“No, I will not be coming to pick you up.” 

“Why?” 

Your chest is aching with every sob you withhold. Trying to cling to composure, trying to cling to the fact that the worst was over. The wound could heal. The wound had to heal. 

“Tell me what happened,” Steve demands, “Tell me what the fuck has happened over the last twenty something hours, and I’ll come pick you up. But if you don’t tell me, I’m tossing my fucking keys in the canal and you can be  stuck with him for the rest of your life for all I care.” 

And therein lies the issue. You don’t want to tell him. Suddenly, you’re something animalistic, the memories of the last twenty three hours becoming something of such substance to you that you wouldn’t dare to part with them. You want to hold each moment, each stepping stone along this rocky path, close to your chest and swipe out at anyone who gets too close. You need to cradle them with care and dissect each one for your own sanity, picking apart all the times you were too blind to see the truth. 

You make your decision. The animal inside of you, hiding amongst vines of affection and blooms of hope, decides. “I can’t.” 

“You can’t, or you won’t?” 

You both know the clear distinction, and you can’t be bothered to care as your breathing finally evens, the sobs settling themselves down.

“I won’t.” 

It’s quiet for a while until you hear Steve finally laugh in disbelief. A sharp breath out at first, that grows more into a chuckle that you know pairs with him shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, “I… okay. I get it. I don’t know what the Hell went down, and I won’t force you to give me a play by play,” he pauses, and you can hear the but before he even says it. It stretches over that pregnant pause, silence only broken up by static from the phone line until he speaks again, “But you’ve got to give me something to work with here. Eddie randomly texts me that the bet is off and to tell the others, and then I call you just for you to start sobbing-“

“He only texted you?” you interrupt the plea, brows furrowing, “He just… He texted you and no one else? Did he call Nancy?” 

“What? No. I’m the only one who’s heard anything from him.” 

You stare at the wall across from you, gaze digging right into one of the cracks filled with dust.

Fuck it.

“He told me he loves me, Steve,” you begin to open up, prying that memory from the claws of the animal. It doesn’t go down without a fight, screeching as you say the words, protesting offering even the smallest of breadcrumbs to your friend. You don’t have to tell Steve everything — but you can tell him this. “He said he never really hated me, and that he loves me.” 

There’s nothing for Steve to say. You don’t know if it’s because they all really did know, saw what you couldn’t, or maybe if Eddie had already admitted this to the others. But in his honesty, he’d only mentioned Nancy knowing. And you’d seen the twist of his lips, the pinch of his eyes during that recount; you doubt anyone else knows. 

He’d been prepared to take this secret to the grave. To keep it, even from you.

“I liked him,” you admit in that quiet stairwell, almost forgetting Steve was on the other end of the line, “God, I- I just liked him so much that first night. I wanted to waste all my time getting to know him. I know you all saw it after he went cold.” 

How I searched for him in every room. How I’d always ask if he would be at functions. How I’d gravitate straight to him on the rare occasions he was there. 

You continue on, your animal within finally stopping its petulant protests. It seems to understand; there’s a balance to be found. Admitting this doesn’t mean losing Eddie. It could mean more, “Even when he started being a fucking asshole, I wanted him. I always thought I’d just get him out of my system one of these days, but I didn’t. Not even after tonight. I… I like him.” 

It’s not love. Not quite what Eddie had felt, because his plan had worked to some extent. You’d been held at an arm's length for so long, the like never had the chance to grow into love. 

“So go get him.” 

It’s the last thing you expected from Steve. “What?” 

“You like him. Present tense,” he parrots your words back to you with emphasis, “So go get him. You said he loves you, kid. And sure, there’s a lot to work through there, but the bet isn’t off yet. Texts can be deleted. I can take a few hours to come get you. Just…” you listen to his deep breath over the phone, letting his words settle within you, “What’s the worst that can happen? You guys hate each other? I think we’re a little past that now.” 

“Yeah,” you find yourself laughing, only half amused, “We are kind of past that.” 

What is the worst that can happen? 

“At the very least, tell him how you feel,” Steve continues on in such a calming tone, your chest clenches, “Because I’m sensing that you haven’t. Or else you wouldn’t be sitting on the phone crying to me, and Munson wouldn’t be impulsively texting me.” 

“It wasn’t that impulsive,” you hum, leaning your cheek against the cool railing beside you, still mulling over your options. Really, option. Singular. “I made it very clear that it was over.” 

Steve lets out a groan, and you smile despite yourself, “You sound like you just broke up with the poor dude without ever even dating.” 

“I kind of did.” 

“Then go fix it!” Steve’s exclamation makes you lift your head again, “He’s an asshole, okay? We can agree on that. He’s fucking dumb, and he’s an asshole, and he definitely isn’t some dreamboat in my opinion-“

“You know, I have a bone to pick with you there,” you’re already standing up, heading inclined towards the door you had just burst through, feet heavy as you try to dig within yourself for just a little bit of bravery, “Why the fuck would you say what you did that night? When I met him. You told him I’d never go for him.” 

“I didn’t think you would. I mean, you didn’t jump my bones when you met me, and I am a goddamn dream boat.” 

“Steve Harrington,” you take the first step, suddenly determined, “You’re a fucking idiot. I kind of hate you right now.” 

“More than you hate Eddie?” 

“So much more.” 

“Then go tell him that,”  Steve instructs as you take a few more steps, back up on the platform for Eddie’s floor already, “Make me the bad guy, I don’t care. Tell him he even gets a free punch.”

“I get a free punch first,” your free hand reaches out to grab the door, gripping but not pulling. Not yet, “We’ll see if you’re still such a dreamboat with a broken nose.” 

It’s all teasing, but Steve can tell your anger beneath it all is very real. It isn’t something all consuming or dangerous, but it is well deserved for what he’d put you and Eddie through. All with one little throwaway comment. 

“I deserve that,” he affirms, “I really, really deserve that. Scout’s honor that you’ll get your punch when I pick you up in… say, an hour?” 

You nod, and start to pull on the door, “See you in an hour, Harrington.” 

You hang up before he can say another word. There’ll be time for more scolding later, for more genuine conversation at the hand everyone had in all that went wrong. But for now, you only have one boy on your mind. 

And apparently, he’s in love with you. Has been for a long time.

You race down that hallway faster than you had when you’d left, determination throwing you forward with each step as you grow closer to apartment 2C. You raise your fist when you come face to face with Eddie’s front door, still terribly insistent and strangely brave, when suddenly — it opens up.

“I-“ you squeak out, fist still frozen and poised in the air. 

Eddie has never looked more frazzled. He’d been clearly running his hands through his curls, frizzing them up nearly comically. His eyes are red from tears, and if you look close enough, you can see an indent in his bottom lip from his teeth digging in.

Your eyes meet his, and all he can do is sigh your name. 

You take a few steps back, and he follows. You tell yourself you need the distance, because without it, you might throw caution to the wind and just kiss him again. That’s not what you came here to do – before you can ever kiss him again, before you can put not only yourself but him through that, you need to tell him. 

Your heart is ready to burst out of your chest, and you repeat Steve’s words over and over in your mind.

So go get him.

What’s the worst that can happen?

“I thought you were leaving.” 

His voice is a broken whisper, gravely from the tears he’s no doubt been succumbing to since your exit. You search his face for any sign that he might still be far away from you, still in his head, but all you can see is that he’s here. 

He’s here, with you, in this moment. 

“I never made it down the stairs,” your voice cracks terribly, croaky and shaking until you clear your throat, “I- Steve called me.” 

“I texted him. To let him know the bet is off.” 

“I know.” 

It’s awkward, but without ice. It’d be impossible not to be, even when every glance into his eyes just fills you with warmth.

There will be time to be angry later. With Steve, and with Eddie. One day, you’ll spare the time to mull over the way he continued to treat you even after his own personal revelation of how he loved you. You should pay more attention to it now, but every time your mind tries to go there, it just becomes overcast with what’s happened on this night. 

You can’t erase the past. Good or bad. Both exist, and both fuel you as you take one more step back and support yourself against the wall across from his door, just as you had when you’d first arrived twenty three hours before. 

Eddie takes several deep breaths before he follows you. You don’t have to say a word out loud; he’s completely in tune with you as he leaves his front door wide open and walks to stand beside you. Only then, when you’re both on the same side of the hallway, do you both slide down to sit on the floor. 

“We need to talk,” you sigh, watching the way your knee knocks into his. Gentle brushes, soft touches. There’s no room for any thorns here. Your vines have wrapped their way around not just you, but him as well, and there’s far too many flowers thriving along them to even think of such dangerous pricks to linger, “I know what I said. I know that I left. But…” But I can’t stay gone. I can’t let it end like this. I can’t do it, not like this. “I never made it past the stairs.” 

His shoulder bumps yours, forces you to look at him as he offers a sad smile. He can tell you're nervous, can tell that you’re the one who’s slipping away into their mind now. 

“Hey,” he says softly, “It’s just you and me. Just two people who hate each other’s guts, remember?” 

“Except we never did,” you remind him, finally looking down to pick at the frays of your jeans, “We never hated each other’s guts. And that’s… the issue? Maybe not issue. It’s not a problem to be solved. But, you were honest with me, and I think I need to be honest back.” 

I need to say more than just no.

“I like you, Eddie,” you finally spit out, craving relief from the admission. But it won’t come, not quite yet. Not until he hears your full truth, “I liked you from that very first night. I just- when I was in this room full of people I didn’t know, not well enough at least, you took one look at me and decided that you’d sit by my side. You’d be my friend. I don’t care how the night ended and I don’t care that you went back on your gut reaction,” you take a sharp breath, and finally relief finds you as you whisper, “You chose me. That very first night, you chose me. And I want to figure out how to get back to that, not pretending to hate each other.” 

You hold no expectations for how Eddie will react, especially given that your confession was seemingly less monumental than his, but his hand coming down on your knee surprises you all the same. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and you believe it. There’s no hesitation in your belief this time. It goes without saying that you know he’ll probably spend the rest of his life sorry, trying to make up for the last year. 

You decide to put your hand over his, let your palm press into those knuckles before you move to slip your fingers between his, “I don’t want things to go back to normal. I just want us to be able to start over.” 

You catch his smile out the corner of your eye, “Yeah? That’d be pretty nice. Maybe this time I won’t be such a dick.” 

“And maybe this time I won’t throw a glass at your head,” you add, leaning into him a little, feeling his grip on your knee tighten with affection.

He shakes his head briefly before throwing it back against the wall, “I deserved that. When I deserve it, you are always welcome to throw a glass at my head.” 

“That’s an expensive way to deal with things.” 

“We’ll get the glasses from Goodwill.” 

Both of you are softly laughing when your head meets his shoulder. You should probably be talking more properly, but you don’t. You decide to just enjoy this time with him. You have an hour left.

When the door to the right of Eddie’s opens up, you both straighten up a bit, and you watch in real time as the embarrassed blush lights up across Eddie’s cheeks at the sight of his neighbor — Mr. Jenkins.

He pauses, and God you wish he hadn’t, because now your insides are turning with your own self-consciousness. He takes in the sight of you two, sitting out in the apartment building hallway, hands entertained and heads leaning on one another, and then he chuckles.

“Good. Glad you two kids figured it out. Now please, for the love of God, keep those activities private. Indoors. No more balconies.” 

Eddie has burned past pink, now a brilliant red. You’re surprised when a soft giggle escapes you, the ridiculousness of everything that has happened finally hitting you. Eddie turns his head to look at you with wild eyes, a silent scream of traitor before he faces the elderly man again.

He clears his throat, “Right. Uh, of course. Sorry, Mr. Jenkins.”

He grumbles a bit as he turns away from you two, still smiling as you can hear the faint “Yeah, yeah,” of his words.

The moment you two are alone again, you can’t help it — you burst into laughter.

Genuine and much needed laughter fills your lungs, expanding them beyond capacity as you finally let yourself just let go of the night. All the fights, all the stress, all the misunderstandings, and all the honesty seem to melt like butter from you, the tension leaving your soldiers for the first time in what feels like hours. You like him, you like him, you like him. No matter what happens after this, you like him. Just as you had that first night. Nothing can really take that from you; all the miniscule details can be worked out later. Any arguments and any fights that need to be had can be handled tomorrow. For today, you like Eddie Munson, and that’s enough.

“It’s not funny!” 

“Oh, it’s fucking hilarious,” you gasp out as Eddie gently slaps your shoulder, “That poor old man fully saw your dick.” 

“I’ll never be able to face him again,” Eddie deadpans. You don’t catch his adoring smile as you only laugh harder, “I’ll never be able to know peace in these halls again.”

You quiet down your giggles, taking your hand from his to swipe at the tears of joy that had gathered. Your stomach aches in the best way, finally, “Should’ve kept it in your pants, Munson.” 

“Says the minx.” 

It’s nice. Just as you had thought — there would be a time to laugh about it. And now, as your temple falls back against Eddie’s t-shirt and he snakes an arm around your back, is the best moment you can think of. 

The two of you let silence settle again. All you can hear is the other’s breathing, deep and calm and assured breaths that don’t whisper of any secrets or any panic. It’s peaceful; it’s absolute bliss. 

“God, I need a nap,” Eddie mumbles as he trails a finger in an insistent circle over your shoulder. Gentle and feathery light, repetitive enough to almost lull you to sleep, “How do other people do this shit?”

“I don’t know, but a nap sounds heavenly,” you nearly moan. You can picture it now, wrapping up in your usually mediocre comforter back in your dorm room, and your uncomfortable mattress has never been more romanticized.

Eddie stares at his open door for a second, thinking, “Is, uh, Harrington coming to get you?” 

You only nod against his shoulder.

“Did he tell the others that the bet is- or was- or-“

“No,” you laugh as he fumbles over the specifics, “He never told the others. As far as they know… We made it.” 

Eddie sighs in relief, “Oh, thank God. I did not want to have to pay any of those fuckers.” 

“They never would have let us live that down.” 

“Never.”

Another lapse of silence. There’s times where you think Eddie might get up, might hold out his hand for you to take and drag you into his apartment again. Maybe try and let you two squeeze one last nap in, considering the way you’re already half unconscious on his shoulder. But he never does. The two of you sit in the comforting silence of that hallway, backs pressed to the wall and bodies leaning into each other’s gravitational pull. 

Getting him was never really about having another hard conversation. Just making sure he knew that his feelings were returned, to remind him of the change that had happened within you over these last twenty three hours, was plenty enough for you. 

“Hey,” Eddie whispers. Neither of you have a clock, but you can both feel the time running out, “I, uh, want to say one last thing before this is all… over.” 

“What’s up?” you mumble into the material of his t-shirt. The one that your nose nearly turns and buries into, trying to enjoy that last bit of boy that has lingered after him since the beginning of the night. 

“I need you to know I didn’t tell you everything just for this to happen,” he begins to explain, “Like, I never loved you with the intent of being loved. I actually love you without ever expecting you to reciprocate, whether it’s embarrassingly admitting you have a crush on me-” one of your hands limply comes up to hit at his chest in a pathetic lack of strength, which makes him pause to chuckle, “-or if you came back here and said that you were… like, wildly in love with me. Or you could have even said you never really want to see me again. That was never the point.”

“What if I came back just to say I forgot something? Like, ‘oh, hey, I just forgot my chapstick’?” you’re nearly slurring your words in fatigue, but still smile at the thought of doing that just to fuck with him. 

“I’d probably lie and say that there’s not a single tube of chapstick in that apartment,” he admits, his palm now just cupping your shoulder, drinking in the privilege of touching and holding you this way as he gives it a squeeze, “And then I would have shut the door, and started searching like a mad man for that fucking chapstick, and never would have told you once I found it.” 

You snort, “Keeping my chapstick? Pervert.” 

You shift your head to just barely peer up at him, and you see those fucking dimples. You can’t believe there was a time where you didn’t notice those. 

“I’m serious, though,” he lets his smile falter just a bit, but those innocent indents don’t, “You could still say the word, tell me you don’t mean it and you don’t even like me in the slightest, and it’d be fine. No hard feelings, truly.” 

He’d just succumb to the terrible fight he’d been running from this entire time. From the moment he had met you. He’d succumb to his worst fear and let himself burn for you, even if you didn’t burn with him. 

“Eddie.”

“Hm?”

“Stop being such a fucking idiot,” you chastize as you lift your head from his should. His arm remains around you, not even slipping, “Stop trying to talk me out of liking you. It’s done – I like you. End of story.” 

His smile turns into something sad for a second, something almost sour, before it really does fall completely. Only the ghosts of those dimples remain for a moment in your memory. Suddenly, you get what he means. He isn’t trying to deter you, only remind you of what you need to consider.

It’s not just another moment of insecurity. 

You probably should be putting up more of a fight. All the damage done, both tonight and in the last year, can’t really be erased in the matter of an hour. It’s a whisper of it’s okay to take time to heal, a true white flag of surrender being waved from across his ocean. 

Vines, oceans, fires, glass walls – all of the metaphors have finally turned trivial. 

“I might need time,” you give in just a little bit, knowing it’s for the best, “I… I mean, everything can’t really change so quickly. Maybe we give it a few days. A few weeks, if we have to. We…” 

“Just spent twenty four hours together, and could use the time apart?” he ends your sentence for you in a joking tone, but you both know it’s true. 

The time apart would not only do you well, but answer the burning question on both your minds – does this last past tonight? 

Right now, you’re sure it does. But it’s possible you’ll return to your dorm room, that Eddie will spend some time in his apartment without you hovering around every corner, and that it could change. That is entirely possible. 

It’s something you almost need to mentally prepare yourself for. 

“Yeah,” you rasp out, almost choked back up at the reality of it all. You blame it on the lack of sleep, “Yeah, we could probably use some time apart.” 

Saying it out loud goes against every gut instinct you have. 

“Yep,” Eddie almost seems to also be gritting those words out, tongue almost more stubborn than yours, “Time apart. Just to think. Not… uh, not forever. Not unless we decide it needs to be.” 

You sound like you just broke up with the poor dude without ever even dating.

How many couples have had this exact conversation? How many have promised temporary time apart, only to never see each other again? 

It strikes a little bit of childish fear in you, but Eddie’s arm is still warm and heavy around your back, his palm rubbing up and down along your bicep as if he can sense all that doubt that you battle with. 

It’s okay. Leaving for now is not leaving forever. Besides, you once lived a life without Eddie Munson in it. You can live that once more, if needed.

You like him. You liked him that first night, and you like him now. You like to enter rooms and know his eyes seek you out, you like to know that every time he crosses your mind that there’s a possibility that you’re also plaguing his thoughts. Time, distance, and hatred have never been able to change that.

“I-” you start to say, more vulnerability metallic on your tongue and more honesty poised for his taking, when you’re both cut off by a familiar figure coming down the hallway. 

It’s not a neighbor, not another set of judgmental eyes. 

“Hey there, love birds. Glad to see you didn’t kill each other.”

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[scribbledghost]

You’ve done headcanons for the vessels but I had a thought:

Do you have any hc’s for the manor and/or Sleep? Maybe Sleep tends to have a personality of their own or sometimes joins in on mischief with the boys.

I like to imagine when Reader lives within the manor but isn’t a vessel yet, she mentions Sleep sometimes. The first thought that came to mind was maybe she was trying to reach something that was too tall and one of the vines brought it down to her instead. She says thank you and suddenly the vessels are wondering why the manor feels… almost happy?

Oh this is precious!! I love it, lets talk about Sleep!!

In this particular AU of mine, Sleep is a very benevolent deity. (Unlike in my series The Visitor, where Sleep is pretty hostile). Here, Sleep does truly care for its vessels, and in turn it cares for you too, once it sees how happy you make the boys.

Vessel (and to an extent, II) can communicate with and control the vines around the manor, but they are largely an extension of Sleep - its how Sleep interacts with all of you, essentially.

Typically the vines are used to bring things to the vessels, or to direct them in some manner. Sleep only uses its voice during direct communication or during extremely important events like a conversion, so most of the time it communicates using the vines.

I think it's much easier for Sleep to play pranks on the vessels, because it doesn't share the mental connection like all of them do. It can telepathically see into their minds, but the connection doesn't go the other way (i.e. the vessels can't see into Sleep's mind).

As such, I like to think there's a lot of playful "startling" of the guys. Just when they're wrapped up in something or otherwise not paying attention, Sleep likes to poke them or wrap a tendril around their ankle just to watch them jump.

I also think that Sleep will aid in getting the vessels out of... sticky situations. Like the time it grabbed III off the chandelier and gently lowered him back to the ground, or when it helped dig IV out of a pile of books when the bookshelf collapsed on him. Let's be honest though, most of the time it's getting III out of a situation he's found himself in.

I love your scenario of having Sleep help you grab something off the top shelf. When it coils a vine around the book you'd been reaching for and hands it to you, you give it a bright "thank you Sleep!" and go about your business.

The vessels tend to express their thanks much more extravagantly, offering praise through song and worship. So for someone to thank it so candidly is new and appreciated.

Suddenly the boys (Vessel especially) notice how everything seems... lighter. Like the entire manor just sighed in contentment. The lights seem just a tad brighter, the air seems just a bit softer. It's an unusual shift, but not at all unwelcome.

Also, consider this: if you're feeling down and having a bit of a crying spell, you expect one of the vessels to find you first. And usually they do! However, this time it's a little vine that curves around your wrist, coming up to gently wipe away your tears.

[simonrileysfavteacup]

My Knight In Shining Armour Chapter 3

Pairing: Knight!ghost x Princess!reader

Word Count: 800

Warnings: None! (yet...)

Summary: You never thought you needed a bodyguard. Especially not one of your father’s men. But it just so happens to be that this particular man is one who’s a sight for sore eyes. But you also could never fall for your Knight, right? Not a commoner, no…

Author's Note: ITS HEREEEEEE

When you wake up the next morning, Ghost is facing the windows and doors leading out to your balcony, the sun peeking through over him, his shadow on the ground. The sun has barely begun to rise, it shouldn’t be past six is your guess. 

You don’t sit up. Don’t rustle. Don’t toss or turn. Don’t move. 

He’s just staring…at the sun?

He watches the sun rise? 

His hands are behind his back, his back straight, as he just…stares?

You’re so oddly confused. It’s been a day of you knowing him…and the only impression you’ve gotten is that he’s a robot? I mean you have yet to see him eat or go to the bathroom or take his mask off to breathe or anything.

Wait…

While you were asleep, did that bastard dare to use your bathroom? You’re a heavy sleeper…you wouldn’t have even heard the toilet flush…did he…? You best hope not. 

He is far too civil to go against his Princess like that. 

You hope. 

He turns his head, and you close your eyes, pretending to be asleep. 

You almost don’t hear him chuckle underneath his mask. “Princess, I can tell you’re awake.”

“I am simply resting my eyes,” you try to play it off, rubbing your eyes. 

“The King should’ve invested in some acting classes instead of a guard,” he chuckles, turning to face you. 

You practically glare at him. 

“What’s on the agenda today, Princess?”

“What happened to calling me your Highness?”

“Princess fits you better.”

“It sounds as if you’re mocking me.”

“I assure you, Princess, I am not mocking you,” he adds a bit of emphasis on ‘Princess’. 

You scoff. You can practically see his smirk through the mask. “Today, I shall be visiting the market. You can choose to accompany me.”

“I believe the King had refused, Princess, to your idea of going to the market,” he counters. 

“And I wish to go to the market.”

“The King-”

“Have I not made it clear that I do not care what the King wanted? He wants to keep me locked up forever until I get married and breed and birth lots of babies.”

“Princess-”

“I am going to the market. Will you accompany me?”

He sighs, “It is my duty.”

You smile in triumph.

“But the King will be finding out, Princess. If I don’t report it, the other knights will,” he counters. 

“We won’t face any of them. A knight once told me that my window was fine to climb out of,” your smile turns to a smirk.  

“Princess, they will notice your absence-” you cut him off.

“My handmaiden is the only one who is allowed to enter my room, aside from you now, and even she will stay out of my room if I order her to. A quick, ‘I have fallen ill’, and no one will enter my bedroom for the entire day,” you cross your arms over your chest. 

He sighs, bringing a finger up to scratch his eyelid. “As you wish, Princess.”

You smile, walking past him to your bathroom. You quickly dress for the day, choosing a simple white sacque gown, fixing your hair into a bun. 

As you step back out to your bedroom, Ghost has his helmet on over his head, the window he was staring out of before open. “How shall you climb down, Princess? It is quite high.” 

You step closer to the window, glancing out it. “The vines.”

“You can not be serious.”

You glance at him over your shoulder. 

You are serious. And right now, you’re dedicated to doing anything to get out of here. 

These walls feel like they’re suffocating you.

You grab onto a vine, ready to climb down, before one of his hands grabs your wrist. 

“Princess.”

“What?”

“This is dangerous.”

“So?”

“Let me go first.”

You grown internally, but move back so he can climb down the vines.

He grabs onto the vine, climbing down with efficiency you’ve never seen before. He makes soft grunts as he does and they go straight to your brain. Or the dirtier part of your brain. But he isn’t attractive to you…right?

He makes it down, clapping the dirt from the vines off his hands. “Come on down, Princess.”

“Don’t peak up the skirt of my dress,” you warn, grabbing onto the vines. You pull yourself off the balcony, onto the vines, clutching them with sweaty hands. Slowly, you make your way down, but slip maybe 5 feet from the ground. 

You flail your arms, bracing for impact of the ground, but instead, you land straight into the soft arms of armour. He holds you bridal style for a moment. 

“Are you alright, Princess?” He genuinely sounds worried for you.

“Y-yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he sets you down, and you dust off your dress. “Shall we?”

He nods, letting you take the lead, following close behind.

Series Masterlist

[alexanderlightweight]

Hope your yard work went well and the heat wasn't too strong! On this not-but-still Wednesday, I would like to prompt either established Malec with one making flower crowns/bouquets for the other, or not-established Malec with pining Alec making courting flower bouquets but hesitating to give them to Magnus - basically I'd like to see our pretty boys with flowers, sfw/nsfw as you'd like 🌻

thank you!! I did conquer the yard!!! I think it may have also conquered me a bit but that's what happened when you're allergic and disabled and doing yard work ^_^ still worth it to do it myself rn tho. I like yard work, I just complain because its also hard and exhausting and I'm allergic to half of it. which means I just get more stubborn tbh.

this is in the petals vs. because Alec and Magnus love their flower crowns and their garden and each other in most verses but especially this verse. they're as soft as petals for each other.

and I hope you enjoy, it's just something soft and sweet between them

<3 lumine

in his wake petals fall

Alec normally lets Magnus make the flower crowns, however he’s been tempted by the star jasmine climbing up the trellis.

It’s delicate and fragrant and the vines tangle with his fingers, Magnus’ magic as eager for contact as Alec is.

It’s not a perfect crown, not like the ones Magnus makes, but it’s elegant enough and it will hold together and that’s all Alec needs.

One crown is for his own brow and the other he holds carefully, with a care normally reserved for adamas fragments and newly born babes.

Magnus is on the phone, voice terse and bordering angry and Alec hides the crown behind his back.  The last thing he wants is Magnus reacting to the sight of it and ruining his phone call.

There are two ways it could go.

One, Magnus is overly charmed and his anger disappears, thus letting some undeserving lout get away with wasting his time.

Or two, he will become even more enraged and eviscerate his client until there is nothing left of them before kissing Alec breathless.

As much as Alec enjoys the latter option, he doesn’t want to risk the first and also, the client might be important.

Not more important than Alec and his flower crowns — Alec knows better than to even think such a thing near Magnus who will then utterly prove him wrong — but still, important enough to be careful.

Alec shuffles to the side and places the crown behind the teakettle, easy to retrieve but where Magnus won’t be able to see it from where his magic is rippling through the air.

Alec watches it with delighted amusement, reaching out his fingers to pass through the vibrant red energy and charmed when it turns purple-blue and wreathes around his fingers. 

It catches Magnus’ attention enough that his anger wanes enough for a delighted smile and the blowing of a magical kiss that Alec catches.

It’s warm and soft and filled with adoration and Alec wishes he had the magic to send one back, but instead he simple walks over and presses a gentle kiss to Magnus’ jaw and then his forehead.

Magnus relaxes then, leaning back against Alec when he braces himself, letting Magnus use his strength.

—

“What would I do without you, hmm?” Magnus murmurs quietly, the words almost too soft to be heard and then the moment is broken by yet another tedious question.

Magnus is about to send magic through the phone and set the werewolf he’s dealing with on fire.

Alas, Magnus cannot go killing all the alpha’s in the East Coast no matter how much easier it would make his life.

Even Alexander’s kiss to his hair doesn’t calm him.  Not when he catches the gentle scent of jasmine and realizes just how long he’s been on the call.

Alexander made himself a flower crown!

He now dons it, soft and luxurious and entirely made without Magnus magic — except the fact that it was grown with his magic but still, it should have been twinned by his fingers and magic.

Not that Alexander didn’t do a lovely job, but it’s the pride of it.

Alexander is supposed to be crowned by Magnus’ hand and he feels as though his client has stolen a bit of peace and happiness away.

It’s with anger sparking that he verbally cuts down the werewolf’s pride to a more manageable degree and then hangs up.

He’ll call back tonight.

Or tomorrow.

Whenever he next thinks of it and once he has corrected his erroneous mistake.

“Darling, I’ve failed you.” Magnus murmurs, truly distraught despite the fact that Alexander is looking at him with nothing but charmed fondness and love.

“Actually, I wanted to surprise you. I just didn’t want to interrupt.” And then Alexander is leaving him — which is truly the most heinous of crimes.  

Except then he is forgiven.

Instantly, because he’s made Magnus a charming matching crown with the slightest bit of a lopsided vine and Magnus will crush stars and diamonds to ensure that this crown never fades.

“I love it.” 

Magnus doesn’t even let Alexander speak, motioning with an eager gesture and it gets him several kisses before the crown is placed gently on his coiffed hair.

It smells divine but it’s even better because Alexander’s angelic magic is delicate and intertwined with Magnus’ own magic and the vines.

A small gift of himself that has Magnus pulling him in for a kiss.

-

yes Alec weighs his choices based on whether or not he thinks it will help or deter. like sometimes its good that he can redirect Magnus and sometimes, it wont actually help in the long run and he needs to consider that because they make each other too happy

[newlondohollow]

Sooooo i finally gathered enough energy to post, and guess what will good ol me post about? NATURALLYYYY an obscure ass character i got hyperfixated on. because that's what normal people do. of course. Only this time it's not dark souls, so that's new!!

Enormous yapping sesh below this world-healing fanart by xemnas178!

I LOVE JOACHIM ARMSTER FROM CASTLEVANIA LAMENT OF INNOCENCE SO MUCH IM GONNA SOB I LOVE HIM IMEIUEIFJWUSYYWGD.

He's an example of how ergodic or semi ergodic literature (which i adore) can AND WILL make you briefly look at a character and go "aight cool" only to then gently nudge you into having the most shocking, boom vine sfx requiring, life altering, soul shattering series of realizations.

So, we learn from the official art book that Joachim was Walter's lieutenant, and that he was quote "lured" by him with the promise of eternal life. Joachim then tried to usurp Walter, which backfired awfully, and he now lies imprisoned in the Palace of Dark Waterfalls. Eventually Leon Belmont gets to him and Joachim acts all cool and cocky only to miserably die (as a bossfight i found him way easier than most of the other orb bosses).

That's pretty bland at first glance isn't it? Just your average foolish, prideful, comedic relief prick right? No, not at all. Here we go analyzing:

Joachim's model has a very young-looking face, looking even younger than Leon himself, and he also acts quite angsty teen like in his dialogues, which already adds something more to him.

The real kicker is that the devs left in the game a window to access the sounds (someone here on Tumblr made a post about it!) and they all have their little comments below them; Joachim's OST's comment reads:

"Melancholy Joachim

It's dangerous to be holding a knife, Joachim. Perhaps he is still just mentally young"

That post I mentioned commented perfectly on the "Melancholy Joachim" bit so I won't repeat what they said, I will instead focus on the two sentences that follow.

The first sentence sounds condescending, sarcastic, or alternatively it sounds like something you would tell a child. Perhaps it allegorically references Joachim's attempt at usurping Walter, and this sentence would be something Walter himself would tell him mockingly.

Meanwhile the second sentence seems like a repetition of "Joachim acts like a child" but the presence of the word "still" has us know that he doesn't just act like a teenager, he is one.

Or better said, he was one when Walter turned him, as we can presume by looking at his official art here (more yapping below it) that he's been in that cell for a WHILE.

However, his mental development was stunted by such egregious traumatic experiences, and thus he has the mind (and sort of looks) of a teenager.

All this certainly makes his character a lot more tragic, and now we can't even fault him for having been tempted by eternal life because, as old as he was, he probably didn't even understand the scale of the situation he was in, and what he was being offered.

We also know that Joachim, this goddam fucking teenager, was Walter's lieutenant. That fuckass ginger cunt had a teenager lead armies. ARMIES. ARMIES OF DEMONIC CREATURES BY THE WAY. Children being used in war is nothing alien to history of course, but obviously it still is undeniably very wrong and cruel both here and irl.

Nevertheless, could it be that Joachim, a child soldier burdened with leadership of an army of demons, wished to usurp Walter not for mere power lust, but to put an end to his tyranny over the land (and over Joachim himself)?

The man's character design doesn't strike me as overly evil either, in fact he has white-silver hair and a blue tunic, both white and blue are colors associated with purity, innocence (lament of innocence mention) and a noble spirit, it is no coincidence Soma and Hector follow the same color scheme.

It is also very worth noting that Walter had an entire smithing area, way more fit to hold a jail, but still chose to lock Joachim in a cave surrounded by water.

Friendly reminder that water is acidic to vampires, so Walter had this poor soul taken here with the specific intention of reminding him that if he were to somehow escape the cave itself, the water all over the place wouldn't let him get much further, also the cave is dark as all fuck, so that's fun.

In the art up there Joachim is clutching a knight's skull, almost as if he's lamenting the knight's death, even tho he is more than likely the one who killed him.

He's also seen letting the knight's blood drop to his hand, which reminds us that the only food he had available were the people coming to try to murder him. The very same cocky knights that perhaps, the first times they showed up, he excitedly hoped to befriend and help, but was always shocked, let down and hurt when they would attempt to kill him for the mere crime of being a vampire.

And about that, one can very much imagine that he heavily regretted having become one, and, to cope, his teenage brain gradually made him feel superior to humans because he was a vampire, so that he wouldnt feel hurt anymore when inevitably every human that came his way showed him no compassion.

Joachim clearly reached a point of complete distrust and spite for any human that arrives, which is why he is so dismissive and aggressive to Leon, whom at first showed no ill intent. He's also clearly gone insane, and still wishes to have revenge on Walter (which he gets to do if you play the game as him, which is something at least).

As a finisher I'd like to add that Walter and Joachim are an older, darker version of Dracula and Hector (if that manga about them is canon).

Yeah ok good lord above i yapped a lot.

I will now go eep, thanks to everyone who read all the way to here!

[panda-writes-kpop]

your home is the sea, my home is you ~ pirate! giselle

a/n: after almost seven months (good LORD), we have a third pirate aespa fic!!! and everyone cheered!!! this may be one of my favorite works of the year, there's something so tender and sincere in this fic that I can't quite put my finger on. anyways, gonna go watch Hugh Jackman edits on repeat until I get more fic ideas! 🫶

tw: mentions of robbery, violence, and other crimes associated with being a pirate, a LOT of swearing, the faintest hint of winselle, it's not angst but it gets sad at times???

summary: Your idea for your latest novel has you ruminating on your previous relationship with the woman who haunts your dreams, Giselle. Giselle's longing for a missing piece of her heart leads her to your front doorstep. She just has to hope that you won't close your heart to her, just as she did to you years ago.

♡ Masterlist ♡

A cool ocean breeze wraps around her neck as the chill of the night starts to seep into her bones. Every part of her is screaming to run, to go far away from the things that scare her.

But what is life without a little bit of adventure?

You watch the pendulum in your grandfather clock swing forward as the next words flow easily onto the paper.

She wanted to experience the adventure of the ocean, to let her heart travel with the ocean waves that beckoned her forward. But what was she to do? Abandon her family? Leave the familiarity of her hometown behind?

Leave them behind? The one person who supported them through thick and thin?

The pendulum swings back as you stare at the candlelight in your bedroom.

Rosella had a choice to make, one that would decide her entire destiny. A friend, or a lifetime of fulfillment?

Their call was strong, but the ocean’s was stronger. 

~

With one hand on your naval revolver and the other on your bag, your feet hit the ground with increasing frequency as you run towards the docks. You had a deadline to meet with your time and your writing. The traveling night market was in town tonight, and within their merry caravan of travelers was your editor. A shrewd old woman with a sharp tongue who had been your mentor since you had abandoned your studies to pursue writing as a career.

I would’ve stayed if Giselle stayed.

You shake your head at the thought of your childhood best friend - you were nothing but a fleeting nostalgic memory to her, so she should be the same to you.

The book, the market - I have to hurry.

Unfortunately, the night market only accepted incoming foot traffic until midnight, and according to your grandfather clock, it was a centimeter past eleven-fifty. Your home was ten minutes away from the docks - you’d be cutting it close if you were simply walking.

~

“You’re early.” The guard jokes as you pull out the business card that Merrin, your editor, gave to you. “She still edits your books?”

“As long as I keep writing them.” You fold your arms as the guard stares at the card. “Can I go in?”

“Try to make it quick - she’s in one of those moods again.” 

You pluck the card from their hand before waving at them.

“She’s always in a mood, but I have to hope that it’s a good one.”

You greet the various merchants and regulars that pass by you - most of them are familiar with your work, even if you use a moniker instead of your real name. It isn’t hard to deduce who the newest novelist on the block is when you know their publisher by name.

“When’s the new novel coming?” One shouts at you as you chuckle to yourself. “The last one really pulled on my heartstrings, and I need a bit of a pick-me-up before I go for a second read.”

“You’ll get your hands on it as soon as everyone else does.” You reassure them as they jokingly scoff and walk away.

Oh, the bliss of only being recognized by a small crowd of people.

You stop in front of the last tent on the docks - a large purple cloth hangs over the rods and poles that make up the foundation of the tent. Angry red vines dart over various parts of the tent, but none dare to cross each other.

You take a deep breath before entering the tent.

Hopefully her mood won’t sour mine.

“You’re earlier than usual. Did you get sick and tired of begging the guard to let you in until I would show up and save your ass?” Merrin, dressed in a conservative, frilly white dress, lights a candle with one hand as she balances on her cane with the other.

“Does your bad mood have to do with whoever’s wedding you interrupted?” You bite your lip as she slowly turns toward you.

“If my glasses were on me, I’d knock you to the floor with my cane.” She hobbles over to another table to light another candle as you approach the middle of the room. “And I thought this dress looks nice on me.”

“Yeah, if you were a fourteen-year-old noble who was forced to marry a man decades older than her.” Another sharp look from Merrin causes you to shut your mouth before she fulfills her early promise. “Are you in the mood to read something I’ve written?”

“Depends on if it’s better than the utter shit I’ve been reading all day.” Merrin sets her cane aside as she sits on one of the two chairs near the middle of the room. “Hand me my glasses, will you?”

“Don’t hit me with your cane, you old witch.” You pick her glasses up off of the floor before handing them to her.

“Why, I ought to-” She quickly grabs her cane, which causes you to immediately sit in the chair on her left.

You’re both playing with each other - she won’t hit you that hard, and you won’t completely piss her off. It’s just the way that Merrin is, and if you’re careful, you can break down her walls and see the woman behind the anger and sass.

As you look over to her, Merrin lightly taps your ankle with her cane as a rare smile appears on her face.

“How’s the novel coming? More progress than scribbles and midnight thoughts, I hope?” She looks surprised as you pull a bundle of parchment from your bag.

“I managed to get a chapter out, but it’s a rough draft, Merrin.” You remind her as you hand her the papers. “It isn’t very good-”

“-that’s for me to decide.” She says as she grabs the papers and adjusts the glasses on her face.

“I-” You interject before she gives you a pointed glare.

“Shut your damn mouth so I can read in peace.”

~

Sometimes you wonder why you chose Merrin as your editor - a form of punishment, perhaps?

That’s what you feel like you’re doing to yourself as she carefully scans every single word on the pages that you scribbled on. A spotlight has closed in on you, and you’re sweating under the pressure. What will you do if she rejects you again after this draft? Will you finally part ways with the woman who helped you find a path when you were nothing but an empty wanderer?

Merrin clears her throat as your attention snaps back to her.

She thinks it’s terrible - I’m never going to live this latest failure down.

“This is quite good.” She softly says as she reorganizes the papers for you.

“I beg your pardon?”

“And I thought I was the one with bad hearing, being old and all.” She snorts as you reach for the papers from her extended hand.

As soon as your hand touches them, Merrin snatches them out of your reach with a knowing smile.

“I have one question about the main character.” 

“Alright, lay it on me.” You sigh in relief as you can mentally prepare yourself for her critiques.

Rosella was hardly fleshed out, and she had little-to-no dialogue to give perspective into her motivations, ideals, and personality. Perhaps Merrin could help you with that?

“What woman inspired you to write Rosella?” She asks as you furrow your brows in confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“Answer the damn question.”

“I, uh…” You nervously look around, trying to think of an escape route. “She’s based on a friend, from long, long ago.”

You stress that this woman was long behind you, and there was absolutely nothing to worry about. It’s not like she would show back up in your life after years and years of silence.

“Well, if you see this friend from a long, long time ago,” She stresses the words the same way you did, “tell her that she’s one hell of a protagonist.”

“I will.” You grit your teeth as your mind wanders to the woman in question.

I hope I never see her again.

~

Giselle scribbles various notes onto the map within the captain’s quarters. She used to be the primary navigator when the Red-Hair Pirates were nothing but an idea in Winter’s head.

“One day, this boat will be filled with pirates and friends we’ve collected in our travels,” Winter looked over to Giselle before placing a hand on her back, “and I’m going to need you to be by my side, every second of every day.”

Winter paused for a moment, before walking towards the ship and extending her hand to her.

“You have everything you ever need here - a good education, family, friends, and stability. I’m offering adventure until your heart's content, enough money to set your family up for life, and every kind of booze imaginable.”

“Even rum?” Giselle tilted her head at Winter, who gave her a toothy grin.

“Especially rum. So, are you in or what?”

“I’m in, I just… have to say some goodbyes first.”

Now, her role within the crew was more muddled, somewhat lying between weaponsmaster and navigator. Usually, she would sort out her navigating affairs in the morning, and then keep up with the weapons in the afternoon. The nighttime was reserved for merrymaking and hell-raising - just as Giselle liked it.

But there was a part of her missing, something she had been chasing with booze and adventure that couldn’t be replaced.

What was she missing?

“Giselle!” Karina barrels into the captain’s quarters as she nearly collides into the table.

“You’re still drunk.” She chuckles. “You can’t handle your liquor for shit.”

“And you prefer in that way, so you can scam me out of my money.” Karina scoffs before loudly hiccuping.

“Alright,” Giselle stops working and puts her hands up in the air, “I am a bit of a trickster, but we’re pirates, remember? It’s kind of our thing.”

“Eh.” Karina shrugs before throwing a book onto the desk where Giselle was working.

“What’s this?” 

She studies the book for a moment before looking at Karina

“A gift from the Captain. Winter says to come see her after giving it a read.” Karina stumbles out of the door before loudly shutting it.

“Riveting conversation with a drunk Karina, like usual.” Giselle mumbles to herself. “I wonder why Winter would want me to read this?”

Her hands gently trace the spine as she studies the author’s name in bold ink.

It’s not one she recognizes, but perhaps she might know the writing style? Curious, Giselle carefully opens the book and begins to read.

~

It was mid-afternoon before Giselle exited the captain’s quarters, much later than usual. When she does, she immediately charges towards her quarters in a fury.

It takes every bone in Giselle’s body to stop her from ripping her room to shreds to find the letters that she had locked away years ago.

The letters that reminded her of you. The letters that had the same cadence and writing style that you did. Those letters tied you to her, and, at the moment, pointed to you as the author.

More than that, Giselle had come to the realization that Winter knew that the two of you were connected.

And that was more terrifying than confronting someone from her past.

Giselle finds the letters under her bed, and they’re carefully tied together with a bit of rope. She snatches them within an instant, and she tucks them under her arm before beginning her journey to find Winter.

“Giselle!” Ningning calls out to her as Giselle appears on the upper deck. “I had a question about some of the knives that I found in the gunroom.”

“Not the time.” Giselle charges right past her as she spots Winter on the quarterdeck. 

“Is that the book Winter asked me to get you?” 

Giselle, with no hesitation, turns on her heel to face the assassin.

“Of course she did!” She sighs before turning around. “Am I the one finding this out last when it’s my business?”

“If it comforts you, I didn’t ask for any details. I just grabbed the book and gave it to her.” Ningning plays with a knife in her hand as Giselle tightly squeezes the book in her left hand.

“Thanks.” She grumbles before calling out to Winter, “Hey, you have some explaining to do!”

“As do you!” Winter copies her volume, but she waits until Giselle comes closer to begin speaking in a softer tone. “Are they the reason why you tried to send letters back to your hometown from the different ports that we stopped in?”

“You knew about that?” Giselle stares, absolutely befuddled.

“I know when my friends aren’t themselves. I did a little digging, and I found a gold vein.” Winter looks out to the ocean. “You could’ve told me, you know. We could’ve worked something out.”

“But you needed me-”

“-I did, but I wouldn’t have asked you to come if I knew that your loyalties lied with someone else.”

Giselle physically deflates before confessing the truth to Winter.

“So you know that I was a part of the naval academy before I joined you.” Giselle looks away in shame, like a small puppy. “They were too, but we quit together-”

“-so you could chase your dreams together. You, an acclaimed mapmaker. Them, an accomplished novelist. Do I have the narrative right?” Winter raises an eyebrow at Giselle.

Not quite.

“I loved them.” Giselle bites her lip. “I love them.”

Panic covers Giselle’s face as she opens her mouth to speak.

“There it is,” Winter smirks before yelling to the crew, “Set sail to the west.”

“I’m doing you a favor, mind you. You need to figure this out before it ends with you getting yourself killed. I can’t stand to watch my crewmate, my friend, drink herself into an early grave.”

“So we’re doing this?” Giselle asks.

“You’re doing this.”

~

“The pirates are coming! The pirates are coming!” A man on a horse repeats the same phrase over and over as he passes by your estate.

Pirates? Here? Why?

No, it can’t be those pirates.

Your head snaps towards the nearest window that faces the docks. In the distance, you can see a large pirate show approaching your humble town.

And wouldn’t you know it, the flag on the ship shows a dead skull sporting some fire-red hair.

The Red-Hair Pirates.

The crew that Giselle’s a part of.

Shit.

You can see a group of villagers approach the docks from your side, and you’re sure a fight will break out - no, a bloodbath will occur - if someone doesn’t get down there and stop it.

Maybe that naval training will come into use.

~

“Your kind isn’t welcome here.” A villager points a large shotgun at Winter’s chest, and she seems unphased by his outburst.

“We’re not here to loot, we just want to rest.” She pulls out a gold coin and flips it into the air before grabbing it and offering it to the villager. “Our coin is good here, no?”

“I-” He pauses before studying the coin. “One night. And the only place that you can shop is the night market.”

“That sounds like our kind of place, right?” Winter turns to her pirates, who cheer loudly. “I’ll make sure they’ll behave, I swear.”

“You better.” He scoffs before spitting at the ground. “C’mon, we have better things to do than guard open docks.”

The villagers disperse, which causes Giselle to sigh in relief.

That’s a battle I didn’t want to fight.

“Alright, everyone, back on the ship until nightfall. We aren’t welcome here until then, so this boat better be spotless in a few hours!” Winter commands, and her crew scrambles back onto the ship as Winter pulls Giselle aside. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do, and I don’t need backup. I’ll be back before nighttime.” Giselle softly says before Winter grabs her shoulder.

“I’d like to meet your friend, if they want to meet me. Perhaps it can help explain why you left - take some of the blame off of your shoulders,” Winter shrugs, “Or I can just have a drink with a friend and a friend of a friend. Either works for me.”

They’re… leaving?

“Not sure I’d call us friends, but I’ll see what I can do.”

~

You watch from a distance as the villagers, your neighbors, disperse with varying emotions on their faces. Some look relieved, others seem pissed, but most appear to be indifferent.

As if killing another wasn’t a brutal act that weighed on your soul for as long as you lived.

A woman with striking red hair turns to the pirates on the dock, and with only a few words, she sends them back onto the ship.

Their captain - Winter, the pirate queen of myths and legends.

Infamous doesn’t even begin to describe Winter, as her face was neatly plastered on every wanted board across the nation. Her reputation of brutality nearly exceeds her generosity and kindness. She took from the rich government ships and gave to the poor towns that she traveled to.

Almost like a storybook character. Perhaps my next protagonist can take some of her qualities.

Before all of her crew can go back to the ship, Winter pulls one of them aside. A girl with blonde hair, but a face that you recognize. Not from the wanted posters that showed her with black hair and a devilish yet charming smile.

But a ghost from your past, the woman who you were hoping to escape from. The girl who had invaded your dreams every night since she left.

Your Rosella.

Giselle.

You want to turn away, to run back to the safety of your home, but you can’t. Not because you want to see Giselle, but because she’d follow you back home.

After all, it was her home too.

With a deep breath, and as much courage as you can muster, you let your feet carry you towards Giselle.

Towards your destiny.

Giselle’s eyes widen as she sees you walking towards her with an unreadable expression on your face. You’re not completely pissed, which is good, but you don’t look happy. You’re not sad, but there isn’t any longing in your eyes. There’s no indifference in your face, but when your eyes meet hers, a twinkle of nostalgia appears briefly.

~

Perhaps you missed her as much as she missed you.

“You look…” Giselle pauses as the two of you meet in the middle of the road. “Well.”

“Thanks.” You nod before looking out to the ocean. “I like your blonde hair. It suits you.”

“Thanks…” Giselle trails off while hoping that the road would open up and swallow her whole.

Why was it so hard to talk to you? She thought of a million things to say to you, but none of them seemed right.

So let’s start with the simplest one.

“I’m sorry.”

When the words leave her lips, you look over in surprise.

As if you thought that she meant to hurt you.

A dagger slices through her heart, as the wound that is your shared history is reopened again. She’s going to let herself drown in bad blood unless she says something else.

Something that will make this right.

Nothing will, she knows this. But why not try?

“I’m sorry for leaving you with such a shitty goodbye. I’m sorry for convincing you to leave the naval academy with me and then leaving you behind. I’m sorry that I never was able to return your letters.” She pauses to hand you them.

“You kept them?” You tilt your head at her. “After all of these years?”

“Of course I did.” She says before softly laughing. “It was the only reminder I had of home.”

“I thought the sea was your home.” 

“No, my home was always you.” Giselle quietly mumbles. “I wanted to explore, to see the world, but I wanted to come back home.”

“Why didn’t you write me back?” Your voice is laced with hurt, and Giselle wants nothing more than to hold you in her arms.

But you’re not that close, not anymore.

“I tried to, but no letter carrier would take my money. Turns out that people aren’t fond of pirates,” She scoffs, “but I kept them all in my quarters. Perhaps you’d like to see them?”

A light smile appears on your face - you’re actually contemplating her offer.

“Would you like to see the home first? I don’t know if it has changed much-”

“-that sounds great.” Giselle lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

A peace offering. An olive branch. Perhaps you can begin anew?

~

Months ago, you would’ve sworn at Giselle if she had set foot in your town, let alone in your house. That was before you finished the book, before a character in that book taught you something about forgiveness.

“Will you ever forgive me, my dear?” Rosella says to her beloved. “I know it’s been years, but I can’t help but yearn for you. Our souls are intertwined, and no amount of treasure will ever make up for losing you.”

“I… I don’t know. I don’t know if I can ever truly forgive and forget, but…”

“But?” A flicker of hope appears in Rosella’s eyes.

“But maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

You watch Giselle comb over your bookshelf as you take a seat in the living room. 

“You really didn’t change this place, huh?” She says before sitting at a chair on the opposite end of the room.

“It didn’t feel right. This is still your home, after all.” You say.

“Our home,” Giselle corrects you before her eyes widen, “shit. I didn’t mean to-”

You wave away her concerns with a charming smile.

“No, it’s alright.”

An awkward silence spreads over the room - what should you say to her now?

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Giselle softly asks before looking in your eyes. “I don’t want to intrude if I’m not welcome.”

You take a deep breath - it’s time to address the massive elephant in the room.

“Giselle, I don’t want to do this back-and-forth with you. I want to talk about what happened between us.” 

You’re surprised at how mature you sound, how non-malicious your words are. You had gone over this moment a thousand times in your head, but none of them were this nice or friendly.

“What is there to talk about? I ruined your life, no, our lives. I promised you that pirating was only a temporary thing, and you can see how that ended-”

“It pains me to see you tear yourself up about this, Giselle.” You calmly say as she pauses and reflects for a moment. “How can we move forward if we’re stuck reliving the past over and over?”

“You want to start again?” 

Giselle looks dumbfounded as you nod.

“We might not be that close again, not for a long time, but we can try being friends. Then we’ll see where it goes.” You shrug your shoulders as she thinks for a moment before responding.

“Why would you let me get away with what I did to you? I left you alone for years, with not a word of my health and well-being. Why put yourself through that again?”

You chuckle to yourself as familiar words come to the front of your mind.

“Maybe there’s room for us to start again. If we’ve both healed from our past wounds, then what’s the use of bringing them up again?”

“From your book.” She responds wistfully before her eyes widen. “You wrote yourself as the love interest?”

“Uh-huh.” You nod as the realization comes crashing down on Giselle.

“And the girl, Rosella, who is strong, beautiful, and kind. The girl who messes up time after time yet she still manages to redeem herself - that’s me?”

“Yup.” You’re quiet for a moment, to allow Giselle to process everything. “Do you know why I chose you as my inspiration?”

“Why?” She leans forward as her voice quivers in anticipation. “Why me?”

“Because no matter how much I hated you, I could never get you out of my head. You haunted my every dream and nightmare. I couldn’t escape your grasp, so I wrote about the woman who had completely transfixed my mind, body, and soul.” 

A breathy chuckle escapes your lips.

This is just like a confession that I would write in my book. The next thing she would say is I love you-

“I never stopped loving you.” She confesses before standing up.

You stand up to meet her gaze.

“Neither did I.”

~

“To be completely honest,” Winter says as you and Giselle approach the docks, “I didn’t expect you to come back.”

“You’re still my captain, Winter.” She smiles before gesturing to you. “This is my friend, the one I told you about.”

“Friend,” She stares at your intertwined hands, “right. Excuse my staring. It isn’t every day that you meet an author of legend.”

You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Ah, that’s sweet of you to say.” You nudge Giselle’s shoulder. “Why can’t you be as charming as her?”

“Hey-” She tries to defend herself, but Winter’s laughter cuts her off.

“Oh, I like them. They’d be a good addition to our crew.”

Your mouth hangs agape as you blink rapidly.

“You… you can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so, unless Giselle objects?” Winter turns to Giselle, who glances at you.

“It’s your decision. I won’t force it on you-”

“Yes,” You quickly answer, “but I’m not sure what use I would be to your crew.”

“We could use your writing and organizing skills to keep track of weapons, finances, maps, food, and other supplies on the ships. That means that you would be working closely with Giselle and I.” Winter explains as you nod along. “Plus there would be plenty of time for you to continue writing your latest masterpiece. I know you’re good with a gun - I can see the Navy’s engravings on the handle, so combat won’t be an issue for you.”

You quickly hide your gun holster with your coat.

“I hope you don’t take offense to my weapons background,” You say before leaning over to Giselle, “how the fuck does she know all of that?”

“Long story, I’ll explain after a drink or two,” Giselle whispers back, “but I’m glad that you’re going with us. It’ll be nice to show you to all of the places that we’ve been before.”

“Got it.” You smile before letting go of Giselle’s hand.

She reaches out to grab it, but you instead maneuver around her hand to give her a kiss on the cheek.

“I, um…” She struggles to articulate her feelings as a furious blush appears on her face.

Winter laughs loudly before gesturing towards the ship.

“We still have a few hours before nightfall. Perhaps we can celebrate with a drink?”

“Sounds good. You in?” You ask Giselle, who can’t even look you in the eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” Her face is still red as Winter walks to the ship.

“Feel free to join me when you’re ready.”

You go to follow behind her, but Giselle stops you by catching your arm with her hand.

“Hey, I-” She pauses to regain her composure, “Thank you, for this. I needed it.”

“It really isn’t a problem,” You say before leaning in to tease her, “but don’t expect me to kiss you every time you need a pick-me-up.”

“Damn, you know my schemes before I can properly plan them.” Giselle smirks before pulling you closer. “But I can always kiss you, right?”

She closes the distance between your lips before quickly pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Tease.” You grumble as she leans back.

“You started it, and I ended it.” She shrugs before her hand slips into yours. “We shouldn’t keep Winter waiting - we don’t want her to have a bad impression of you, right?”

You nod as Giselle leads you on to the ship.

As her crewmates greet you and welcome you onto the ship, you wonder if this new chapter of your life will be something to write about.

Maybe it’s time for my story to be told.