#couldn’t even finish line art... /sobs

[sonadowsupremacy]

my pen died and it’s 1:30am but wip for a new fic =3=

[celeryb1tch]

spencer reid x student!reader

18+! this post contains nsfw content

when spencer gets home from work he finds that you haven’t finished your essay, so he tries to ease your mind.

content: lots of pet names, fem!reader, you’re getting an arts degree lol, age gap but not too intense since this is early-ish seasons spencer, slight degradation at the end, reader orgasm, oral and fingering (r! receives), overstim, forced orgasm.

(i’m literally gay but i’ve been so delusional and in love with this fictional man lately i had to write something to get it out of my system!!!)

—

when your boyfriend came home from work, tie loose and satchel abandoned on the kitchen counter, you felt a wave of embarrassment flush you. you were still working on the same essay you had been last night; the one spencer made you promise you’d finish today.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asked, laying back beside you on the couch. when he leaned over to kiss you chastely, your stomach churned and you shut your laptop quickly.

you could feel hot tears start to pool in your eyes, biting back the sob you so desperately needed to get out. spencer took one look at your face and sighed, wrapping an arm around you.

“oh, baby. you didn’t finish it?”

“i tried!” you protested, your eyes squeezed shut to avoid seeing his disappointed face. “please don’t be mad at me.”

spencer’s gentle hand cupped your cheek, running his thumb across it lightly. “look at me, angel. i’m not mad.”

the floodgates opened when you finally dared to look at him, seeing his mouth pressed in a flattened line. tears streaked your face and it only added to the embarrassment. your boyfriend was a capable man, and here you were crying because you couldn’t finish a stupid essay before he got home from his 9-to-5.

he tried to hold you closer, but you struggled against him. you didn’t deserve his comfort or his sympathy. he settled for running his free hand through your hair soothingly. “hey, just talk to me. what went wrong, can i help?”

you shook your head, fighting through a hiccupped sob to answer. “i couldn’t find the last source i need. i was sifting through articles for like four hours, and i just gave up.”

ever the problem solver, spencer smiled down at you softly. “okay, let me take a look. you know i have fairly good research skills, they’re kinda required for my job.”

“you don’t get it!” you huffed, frustration evident in your voice. “you go to work all day and i can’t even find one source. one! i shouldn’t need your help for everything.”

recognition flashed in his eyes, and then he really pulled you in. it was useless to relent, you could feel the determination in his touch. he shushed you softly, one hand wrapped around you firmly while the other drew patterns on your back. when your breaths slowed and your sobs subsided, he pulled back to hold you at arms’ length. “baby, you are one of the smartest people i know.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and spencer grabbed your chin to ensure you couldn’t look away.

“i wouldn’t lie. no one i know is as sensitive as you are, as empathetic and in touch with their emotions. that’s what makes you so good at this program. i certainly couldn’t complete your degree.”

and you knew how bad at concealing the truth your boyfriend was, so reluctantly you believed him. “thank you,” you just about whispered.

his eyes cast pure adoration on you, even as your tear-stained cheeks were red and raw. “your incredible brain is one of the reasons i fell in love with you. so if you can’t find anything, there must be a reason. could you please just let me take a look?”

spencer had indisputably won you over, one arm still holding you to his side as he opened your laptop on his own lap. you relaxed into him, head pressed to his chest where you could hear his heart beating perfectly. with a hum, he scanned your tabs in a matter of seconds, scrolling to the bottom of the search result page at a speed the computer could barely keep up with. “i know what it is, but you’re not going to be happy.”

lifting your head, you squinted at your boyfriend inquisitively.

“you were typing the date wrong, honey. the last two numbers were flipped.”

you felt that feeling of incapability rush through you again, your eyes stinging in preparation to cry. but spencer was right there to prevent you from shutting down, hand on your head passing slow strokes in comfort.

his lips hitched into a small sympathetic smile when he looked down at you. “my poor girl, worked yourself up so hard your brain stopped working. too much essay writing this week.”

and of course, he was right. you’d been running yourself ragged recently trying to keep up with deadlines, not to mention the extra work you’d taken on early to prevent overwhelm for finals. when you’d told him your plan, spencer had advised against it. he didn’t want you sacrificing your sanity now for a bit more time with your boyfriend in a few months. but never not supportive, he relented and instead helped you draft a schedule to complete everything.

you couldn’t feel too stupid with spencer’s sweet voice telling you that you weren’t. “it’s not even due until next week, remember? i just wanted you to finish it tonight so i could take you out to dinner,” he confided sheepishly. “you’ve been working so hard, i wanted to reward you.”

despite knowing it was physically impossible (as spencer reminded you often), you could feel your heart swell from the overwhelming love you felt for your boyfriend. you pecked kisses all over his face incessantly until he swatted you away, blushing crimson from the unexpected affection. “okay, where are we going?”

spencer hummed mischievously in faux thought, tucking your wild hairs back from your face. “you didn’t finish your essay, so i actually think it’s only fair to punish you. at least before i take you out anyway.”

a heat bloomed in you, both in your cheeks and between your legs. it was rare that your boyfriend was anything but tooth-achingly sweet with you, saving his more dominant side for certain circumstances. apparently this was one of them. “oh, really? how are you gonna punish me, sir?”

he pulled you into his lap, mouth finding your neck immediately. “if you’re going to be stupid, i might as well treat you like you are. i know how much you like it when i call you a dumb slut, despite the fact that we’re both aware of how intelligent you are.”

your core ached with need, fluttering at his words. “that’s kinda fucked up, huh? i shouldn’t want that.”

“actually, it’s fairly common, especially for women with a high amount of stress in their everyday lives. most people enjoy some form of degradation and or praise when having sex.”

“spencer,” you groaned. his beautiful brain always had to get in the way of the fun, not that you seriously minded.

he smiled, pressing his lips to yours again. “sorry, baby. yes, it makes you a very naughty girl.”

despite the pure love in his eyes and his touch, you felt a pang of arousal when he degraded you. it felt good to be demeaned by someone who thought so highly of you. so you let him pin you against the couch, clothes long forgotten, and relished in his nasty words as he sunk to his knees before you.

your laptop was somewhere on the ground, still open to that unfinished document. but it was the last thing on your mind when you felt spencer’s mouth trailing down your front. his fingers hooked your panties, pulling them down with a string of arousal attached. “fuck,” he grumbled. “you are a little slut, aren’t you?”

you struggled to respond as his fingers passed through your folds, thumb toying with your clit lightly. “mhm, yours.”

“that’s right, baby.” all of the showy dominance dropped for a second when he smiled up at you, that familiar twinkle of passion in his eyes. and then he ate you out.

all you could do was grip the bedsheets, small whines leaving you each time he ran his tongue roughly up your clit. he’d take a moment to kiss your inner thighs, slipping two fingers inside to hit that sweet spot when he wasn’t lavishing it with his mouth. it wasn’t long before you were on the edge, feeling the knot snap in your stomach. with a start, you gasped through your orgasm, spencer’s hand finding yours to soothingly stroke his thumb across your knuckles. but as your breaths slowed, he didn’t.

“spence, i’m done,” you panted, hand gripping his hair.

“no you’re not.”

with a roll of your eyes, you tried to pull your hips away to no avail. his fingers were still pumping into you at a relentless pace. his head raised to meet your eyes, slick across his lips. he looked wild like this, disheveled, so different from your normal boyfriend, who was almost too sweet for his own good. “i told you this was a punishment.”

even knelt between your legs, this spencer was in complete control. his gaze was locked on yours, watching every tiny movement when he skimmed his thumb across your clit again. your core reignited when you realized what was going on. he was going to force you to cum again.

“please, too much” you whined, free hand pushing the top of his head away in a superficial effort. you couldn’t think properly with the intensity of the overstimulation.

spencer licked his lips, voice gravelly in a tone it only reached when he was purely aroused. “you can take it, honey. i know you can be a good girl for me. don’t you wanna be good?”

you nodded silently. there wasn’t much you could do but let him fuck you stupid.

“that’s it. gonna make you dumb, yeah? i’m gonna fuck you until you can’t think.” his head dipped down, resuming his wet, sloppy kisses to your clit. and with the combined effects of his words and actions, you were cumming again quickly.

you were unabashedly moaning now, jaw slacked open and eyes screwed shut. you were far past the point of caring what you looked like to the man furiously devouring you between your legs. your hand gripped his tighter, feeling his fingers pound a bit harder in acknowledgment.

your second orgasm felt like being catapulted into the atmosphere. it was sharper, practically knocking the air from your lungs. it took you a few moments to stop panting.

spencer grinned up at you, a sight for sore eyes in your clouded vision. “thinking about anything, baby?” he asked. and when he only received a small shake of your head, “good.”

his mouth returned to your core, soft kitten licks causing you to twitch and wince away. he squeezed your hand firmly, giving you a stern look. “only cleaning you up this time, promise.”

once you weren’t dripping arousal down your thighs, spencer pulled you onto him when he sat back down on the couch. all you could focus on were his warm, strong hands tracing sequences on your skin. he loved to imagine binary code, mapping it out on you because he knew the motion calmed you down.

you were barely conscious, brain buzzing like tv static in the post-sex bliss. you heard spencer chuckle to himself before saying, “so i think we’re getting takeout.”

[hainge]

Fourth bullet: A bow for the bruised

cowboy!kaiser x fem!reader pt. 4 (wc 6.5k) from Silver bullets and stolen hearts part III part V warnings: MDNI!!! blood, violence, trauma, panic attacks, emotional breakdown, mention of death, intense emotional distress, swearing

“Listen to me, goddamn it!” he shouted, his hand grabbing at your neck, tightening just a little too hard, almost choking you with the weight of his desperation.

You froze.

Your breath caught. For a moment, everything stopped, the air, the sound, the light in the room. You could only stare at him, eyes wide in disbelief.

Realizing what he'd done, Kaiser’s face dropped in horror. His hand slipped away from your skin like it burned him. “Shit… I didn’t mean-” he turned sharply, dragging a hand over his face as if he could wipe away the guilt. “Fuck, sorry,” he muttered, voice low and tight with frustration, though not at you. At himself.

You were still frozen, shaking, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“You’re not him,” you whispered again, like if you said it enough, it might all go away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” his voice was clipped now, colder than before. It cut through the air like a blade.

You backed away from him with a glare, your voice trembling but fierce. “Don’t even think about reaching for me again.”

Then you turned and stormed off, footsteps heavy and fast up the stairs. You didn’t look back.

“Fuck!” Kaiser roared, slamming his fist into the nearest wall. The thud echoed through the house, followed by the sound of his harsh breathing.

Upstairs, you stumbled into your room and slammed the door shut behind you. You couldn’t breathe right. Your hands were shaking uncontrollably as you collapsed into the chair by your desk.

You gripped the sides of your head, nails digging into your scalp as if the pressure might stop your thoughts from spiraling.

Tears streamed down your face, and with a broken sob, you wiped them away with the sleeve of your shirt, harsh, dramatic, like trying to erase something permanent.

You reached for a pencil. Drawing always helped. It always grounded you. But this time, the lines came out shaky, the sketch unrecognizable. Your fingers trembled, and the paper blurred beneath your tears.

It wasn’t working.

Nothing was.

And for the first time in years, even art couldn’t save you from yourself.

Kaiser stormed out of the house, frustration bubbling inside him. His jaw clenched as he made his way to his white horse. Why’s she gotta be so difficult? he muttered under his breath, the words tasting bitter as they left his lips.

In a swift motion, he mounted the horse, the tension in his body mirrored by the sharpness in his gaze. He didn't know where his anger was taking him, but it seemed like his instincts knew better. The ride was a blur, his thoughts clouded with a mix of frustration and worry. Before he knew it, he found himself standing at your father's office, the door creaking open as he stepped in.

Your father, engrossed in important papers, looked up with a raised eyebrow when he saw Kaiser. The tension in the room was immediate. “Tell me,” he said, his voice cool, assessing.

Kaiser slumped into the chair opposite him, his expression vacant but clearly laced with anger. “I fucked up,” he muttered, the words heavy on his chest.

Your father didn’t flinch, merely watching him with a steady gaze. “You didn’t tell her?”

Kaiser let out a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “I did. I tried. But… she kind of overreacted.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he remained silent, waiting for Kaiser to explain further.

Kaiser shifted in his seat, trying to organize his thoughts. “She… she was already losing it. Woke up from those damn nightmares again, and then, when I tried to talk to her, I-” he stopped himself, visibly frustrated. “I didn’t even get to finish. She freaked out on me, told me to never reach for her again.”

Your dad placed the papers down, his fingers lightly tapping the desk as he sighed, absorbing the weight of Kaiser’s words. “I understand...” he murmured, his voice calm but carrying the weight of understanding.

Kaiser clenched his fists. “It’s my fault,” he said, his tone dark, self-critical.

Your dad shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

“I pushed her too hard,” Kaiser continued, his frustration getting the better of him. “I didn’t even let her breathe, and now she’s completely shut me out. I didn’t mean for it to go like this.”

Your father leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “She’s been through a lot. You need to be patient with her.”

Kaiser’s jaw tightened. “I know, but... What if it’s too late?”

“I think we still have time,” your father said quietly, his voice carrying a mix of reassurance and caution. “You’ll need to approach her carefully, but don’t give up on her.”

Kaiser’s eyes hardened. “I’ll try talking to her when I get home, but I don’t think she wants to hear from me right now.”

Your dad nodded, his eyes softening just a touch. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “Give her some space, but don’t let her shut you out completely.”

Kaiser hesitated, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But he nodded, standing up from the chair. “Thanks.”

As he left the office, the weight of the conversation hung over him, heavier than ever. He knew the path ahead wasn’t going to be easy, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to fix this, no matter what. He walked into the saloon, his boots dragging a bit more than usual. The light chatter and clinking glasses barely registered in his mind. He made his way to the bar, eyes shadowed, shoulders tense.

"A beer," he muttered to the bartender, voice low and tired. A part of him wished it were you behind the counter, giving him that cautious stare, maybe even asking what was wrong.

When the drink was placed in front of him, he didn’t thank the man. He just took a sip and stared at the amber liquid, letting his thoughts drown in it. Your eyes, your voice, the way you pulled away from him, it all played over and over in his head.

He let out a long sigh, his thumb rubbing against the rim of the glass. Then, without meaning to, he set the glass down harder than he should have. It hit the bar with a loud thud, making the worker flinch. Kaiser didn’t even apologize. Threw few coins on the counter and walked out without a word, the saloon doors creaking shut behind him.

Back in your room, you sat hunched over your desk, sketching with a tight grip on your pencil. Your fingers trembled, but the lines were cleaner now, more deliberate. The drawing wasn’t of anyone in particular, just some imaginary figure with eyes too sharp and a mouth too kind. Still, it looked more alive than anything you'd drawn recently. You’d calmed down just enough to hold the pencil straight, but your chest still ached, tight and twisted like something inside you was slowly collapsing.

“Fucking dumbass,” you hissed under your breath, jaw clenched. Of course, you were talking about Kaiser. Who else?

Your hand snapped forward. The page tore out of the sketchbook in one swift motion. You crumpled it into a tight, wrinkled ball and threw it hard at the wall. It bounced off with a soft thud and disappeared somewhere under the desk, but it wasn’t enough. The anger didn’t leave. It sat under your skin, boiling.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” you muttered, punctuating every word with a sharp tap-tap-tap of your pencil against the sketchbook cover. Each hit was a little louder, a little more frantic. Then, without thinking, you hurled the whole book across the room. It smacked the wall and landed with a heavy flop on the floor, the sound slicing through the stillness of the night like shattered glass.

And just like that… you broke.

You curled up on the chair, arms hugging your knees to your chest as you slid down, burying your face. A choked sob clawed its way out of your throat, then another, and another, until they came in a stream. The tears came fast, warm and salty, blurring everything. You couldn’t see through them, couldn’t speak—just small, broken cries and shaky inhales filled the room.

You didn’t even know what you were crying about anymore.

Maybe at first it was Kaiser, his recklessness, his smirk, his gall to play with your heart like it was a game, but now… now you weren’t crying over him. Not really.

You were crying over everything.

Over every mistake you made. Over every word you shouldn’t have said. Every fake scenario you played in your head where you were braver, cooler, stronger. Where you weren’t you. You cried for every time you bottled it up, every time you smiled when you wanted to scream. Every time you let people in who walked away like you were nothing.

The tears weren’t about him anymore, they were about you.

This, somehow, was how you comforted yourself. Not with kindness or softness. But with this: sadness. This hollow, aching thing that wrapped around your shoulders like a blanket. You curled into it, held it close. The crying, the pain, the numbness that followed, it was familiar. Familiar enough to be soothing in its own twisted way.

And so you stayed there, alone in your room with tear-streaked cheeks and a storm in your chest, holding yourself as if you could keep all the pieces from falling apart. The sun had just risen over the hills, painting the dirt-strewn land in hazy blue and gold, but the air was already thick with dust, sweat, and something fouler, tension.

Behind the old millhouse, tucked in the shadow of a crumbling stone wall, four men stood in a crooked circle. Kaiser leaned against a wooden crate, turning an Apache revolver in his hand with absent precision. The brass glinted with each lazy spin of the cylinder, but his eyes didn’t follow it. They were distant, unfocused, as though his mind was somewhere far away, or stuck on someone far away.

Ness watched him out of the corner of his eye. He stood a pace back, hands tucked behind his back in his usual prim fashion. "Kaiser," he asked softly, almost like a whisper not meant to be heard, "is everything alright?"

Kaiser hummed in response, a low, noncommittal sound. He didn’t lift his gaze. Didn’t blink. Just kept turning that gun in his hand like it was the only thing keeping his thoughts from unraveling.

Ness fell silent. He knew better than to push.

“OI,” Shidou barked, snapping the silence like a whip. He stepped toward the trader, the jittery man with a gut too big for his vest and a twitch in his eye. “You tryna rob us, old man? This here’s not even Colt steel. You polish up some rusted trash and think we wouldn’t notice?”

The man paled. “I told you it’s genuine! French issue. Mercenary-grade!”

“Looks like you fished it outta a pig’s ass,” Shidou growled, reaching for his belt. “We could just shoot him and take the rest. Save us the goddamn trouble.”

“That’s against the rules,” Rin’s voice cut in cold and calm, like steel in a snowstorm. He stood with his arms crossed, posture rigid. His sharp gaze flicked from the gun to the man, calculating.

Shidou whipped his head around, scoffing. “And since when do you speak, Mr. Daddy Long Lashes?”

Rin’s jaw clenched. “Since you started running your mouth like a rabid dog. We’re here to do business. Not butcher street rats in broad daylight.”

The trader nodded eagerly, desperate to side with someone, anyone. “Y-yeah! Listen to your friend here. He’s got a brain-”

“I wasn’t defending you,” Rin snapped. “You tried to sell us rot disguised as gold. You think we’re blind or just stupid?”

“I’m telling you, it’s all clean! Nothin’ wrong with the-” "-And you think dragging your ass to us with lies wouldn’t blow back? Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Rin stepped closer now, his voice low but lethal. “This isn’t some street corner trade. You try to cheat us, we don’t forget it.”

The trader’s face twisted. Maybe it was fear. Or maybe pride scraping up what little spine he had left. “Don’t act so damn holy,” he spat, looking between them. “You’re all outlaws playin’ dress-up in town colors. And you” he pointed a shaky finger toward Kaiser, “all this hell lately? All ‘cause your little slut got herself mixed up in something she shouldn’t.”

Everything stopped. Ness’s quiet humming faltered. Even Shidou’s usual smirk twitched, as if caught between surprise and fury. The wind seemed to hush for a moment, letting the silence ring louder.

Kaiser didn’t look up. Didn’t speak.

CRACK.

The revolver slammed into the side of the trader’s jaw with such force that his knees buckled before the pain even registered. Blood sprayed in a thin arc as the man collapsed into the dirt, gasping through grit and broken teeth. His body twisted in a spasm, half-conscious already.

Kaiser stepped forward, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He planted his boot against the side of the man's skull and leaned his weight down. Not enough to kill. But enough to make the man freeze, trembling under leather and steel.

“Say it again,” Kaiser muttered, voice calm, too calm. “And I’ll take your pitiful little life right here. I’ll gut you like the pig you are, and let the buzzards eat your pride.”

The man whimpered something unintelligible. Kaiser pressed down harder.

“Where’s your boss?” he asked again, low and cold.

“I-I don’t know!” the man coughed, voice hoarse. “I swear it-he moves around-never tells us where-”

“I knew it,” Kaiser muttered, half to himself. He stepped back and landed one more kick into the trader’s ribs, sharp and efficient. The man wheezed, curling into himself like a crushed dog.

“Fucking cowards,” Kaiser growled, turning his back. “Always hiding in someone else's dirt. Rats under states that should’ve burned a decade ago.”

He didn’t look at the others. Just kept walking, revolver still in hand, the morning light making the barrel gleam.

“Take everything,” he called over his shoulder. “And him.”

The three moved at once.

Ness crouched to begin gathering the crates, rifles, revolvers, cartridges, and a crude satchel of homemade explosives. His movements were quiet, practiced. No hesitation.

Rin grabbed a small bundle of dynamite sticks, tied neatly with a crude cloth strip, and examined the capped fuse like he was checking the craftsmanship of a blade. “Crude but functional,” he muttered. “Could bring down a wagon.”

“Could bring down a town,” Ness corrected softly, wrapping the satchels in burlap and tossing them into the back of the trader’s own horse wagon.

Shidou tied the man’s hands and legs with rope from the supply packs, not bothering to be gentle. “Guess we’re keepin’ you,” he said, tugging the knots tight enough to make the man groan. “Hope your boss likes sendin’ flowers to corpses.”

The trader didn’t respond. He was half-conscious, his face bloodied and his pride long gone.

Once everything was packed, Rin and Ness mounted their horses. Shidou climbed up into the wagon bench, reins in hand, humming a mocking tune as they pulled away from the millhouse.

Meanwhile, Kaiser rode alone.

His white horse moved smoothly beneath him, hooves crunching over the dry gravel path that led through the outer farmlands. The sun had climbed a little higher now, painting the sky in pale amber and blue. A breeze tugged at his coat.

The horse let out a soft, low whinny.

Kaiser patted her neck gently, fingers brushing through her mane. “What is it, beautiful?” he murmured. “Hungry? Yeah… I figured.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly to the side of her head. “We’ll stop by the next ridge. Get you something good. Something sweet.”

Then he sat back up, jaw clenched and eyes ahead.

But his grip on the reins never tightened. Shidou hadn’t stopped talking since they left the millhouse. The poor trader, now tied up in the back of the wagon with a bloody rag stuffed in his mouth, sat hunched between crates of dynamite and stolen rifles, looking like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this moment.

“Look at you,” Shidou jeered, grinning wide as he leaned over the side of the wagon. “Sweatin’ like a hog in church. I bet your wife left you 'cause your breath smelled like bad clams.”

The man didn’t respond, but the dead-eyed stare he gave back said enough.

“No, no, I got it,” Shidou continued, slapping his knee. “You were breastfed with moonshine, weren’t ya? That’s why your brain so small.”

Up ahead, Kaiser’s white horse slowed at the fork in the road. Without a word, he steered left, veering away from the wagon’s path.

“Oi! Where you goin’?!” Shidou hollered after him.

“I’ll be there after six” Kaiser called back, voice half-lost in the wind.

Shidou rolled his eyes. “Jeez. So bipolar.”

“Bipolar people aren’t like that,” Rin muttered coolly, not even glancing his way.

“Boy, shut yo bitch ass up.”

Rin’s expression darkened, but he said nothing. Kaiser rode into the quieter part of town, the clip-clop of his horse echoing softly in the still morning air. Dust clung to the hem of his coat, and the handle of the Apache revolver still poked from his holster, but he didn’t care. His mind was far from guns and gangs right now.

He stopped in front of the small, weathered storefront with faded green lettering above the door:

“Sage & Tallow: Books, Paints, Supplies”

The moment he saw it, the memory came back like a sudden breeze.

You were here once, not long ago. Not drawing, no. You had your arms full of brushes and ink bottles, a new journal tucked beneath your chin as you grumbled at the shopkeep about him not having the right paper weight. He remembered watching you from the street. Just watching. You hadn't noticed him at first, or if you did, you didn’t care.

He remembered the way you barely looked up when he walked inside. How you gave him a bored glance, barely more than a flick of the eyes. He’d tried to flirt, some dumb line about how people like you shouldn’t be allowed to roam around unsupervised with that kind of beauty.

You blinked. Bought your things. Walked right past him with a disinterested, “Excuse me.”

He’d fallen even more for you.

The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped inside. The smell of paper, dried paint, beeswax, and wood polish washed over him, grounding him for a moment. Shelves stood crooked with age, packed tight with art supplies, tools, and handmade stationary.

“Good morning, sir-”

“Uhum. Morning,” Kaiser muttered, barely glancing at the shopkeeper as he headed toward the back aisle. He walked past rows of rolled-up parchment and watercolor tins, his hand brushing over jars of powdered pigment and delicate brushes.

He wanted to find anything that might mean something to you.

He didn’t know what to say, not really. Didn’t know how to apologize for everything that had happened. All he knew was that words wouldn’t be enough. Not from him. Not now. So maybe a gift would say it better. Kaiser stood in the middle of the aisle like a lost outlaw in a library, completely out of his depth and starting to get annoyed by it.

He stared blankly at the shelves. Pens. Sketchbooks. Paintbrushes. Pencils. Canvases. All things he could name, sure, but beyond that? Useless. He had no damn clue what any of it meant in your world. Would be dumb to buy you something you probably already had five of. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to grab the first thing that looked vaguely artistic and call it a day.

A voice chirped beside him.

“Need any help, sir?”

He glanced sideways, startled. It was the same shopgirl from before, young, bright-eyed, and entirely too observant for his liking.

“Uhhh-” he started, trying to collect a single coherent thought.

“Looking for something in particular?” she cut in before he could finish. She smiled like she already knew the answer.

Kaiser’s brows twitched together. The hell was her rush? Couldn’t she let a man think for a damn second?

“Yes?” he said, confused and slightly irritated.

“What is it? I can see you’re clearly not into this stuff. Did you come here to get a gift for someone?” she asked sweetly.

Kaiser blinked at her, jaw slack. What the hell—how does she— He caught himself and scoffed, making a face that landed somewhere between what the fuck and mind your business. But she wasn’t wrong.

“…Yeah. That.”

“Well then,” she grinned, “how can I help?”

He turned his face away slightly, hiding his tightening jaw and sharp exhale. He hated feeling out of control. Even more, he hated asking for help. But if this girl got him out faster, so be it.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Stuff to draw or something.”

“Ooooh, perfect!” she clapped her hands lightly. “We just got a new shipment this morning. Faber-Castell pencils, from Germany. Ever heard of them?”

He perked up at that. “From Germany, you say?”

“Yup!” she beamed. “Very high quality. Is the person a painter? Designer?”

“Uhhhh… I’d say both,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Then these might be perfect,” she said, grabbing a sleek black box off the shelf and handing it to him like it was a sacred relic. “Clean lines, smooth finish. Good enough for professionals, but easy for anyone to use.”

Kaiser hummed, flipping the box over in his hands. He didn’t really know what the hell he was looking at, but he liked the feel of it. Solid. Elegant. Thoughtful.

“I’m gettin’ these,” he said firmly, as if it were his own idea.

“Great! Anything else?”

That question spiraled into an unexpected whirlwind. Somehow, Kaiser left the shop twenty minutes later with a full bag of stuff he didn’t understand, several kinds of paper, a book on composition, two charcoal sets, a tin of graphite sticks, some brushes with animal-hair bristles, and a handful of accessories the girl promised were useful.

He didn’t remember agreeing to all of it. But she had talked fast and looked so damn sure of herself, and by the time he realized what was happening, he’d paid for half the store.

Still…one thing stood out.

The last item the girl had added, almost as an afterthought, was a simple little blue ribbon. Velvet, soft to the touch, tied in a delicate bow.

Kaiser stared at it in his hand as he walked out, boots kicking up little clouds of dust. The color was nice. Soft and cool, like the sky before nightfall. He imagined it in your hair, swaying as you walked ahead of him like always.

He smiled to himself, just a little.

“That one’s my favorite,” he muttered.

Not that he’d say it out loud. Kaiser stepped out of the shop with the bag of supplies slung loosely in one hand, the soft blue ribbon draped over his fingers. The sun was climbing now, casting long, golden streaks across the dry street. His boots struck the wooden planks of the sidewalk with slow, deliberate thuds, each one echoing like the tick of a clock.

When he reached his horse, the mare let out a sharp snort and immediately craned her neck toward him, trying to nibble at the dangling ribbon.

“Hey hey! Quit that,” Kaiser barked, pulling his hand back with a chuckle. “I’ll get your food, calm down. This ain’t for you.”

He rubbed her neck affectionately, trying not to smile too much. The ribbon was for you. He wasn’t sure what it would do, if anything, but he had to try something. Words weren’t exactly his strong suit. But this? This might get him halfway there.

Downstairs, in the soft quiet of the parlor room, you sat at the upright piano. The room was dimly lit, dust dancing lazily through the sunlight that filtered through the slats. Your fingers moved slowly across the ivory keys, tentative, delicate, like they were testing the floor after a storm.

You weren’t playing anything in particular. Just letting the notes bleed out of you. You’d calmed enough to stop shaking, but your breathing still came uneven, and now and then a sniffle would escape, quiet, involuntary.

Your voice, too, broke through in fragments. A soft murmur, barely audible, singing the words you half-remembered from somewhere long ago:

“At least the sea where liberty…will stand in place to seek the rule...the world…”

Then—knock, knock, knock.

Your hands froze mid-phrase. The final note rang out, hung in the air for a moment, and faded.

You sat still for a second, staring ahead. Then, with a soft sigh, you wiped at your cheeks and rested your hands on your thighs, grounding yourself before rising to your feet.

You moved toward the door slowly, hesitantly. “Who’s there?”

A voice answered, muffled but clear. “Letter carrier.”

You opened the door just a crack at first, cautious. A tall man stood there in a dust-coated coat, eyes politely lowered. “D/N L/N?”

You blinked. “…I’m his daughter.”

He gave a slight bow of the head, pressing a knuckle to the brim of his hat as he extended a single envelope.

“Delivered express. No charge today, miss.”

“…Thank you,” you murmured, taking it gingerly.

Without another word, you shut the door quietly behind you.

But you didn’t move.

You stood in the stillness of the hallway, eyes fixed on the card in your hands. The envelope was thin, off-white, sealed with a wax crest you didn’t recognize. You hadn’t even broken the seal yet, but your breath had caught in your throat, held hostage by whatever it might contain.

You pressed the card to your chest and stood there in silence, listening to the wind outside… and the sound of someone’s boots approaching, slowly, from beyond the porch.

You’d always respected your father’s privacy. His letters, his papers, his silences, you never once crossed that line. But this card...something about it didn’t sit right. It wasn’t the seal or the handwriting, it was the strange, heavy feeling in your chest the moment you touched it. Like a warning, almost.

A little glance…won’t do no harm, you told yourself.

You sat down on the worn velvet seat by the piano, folding your skirt beneath you. The envelope trembled slightly in your fingers as you broke the wax seal with care. The paper inside was thick and slightly yellowed at the edges, freshly written, but old in the way it made you feel.

You let out a quiet sniff as your eyes scanned the words.

Your lips moved silently, murmuring the contents like you needed to hear them out loud to believe them.

"Sent under discreet channel—by order and concern of the council. As of the latest developments in our district, the following names must be accounted for and relocated in silence. All moves must be made without suspicion or any hint of escape. Towns and villages are not to be warned in advance. Targeted searches will increase over the next days. Those named are considered priority for transfer, regardless of social or familial status. If resistance arises, secondary measures may be initiated..."

Your brow furrowed.

What…?

As you read further, you recognized several names. Men who worked with your father, names you’d overheard over dinner or in passing through his study. Associates from other cities, maybe even counties. You had never thought much of them. Just business. And then, your name.

“Y/N L/N.”

Right there in the middle of the list. No title, no explanation. Just your name, bold and solitary on the line.

“…without any hint of escape…”

You blinked at the words. Your fingers tightened around the edges of the letter.

“Why…?” you murmured.

Your heart began to beat a little faster, slow and uneven. You read the paragraph again. And again. The message didn’t explain much, just orders. Instructions. Warnings disguised in formal language.

Relocated in silence. Targeted searches. Priority for transfer.

You swallowed hard. The names kept running together now, the letters blurring slightly as the weight of it pressed down on your chest.

Why were you on that list?

Why would someone send this to your father, in secret, and include you?

You stared at the letter, the silence in the room suddenly deafening. The soft scent of dust and old wood from the piano didn’t soothe you anymore. You weren’t just scared.

You were suddenly aware that whatever was happening, it had already started.

The midday sun hung heavy in the sky, casting long blades of light through the thinning branches overhead. A dry breeze rustled through the grass, brushing over the scattered straw where Kaiser lay stretched out, hands behind his head, coat spread beneath him. His white horse grazed nearby, nosing at a patch of wild clover with lazy interest.

Kaiser’s eyes were closed, his face relaxed, almost boyish in the rare moment of quiet. One leg bent at the knee, boot rocking gently in rhythm to some half-thought tune in his head.

"Do ya think she’ll like it?" he asked aloud, voice muffled slightly by the arm he’d thrown over his eyes.

The horse huffed softly.

"Hm? Why you not answerin’?" he teased, lifting the arm to squint over at her. “Tch. Ungrateful.”

The mare gave a slow flick of her ears and went back to chewing.

“Uhum...she’ll like it. Of course she will. She’s not that heartless,” he said with a lopsided grin, letting his head fall back into the straw. His voice lowered to a murmur, more to himself than anyone. “Y/N, Y/N… Y/N…”

He said your name like it had just occurred to him how it really sounded, how it tasted when spoken softly, without rage or urgency. He stretched it out, slow and thoughtful, like a name carried on wind.

“You know,” he began, almost conspiratorial, “I had a dream ‘bout her last night.”

The horse didn’t look up.

“She was in my bed,” he continued, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips. “You should’ve seen her,” he muttered to the horse, who didn’t so much as glance up. “She looked so damn soft. Weren’t wearin’ no corset, no boots, nothin’ that kept her distant.”

He smiled to himself, slow and private.

“She laid next to me, no anger, no glare, no tension in her brow. Just…quiet. Just her. She had her hand on my chest like she meant to stay there.” His fingers pressed lightly to his own sternum, right where he remembered the warmth of your palm. “And she kissed me. Real slow-like. Not rushed. Not ‘cause we were drunk or pissed off. Just ‘cause she wanted to.”

His voice dipped lower.

“I remember her voice. Whisperin’ things she’d never say while awake. Callin’ me by my first name like it was a secret. Told me she missed me. Said I made her feel safe.”

His eyes fluttered shut at the memory, lips parting just a bit.

“She touched me so gentle, I thought I’d imagined it. Her fingers ran down my neck, my arms, like she was memorizing me. And when she climbed on top, she didn’t say a word. Just looked at me…like I was hers. and then…god”

A dry laugh escaped him.

“Never seen her look like that. So sure. So warm. Like she knew what she wanted and it was me, no one else.”

He paused, the grin fading slightly into something more fragile.

“And I held her close, real close,  her breath on my skin, her heartbeat next to mine.”

He rolled onto his side in the straw, facing the horse now.

“I didn’t want to wake up,” he admitted, voice hoarse.

The horse gave a small snort but didn’t move.

Kaiser sighed, brushing a hand down his face.

“She ain’t ever looked at me like that in real life. Maybe she never will.”

He reached over to his saddlebag and fingered the corner of the blue ribbon peeking out.

“But maybe she’ll wear the ribbon. And maybe that’s a start. But I’m still mad at her ok?”

He leaned back again, the name still dancing unspoken at the edge of his mouth. And for the first time in hours, he let himself hope. " I think she’s good in bed," Kaiser murmured, eyes half-lidded as he stretched out on the straw with a dopey grin. “Especially on top - A-OUCH!”

THWACK!

A thick leather belt snapped across his backside like a viper. He jolted upright with a yelp, rolling halfway over and clutching his hip.

“Ah! Miss Ir—ow ow ow—Miss Irene, why?!” he whined like a caught schoolboy.

Behind him stood the small, sturdy silhouette of Ms. Irene, arms crossed, her Sunday apron stained from cooking, and her belt already pulled back for a second swing.

“Been callin’ you for lunch for the past ten minutes, you little mule!” she barked, wagging the belt like a sheriff's badge. “You out here layin’ in dirt talkin’ about bed things like a fool in heat, leave your filthy dreams alone and get your boots in the kitchen!”

“You heard me?” Kaiser asked, scandalized.

“Yes, I did! Heard every damn word, and may God strike me blind if I ever hear it again!”

“I thought you had hearing problems-”

WHACK.

The second lash came quicker than a rattlesnake’s strike. He scrambled back, holding up his hands in surrender while laughing through his flinch. “Okay, okay! I’m coming, I’m coming-!” he cried, rolling to the other side, only to thud hard off the haystack.

He hit the ground with a grunt and a puff of straw, face down, groaning. “You fight like a veteran,” he muttered into the grass, rubbing his sore rear.

His horse, hearing the commotion, trotted over with a slow clip-clop and poked him gently in the ribs with her nose.

“I know, I know,” Kaiser sighed, rolling onto his back and brushing off his shirt. He reached up and gave her a little pat between the ears. “Stay here, alright? Don’t eat the ribbon.”

The mare flicked her tail, unimpressed.

Kaiser stood, brushing hay from his pants, wincing slightly with every step as he limped after Ms. Irene, who was already muttering about “young fools and their rotten brains.” The warm scent of stew and roasted vegetables filled the old wooden kitchen. The table creaked as Kaiser leaned forward with a lazy grin, one hand holding a fork like it was a revolver.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Ms. Irene muttered as she brought over a basket of fresh bread. “Twelve years, dealin’ with the same creature.”

“Mind you, I’m twenty-one now” Kaiser said, puffing out his chest proudly.

“Still growing,” she replied flatly without missing a beat.

Kaiser scoffed. “At least I got a little more mature now, no?”

“Not at all,” Ms. Irene quipped, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Awwwhh…” Kaiser pouted, slumping in his seat like a scolded puppy.

“You did get a little more mature,” came Mr. Ritter’s gravelly voice from behind a rustling newspaper. “Don’t listen to her.”

“See? Nice observation,” Kaiser smirked, turning his smug face toward Irene only for her to walk over and dab his mouth with a towel like he was a toddler. “What was that for?!”

“Eat your vegetables,” she ordered sternly.

“I don’t like ‘em. They’re green.”

“Michael.”

“I hate broccoli,” he grumbled.

“Michael Kaiser.”

“Fine…” he groaned, poking the broccoli with the tines of his fork like it had personally wronged him.

“You want me to feed you again?”

“Nononononono—!” he blurted in panic, shooting her a horrified look.

“Then eat.”

Ms. Irene marched back to the sink, mumbling something under her breath about “overgrown children and empty heads.”

Kaiser huffed dramatically and rested his cheek against his palm, sulking into his plate. “I come back here after nine months and this is how I get treated. I’m not ten anymore,” he muttered, spinning a single carrot like a roulette wheel.

“For us, you are,” Mr. Ritter said, lowering his newspaper with a smirk. “Our little cricket.”

Kaiser barely had time to react before the old man ruffled his hair, rough and affectionate.

“Jeez stop ittt!” Kaiser groaned, batting his hand away while laughing. “Y’all are lucky I like you.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t tan your hide for the things you said to your horse,” Irene called from the kitchen.

"for your information, her name is Athena" Kaiser slumped even lower in his seat, muttering, “and I said I was comin’ to lunch…”

The broccoli remained untouched. “You don’t understand how perfect she is to me,” Kaiser said, turning on his heel with theatrical flair. One hand on his chest, the other gesturing to the heavens, his smirk full of smug devotion. “Y/n was made for me.”

Ms. Irene didn’t even look up from kneading dough. “Mmmhmm.”

“I’m tellin’ you, she’s got that glow, the kind only the good ones got. I can tell she’d be great with kids.”

“You’d be enough for her to babysit,” she replied dryly, patting the dough flat with a sharp thwack.

Kaiser’s face dropped. “Okay, that’s harsh”

He stood up from the chair but something caught his eye, a photo album and numerous faded pictures scattered on a shelf. He paused mid-step and reached for the album, curiosity overtaking his fatigue.

“Wow, wow, wow…What’s this?” he murmured, flipping through its pages. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he discovered snapshots of himself when he was just a kid.

He picked up a particular photo, squinting as he examined it. A kid with a crooked grin stared back at him, all front teeth and scabbed knees, golden hair a wild mess.

“I look adorable,” Kaiser smirked, holding it up like a trophy.

“You were ten there,” Mr. Ritter replied, not even glancing up from his chair.

Kaiser chuckled, flipping to another picture. Then another. His smirk softened. His fingers slowed. The more he looked, the quieter he became.

“I was cute,” he said with a chuckle.

“You were eleven here,” came the steady voice of the man who had helped you earlier, leaning casually against the wall.

Kaiser’s smile widened as he studied the image. “How come I’ve never seen these before?”

The man nodded toward the album. “We lost this album for a few years. Didn’t get a chance to show it to you. This picture-” he pointed gently at one photo, “-was taken on the very same day you came here.”

Kaiser examined the photo closely. Compared to the other pictures, his eyes in this one were dark and tired, as if they had recorded not just a day, but a lifetime of weary determination.

“Anymore important memories, huh?” he murmured, voice soft with a mix of nostalgia and wonder. “I gotta go.”

“Already?” Ms. Irene asked, half-amused and half-concerned.

“Important stuff to do,” Kaiser replied with a wry smile.

With one last glance at the photos and the memories they held, he turned and headed to his room to change, leaving behind the remnants of his childhood, and maybe, just maybe, the promise of new beginnings.

He didn’t want them to see it, but a part of him was still raw, still quietly burning. All from you. And yet, he didn’t want to be mad at you. He couldn’t be, not really. So he swallowed it down, bit back the sting, tucked the ache where the rest of his storms lived, and shut the door behind him.

A beat of silence passed.

"MICHAEL, YOU DIDN’T EAT YOUR VEGGIES!!" came Ms. Irene’s shrill voice from the kitchen, piercing through the house like a bullet through peace.

Kaiser groaned from behind the door. “I knew I forgot something.”

he blinked. Once. Twice.

Then frowned.

He looked over the edge of his bed, only to be met with the sight of Shidou, lounging on the floor like he owned the place, arms behind his head, legs crossed.

“The hell you doing here?”

Kaiser didn’t bother sounding surprised. He knew better than to think a locked door would ever stop Shidou.

“Missed my favorite little bedbug,” Shidou smirked, teeth flashing. “Besides, thought you might wanna hear the latest disaster.”

Kaiser didn’t respond. He just stared, waiting for the inevitable madness.

Shidou sat up with a lazy stretch and spun his body around to face him, cross-legged like a mischievous schoolboy. “Remember that geezer from earlier? Somehow he escaped. Don’t ask me how, probably slipped through a drunk guard’s shadow or some dumb shit.”

Kaiser just raised a brow. Still not reacting.

Shidou grinned wider, undeterred. “Yeah, well, the bastard went straight for revenge, or insanity, who knows. Burnt down a flower shop with one of his old war buddies. A flower shop, bro. The one owned by that sweet lady with the cats? Gone. Toast. Ashes.”

“...How do you miss that bad?” Kaiser muttered under his breath, annoyed but not surprised.

“Right?” Shidou laughed, flopping back onto the bed before propping himself on his elbows. “Anyway. We figured we’d soften him up a bit first, y’know, break the man down.”

Kaiser glanced at him warily. “What the hell does that mean.”

Shidou wiggled his eyebrows. “We tossed him in a room with a few of the local ladies of the night.”

“Jesus Christ-”

“One round in,” Shidou interrupted with a flourish of his hand, “and the guy loses his damn mind. Starts yelling about ghosts, heaven, his wife, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Then boom. Drops dead. Right there. Pants still on his ankles.”

Kaiser stared at him, arms crossed, unimpressed. “That’s not a story. That’s a war crime.”

“And that’s showbiz, baby,” Shidou replied with a wink.

“Oh- and one of the prostitutes took a bullet. Some trigger-happy idiot thought she was holding a knife. She was holding a shoe. And yeah then the old man disappeared after the shot”

Kaiser groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

Shidou beamed. “So. What’ve you been up to?”

taglist: @jjklover365daysayear @silverwings920 @bach-ira @rroxii @byzantiumhollow @amy-briar03 @ladykamos @emikikus18 @chuua-l0ver

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 18: Toes and Hands

As always, thanks for the love on this fic and art ❤️

22 Days until Competition

Elain grimaced all throughout practice, which only lasted forty-five minutes before Azriel called it off. He was fine with it, truly, as he’d worked his body overtime the night prior to secure a win for the Ice Warriors against the Day Region’s team, Sun Valley Scorpions, pushing them one step closer to the championship. They hadn’t argued about ending practice, but Elain was more insistent than usual that she needed to finish. 

“Something’s wrong,” Az observed gently, to which Elain huffed. He didn’t want to comment on the dark circles under her eyes just in case she was feeling particularly testy. 

“What’s wrong is we’re standing here talking when we should be skating,” Elain said a bit sharply.

Azriel’s brows shot into his hairline at the tone. She sighed, rubbing her eyes with a fist. “I’m sorry. I’m just…really tired today. I didn’t sleep much last night.” 

Azriel nodded. His own sleep schedule had been fucked up plenty of times, thanks to the many nightmares from his childhood. They were few and far between now, ever since they were slowly being replaced with dreams of Elain’s smile, her laugh, and sometimes even her naked body writhing under him. He slept particularly well on those nights. 

“I’m tired, too. Why don’t we call it a day? Come on, I'll take you out to lunch.”

Elain mustered up enough energy to grace him with a smile. It wasn’t her usual dazzling grin that made his heart pound, but a slight upward tilt of her mouth was better than the hard line it’d been set in. “That’s okay. You go ahead, I’m going to stay for a little while longer.” 

Now, lunch did sound appealing, and her belly had rumbled a few times since she’d set foot in the rink. But lunch was a distraction right now. He was a distraction. Mama had said so herself years ago, and had come back last night to remind her just how far she was straying from the ultimate goal. 

Az tried not to let his face convey his true feelings as he pressed a parting kiss to her head, and a few rapid ones on her cheek just to pull a faint chuckle from her lips. From the ice rink door, he watched Elain float to the middle of the ice, oblivious to the fact he was watching her intently, as one would do during an interrogation.

He discovered her movements were…off. Normally strong legs weren't solid, but rather alarmingly light. Almost as if she wasn’t putting any pressure on her feet. He watched as she eased into their routine, and it was fine at first, but sometime during the third twizzle Elain’s legs had given out. Her cry hadn’t even registered to his ears before he was dashing across the ice and scooping her into his arms. 

“I knew something was fucking wrong,” He muttered to himself, cheek pressed against her sweaty forehead. Elain’s sniffle tore through his chest as he proclaimed sternly, “We’re done for the day.” 

She didn’t protest this time around as he set her down on the bench outside of the ice, right next to her opened skating bag. Hurriedly, he shucked off his own skates and slid on his sneakers. 

He knew something had been wrong, and he was a fool to let her keep skating when she was visibly in pain. And she had been a fool for thinking he hadn’t noticed. 

Elain’s whimpers snagged his attention, and he knelt before her to help remove her skates, but when he saw the sight before him, Azriel inhaled sharply. 

“Elain,” he said, voice broken as he gingerly took her ankle in his hand. “What…happened?”

True horror is what happened. Her pale purple socks were torn at the toes, and crimson blood soaked through them. Speechless, he glanced between Elain’s feet and her tear stained cheeks. “It hurts, Az,” Elain said through a sob, hands braced on her knees as her nails dug into her leggings. She couldn't bring herself to look down at the gruesome scene. Couldn’t force herself to look at what she'd done. 

Azriel swallowed, softly taking his hands from her swollen feet to shove the skates in her bag. “I know, sweetheart. I’m going to take care of you, okay?” He didn’t even want to attempt sliding on her fuzzy boots. Instead, once her bag was packed and zipped, he flung their bags over his shoulders and carried Elain straight to his car. She clung to him the whole time. 

Elain was settled on his couch, a blanket thrown over her lap as she waited for Azriel to emerge from the bathroom. Her feet throbbed, and she tried to ignore the pain by focusing on the Night Region’s Weather Channel, to no avail. 

There was no good reason for Elain to complain, she realized. She’d done this to herself. 

The light in the bathroom flicked off, and Azriel emerged with a square tub filled with water, a black towel over his shoulder, a pair of scissors in one of his sweatpants pockets, two random tubes of gels or creams in the opposite, and some kind of athletic bandage in his mouth. 

“I could have helped you, you know,” Elain offered softly, shifting her legs so Azriel could set the small tub between her feet. He fished out the supplies from his pockets, discarding them on the coffee table before sitting criss-crossed on the floor, the tub a barrier between them. 

He raised one dark brow, looking from her feet to her face, conveying his thoughts in a single expression. No, you couldn’t have. 

Azriel reached for the scissors, and Elain froze. “What are you doing?” 

“Your socks,” he breathed a slight tremble, “are sticking to your wounds because of the blood. Pulling them off is going to cause you more pain, so I’m going to cut them. Is that all right?” 

She nodded, and he soon got to work cutting and shredding the unsalvageable socks. With the socks removed, both Azriel and Elain could see the extent of her wounds. Some of her toenails were bent and cracked. Cuts and blisters had begun to form, and most of the blood was clotted, but it was still heavily caked onto her skin. Parts of her feet looked rubbed raw. Azriel’s heart broke all over again. She wasn’t going to tell him, not until she was ready. So instead of insisting that she talk to him, he simply said, “The water in this tub is warm. I added a few salts that will help with lessening the inflammation, which should ease your pain.” He took his time cradling each foot, slowly lowering them into the water. 

Elain hissed through her teeth. “Fuck.”

On any other day, Azriel would have laughed at her use of profanity. Not today. 

Today, his heart bled alongside her toes. 

He grabbed the first tube from the table and unscrewed the cap. The smell of mint filled the room, and Elain, shoving down the protests that were seconds from spilling, sat back and kept her mouth shut as he did what he vowed to do. 

Take care of her. 

Az rolled the leggings up to her kneecaps, and if he noticed her unshaved calves, he didn’t feel the need to comment on it. Instead, he squirted the cream into his palms, throwing a soft glance her way before massaging his fingers into her skin. 

And, on any other day, his cock would’ve hardened at the relieved moan that passed through her mouth, but this wasn’t the time nor the place. 

“That feel good?” Okay…maybe he could afford to be the tiniest bit smug, though. 

“You have no idea,” Elain mumbled, fascinated by the way his hands rubbed the tension from her legs. She couldn't tear her eyes away from them. 

They sat in silence with only the background noise from the television filling the room. Elain watched his fingers, and he watched her. 

And then her eyes shifted to the tub water that had pinkened. She swallowed thickly and finally looked up, meeting concerned hazel eyes and whispered, “Sometimes Mama made me skate until my toes bled.” 

Azriel’s teeth sunk into the plushness of his bottom lip. 

“It wasn’t all the time, though it happened often enough that I could expect to ruin one pair of socks every other week. She was never satisfied, but on the days she was feeling particularly brutal, I suffered the most.” 

She exhaled a shaky breath, trying to concentrate on Azriel’s thumbs digging into her calf muscles. 

“I had a dream last night.” 

“About what?” 

“About us.” 

Azriel halted. 

“It was a good dream, don’t worry.” A very good dream indeed. “Am I allowed to ask what we were doing in this dream?” He asked lowly, a hint of a knowing smirk making his face look lighter, boyish. 

Elain blushed. “You can ask, but I’m not going to tell you.” 

Azriel laughed, shaking his head. “I guess I’ll have to use my imagination, then.” 

A heartbeat of silence followed. 

“I had a nightmare too,” Elain continued, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Azriel used one side of the black towel to wipe the excess lotion from his hands, and then the other side to brush water droplets and dried blood from her feet. “It was Mama.” 

He nodded, snatching the second tube from the table. It was a clear gel with a slight blue tint, and he carefully applied it to each cut and blister. “I figured.” 

“It was awful,” Elain whispered, not caring about the tears falling down her cheeks. “I woke up in a panic and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't go back to sleep. Everything replayed over and over in my mind until I finally snapped. And I know it wasn’t smart but her words,” Elain choked out, “They were so harsh, so damn loud, and I thought the only way to make them stop would be to skate. So I went to the rink four hours before our practice and just…let everything out.” 

Azriel didn’t say anything while he began wrapping her feet in protective bandages. 

“I was able to focus on the pain, but I…I pushed myself too far today,” Elain admitted. “Even when I’m sleeping, she has control over me. It’s exhausting, Az. I’m so tired.” 

When her feet were properly cleaned and thoroughly bandaged, Azriel leaned forward and dusted the lightest of kisses on her skin. He trailed his lips up and down her calves, grazed them over her bandages, until he pulled back and said to a red cheeked Elain, “You deserved a mother who was kind to you, Elain. Someone who supported you and loved you. Not one whose mission in life was to break you.” 

Elain nodded, wiping tears from her jawline. 

“She has a hold on you,” Azriel said, standing from the floor so he could settle beside her on the couch. “And there is going to come a day where you break free from that hold. And when you do,” His heart skipped a beat when she shifted on the sofa so that her head rested in his lap. His hand naturally went to her hair, running through the wavy golden strands. “When you do, I’m going to be here.”

Elain, content to lie in Azriel’s lap, fell asleep to the feeling of his hand stroking her hair. When she would wake up hours later, the only proof that she had also fallen asleep holding his hand, was tucked away in Azriel’s camera roll. 

Hours later, Elain woke to the smell of herbs and spices. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she twisted on the leather couch and peered into the kitchen, a soft smile gracing her face as she watched Azriel at the stove, flipping chunks of meat and vegetables in a pan. 

She pushed off the sofa, feet aching as she padded into his kitchen. Quiet as a seasoned spy, she crept behind him, glanced over his shoulder, and said, “Stir fry?” 

Az grinned. “Hey you. I hope you’re hungry. I might not know my way around the kitchen as well as you do, but stir fry is my specialty.” 

As if on cue, Elain’s tummy rumbled in answer. “Clearly, I’m starving.” 

While Azriel finished the stir fry, Elain gathered plates, utensils, napkins, and drinks to set the table. The atmosphere was rather domestic, but both of them tried not to think too much into it. 

They chatted happily while chowing down on the stir fry, which Elain went back to get seconds of. After they ate, Elain insisted on doing the dishes as a thank you for cooking, but Azriel simply picked her up and perched her on the island as he took care of everything.

Whatever. Watching his backside was more entertaining than rinsing off plates, anyway. 

Sitting there with nothing to do only allowed for her mind to wander into a territory she’d tried to keep it away from. And as he wiped his hands on a dish towel and winked in her direction, Elain finally admitted to herself what she’d been feeling all these weeks. 

She liked him. And it might have been fast, her progression of feelings, but she knew lying to herself would get her absolutely nowhere. She could say it to herself, but he didn’t need to know. She cherished their relationship as it was now, and there was no way she could lose it by telling him she wanted him in a way that was more than friendship. 

“I have a surprise for you,” Azriel’s voice ripped her from her thoughts. She blinked, smiling. “Close your eyes, El.” 

She did, and tried to guess why he was shuffling all around the kitchen. Why was there so much noise? Finally, he said, “Open.” 

Her eyes zeroed in on the countertop, taking in the flour, sugar, butter, the raisins…

“You bought ingredients for oatmeal raisin cookies?” Elain slid off the island, eyes shimmering as she glanced up to him. “Why?”

Az rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. “Back at the bakery, you told me you make oatmeal raisin cookies when you’re sad. You were pretty damn sad today, so I wanted to help in whatever way I could.” 

A simple gesture solidified her feelings. 

Elain really, really, really, liked Azriel. 

She hoped the way she threw her arms around his neck conveyed it. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Azriel halted his chewing. They were seated on the couch again, a random sports game playing on the television. Elain’s head was buried in his lap once more, balancing the ceramic plate of warm oatmeal cookies on her stomach.

“Is it something dirty?” He couldn’t stop himself from wiggling his brows. 

She reached up to flick his cheek. He tried to nip her fingers. “No. It's something…serious.” 

Az shifted under her, and she watched something dark flash in his eyes. Elain wondered if he already knew what she wanted to ask. 

“Will you ever tell me the story of what happened to your hands?” Elain questioned lightly, not wanting to pry. “You don’t have to, of course. But I…” She bit her lip. “You are my friend, Az. You know more about me than anyone else in my life. Even the darkest parts. I’d like to get to know more about you, too. On your terms.” 

It was a fair question. One he knew he'd have to answer sooner rather than later if he wanted to continue building their relationship. Friendship, as Elain said. He smiled at that. 

“I’ll tell you,” Az responded, eyes tracking the way her silky strands fell through his fingers. “It’s not a story that has a happy ending, though.”

Elain swallowed, pondering what kind of horrors he’d been subjected to. Linking their free hands, she said, “I can handle it.” 

Azriel’s thumb brushed over her knuckles, and then, “I didn’t have the best childhood,” He started. “Before I was born, my father Elgar already had a wife, Sian, and two sons, Steffan and Jeston, who demanded to be called Jes. She was a wicked woman, and her sons were just as cruel.” 

“I was the product of an affair, seven years into their marriage,” He explained, twirling a strand of her hair. “Elgar bedded my mother, Naomia, one night when he and Sian were having one of their weekly arguments. I stayed with them the majority of the time after I was born because my mother barely had enough money to support herself, no matter how hard she tried or how much she worked. I saw her once a week, and it was the only time I ever smiled or laughed or…felt alive.”  

“When I got older, my brothers thought it would be fun to hurt me,” Azriel spat the word brothers. Rightfully so. “Torture is a better word for what they did to me. My pain was amusing to them, and they tried every way to inflict the most of it. Usually nothing worked, until one day they had the brilliant idea to see how long my oil covered hands could last over a burning fire.” 

Elain inhaled sharply. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, and he brushed it away for her. “No tears, pretty. I’m okay.” 

“They hurt you,” she murmured in horror. “You were just a little boy and they hurt you.” 

“They did,” Azriel said, eyes distant. A bit shyly, he admitted, “I still can’t look at my hands sometimes. I haven’t gotten used to them even after all these years. I know they frighten people. And I try not to touch anyone, but it’s inevitable.” 

At that, Elain grabbed the cookies and placed them on the table. She sat up quickly, spinning around until she faced him. Azriel remained still, hands now clasped between his thighs. She reached for them, interlocking their fingers. “I think they’re beautiful.”

His lips twitched. “Elain, you don’t have to–.” 

“I mean it,” She said, voice filled to the brim with conviction. She wouldn't let him believe his hands were anything less than beautiful. “I’ve never been frightened of them. Not when you’ve held my hand or grazed my neck or caught me before falling on the ice. I have never, and will never, be afraid of them.” 

Elain had never seen him cry until that night. Making sure she didn’t bump her aching feet, she scooched toward him, as close as she could without sitting on his lap, and cradled his face. She kissed away his tears, and then brought his head to rest on her collarbone, one hand scratching his scalp delicately. 

This man. 

This kind, selfless, beautiful man had been through such pain, such tragedy, that she wanted to absorb it and carry it for him. She knew what it felt like to hurt. To harvest insecurities from wounds inflicted by those who were supposed to love them. 

Azriel. Sweet, lovely Azriel, who deserved nothing less than pure goodness. Who deserved to know he was perfect in her eyes, in every way that mattered. 

She would kiss his scarred hands until he learned to love them. 

ART FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: HERE

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Sweet Honey Bee

Fandom: DC Comics, Flashfam

Summary: Bart tries to uncover the seemingly sinister deeds going on at the campus while visiting Thad's art school.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Thad Thawne, Bart Allen, Meloni Thawne, Don Allen, President Thawne

Additional Tags: Bart and Thad Smoke Weed in This, Ballet AU, No Powers AU, Dark Academia, Boarding School AU, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Swap, Protective Siblings, Family Bonding

Chapter Two: Waxing Poetic

Thad hyperventilated as he dropped into the ice bath. His muscles ached, and his hands shook as he reached over and pulled a lighter from his bag. Thad pulled a plastic baggie of blunts underneath his clothes and lit one between his lips. He shut his eyes, taking a puff and indulging in the taste of rosemary and mint. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sweat dripped down his brow. Running one hand through his hair, he used the other to tap the ashes away, and a sob escaped his lips. “Oh god,” Thad wept. He allowed himself the luxury of a few tears before he finished smoking his blunt, and his timer went off. Thad fully submerged himself, got out of the ice water, and wrapped up in a towel. He composed himself and changed into a pair of cutoff sweatpants and a thermal. His hair was limp and dripping wet as he contemplated smoking one more blunt to keep his nerves in check.

The bell rang for dinnertime, and Thad picked up his belongings, stashing everything away methodically before rushing toward the mess hall. A boy from his class bumped into him. “Deus, we missed you in the physical therapy office,” he whispered.

“My family’s here for the weekend. I’ll be there on Monday,” Thad answered. The boy nodded seriously and stepped out of the way, allowing Thad to enter the mess hall where his family stood waiting. “I thought that girl was gonna throw a serious fit,” Bart chuckled, “You shoulda seen her face, Teej.”

“She already hates my guts. Tell me you didn’t play into it,” Thad whispered.

“Your hair’s soaked,” Bart noted as he took one strand of Thad’s limp hair. It’d already started to curl again. Thad recoiled. He didn’t want Bart to get too close and notice something wrong. “You okay?”

“Mhm… Starving. Aren’t you?” Thad asked. The truth was, he couldn’t muster an appetite most days after rehearsal. He was too tired to do anything other than sleep. Smoking helped. They got in line, and Thad wavered as the high kicked in. He shut his eyes and breathed through his nose. Bart piled his plate, watching his brother from the corner of his eye as their parents and grandparents tried to maintain civil silence.

Thad opened his eyes and pressed his palms against his eyelids. “Feeling alright, Sparky?” Don questioned. Thad nodded.

“Yeah… Tired, but I’m so happy you guys are here,” Thad replied as he ate his vegetables. “Mew? Do you have a sauce packet?” Bart dug into his pocket and gave Thad three chili sauces.

“Sunshine,” Meloni whispered.

“I knew somebody would forget,” Bart replied, “And I didn’t even take that many.”

Meloni rubbed Thad’s back, and he took a breath. “This isn’t too much pressure, is it?” Meloni asked. “I know you want to make everyone proud, but we’re already so proud of you.” Meloni kissed his forehead.

Thad set his fork down and hid his face in his hands. “I’m okay… I—. Thank you,” Thad whispered. He didn’t want to cry in front of them. He never cried in front of anyone except their aunt, and she wasn’t there.

“Hey, Sparky… We’re here for you, and we’re so happy to see you,” Don whispered, “Isn’t that right, Mr. Thawne?”

“TJ, you’ve surpassed all expectations, and you should be proud of yourself,” Mr. Thawne replied. Don smiled.

“Thank you, Grandpa Teddy,” Thad whispered, “Thanks, Mom and Dad.”

“That was super nice, Mr. Thawne,” Don smiled. Mr. Thawne nodded.

"Teej," Bart whispered, and they made eye contact. Bart locked in, and Thad nodded. "Yeah?"

Thad knew what Bart meant. He planned on sneaking out to visit him after lights out. They always slept in the same room after being apart. That, and he knew Bart could tell he was high. "Uh-huh," Thad nodded.

He shut his eyes and woke up in his bedroom, holding a blunt while Bart rambled on. "Earth to TJ," Bart replied as he took a hit.

"What's wrong with me?" Thad mumbled.

"We're like two and a half joints in… Want me to kill this one?" Bart asked. Thad nodded. "Why don't you tell Mom and Dad this is too much? I understand why you didn't say anything in front of Grandpa Teddy at dinner—."

"We can truly love only with suffering and through suffering. We know not how to love otherwise. We know no other love. I want suffering in order to love. I want and thirst this very minute to kiss, with tears streaming down my cheeks, this one and only I have left behind. I don't want and won't accept any other," Thad quoted. Bart took the blunt from him and chuckled awkwardly. "That's Fyodor Dostoevsky… Why are you laughing?"

"For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love," Bart replied, "Carl Sagan… Now that's love." Bart took another hit and coughed. "Do you know no one will ever love us as much as we love each other? We were born holding hands, slipping beautifully out of the void of nonexistence into existence together. No one will know you like me. And no one will know me like you. We have every reason to hate each other, knowing all the other's flaws, but we love each other. Don't we, Teej?" Thad laid his head on Bart's lap.

"We smoked too much," Thad whispered, "But, yeah… I love you so much."

Bart tossed the roach in a plastic baggie. "Where's your roommate?" Bart asked.

"He's in the wellness center," Thad answered, "He has the flu."

Bart made a soft noise. "I'm ready to turn in." Thad moved over.

"Sleep right here this time? I'm scared," Thad mumbled as he shut his eyes. Bart turned out the lights and rolled onto his side.

"I know... I could feel it," Bart whispered, "When you're ready to tell me why, I'll be here." Thad didn't speak any further.

[avidya-musings]

Struck Too Far

Scaramouche (pre-3.3 Archon Quest) x reader

In which you, a lower-ranking Fatui, sacrifice yourself to save your lover, Scaramouche.

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

cw - angst . character death (reader) . Scaramouche is still Fatui and goes by his Fatui aliases . no comfort . TW; mentions of being shot

Banner art is by Sirwicca on TikTok!

A/N: please note there may be mixed lines between 3rd and 1st person since I had to do a lot of edits (because this was originally a story with an OC in the place of the reader), so forgive me for that, I don’t think I was able to fix it all 😭

It wasn’t supposed to have come to this. That much, Scaramouche was painfully aware of.

You shouldn’t be on the floor, bleeding to death in front of him — and he shouldn’t have even been attacked. You shouldn’t have jumped in the way of the arrow meant to hit him. And yet, with a smile; innocent expression, you had gladly taken the attack in his place.

“You idiot..!” Why did he feel something wet on his face? He wasn’t crying. He never cried. “Why.. why did you..” but he can’t bear to finish his sentence. If he did, then that would mean this was real. 

He would never let it be real.  He couldn’t.

Not for his sake, but for the sake of the bloodstained person laying in front of him.. you, his lover. His light. A hand on his cheek snaps him out of his thoughts. He meets your soft eyes with his own cold, anguished expression. “Better me than you,” you tell him, “the others need you, Scara. But they don’t need me.” “You’re wrong!” His voice was strained, on the edge of a hurt scream mixed with a sob. “You’re wrong, y/n, they- I-“

“‘Kuzushi.” 

Scaramouche froze. 

You never use that name with him, not unless you absolutely have to.  And it was then that it dawned on him, all too late, that there wouldn’t be any possible way to save you - why else were you calling him by his true name now?

“Kuzushi. You always told me that I should prove myself.. earn respect in a way that only I can. And for me.. it’s showing my loyalty. That’s how I’ve reached the point I’m at. By proving my loyalty.” You smile weakly, squeezing Scaramouche’s hand. “But.. I’m nothing more than a pawn in the Tsaritsa’s plan - while you are a vital asset.”

Scaramouche wanted to argue against that statement, so badly. But he also knew you were right. His life played a huge role in the Tsaritsa’s plans.  And the plain, ugly truth was that while his life was valuable to the Cryo Archon, your own life meant next to nothing to the Tsaritsa.

So instead of arguing, or yelling, he let himself sit there, numb, as he holds you in his arms while you speak - praying that there would be more time.. that he could have more time with you. It was selfish, but it was all he wanted, now, in this moment. Oh, how he regretted all the times he had pushed you away when he was in his moods. 

Time was cruel, and death was, too. 

You take in a breath, struggling now, “So, if me giving up my life means you.. you can continue to carve your legacy, then.. I don’t think I mind.” “You’re a fool, y/n.. you’re such a fool!” Scaramouche wants to yell at you so badly, call you an idiot for taking the attack meant for him, but he knows it won’t matter. 

You had always been stubborn since the day the both of you met.

“That makes you a bigger fool, then, my Balladeer..” you chuckle weakly, your life ebbing away from you, “you knew it would be this way. I always told you.. that I would give my own life to see yours through, if it came to that..” “Stop it-“ “You know I can’t..” even now, you have that soft, innocent look in your gaze. How could you act like everything would be fine when you were dying? 

He breathes in sharply, “just stop, y/n, please- just STOP!” He hates feeling that he is showing weakness, and he hates feeling vulnerable, but knowing that he is losing his partner is something he hates even more. “Please.. we have time-“

You only shake your head, “no, Kuzushi.. it hurts..”

Scaramouche lowers his head, his breath hitching in his throat. Why you? Why not some useless agent or a dispensable mage - not his lover. Not you. Not now, not when he had so much more he’d left unsaid. Again, he feels your hand on his cheek, and he looks down, his eyes softening. Something they only did for you, and you alone. “I.. I love you so much, Kuzushi-“ you cough, smiling again. That smile that Scaramouche knows he won’t see again once you’re gone. The thought makes his stomach turn. Again, he wishes his denial could be the truth, and at the same time he knows it never will be. 

The painful thing about denial is that it seldom ever becomes truth. Shaking his mind clear for the moment, he touches his forehead to yours, exhaling slowly, “I love you too, amaimono.. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.. and I’m sorry I can’t save you-“ 

You silence him with a gentle hand gripping his - your strength is fading, and he knows it’s only a matter of moments before you, his partner, will leave his side in the mortal realm. 

Scaramouche wants to tell you everything he never could bring himself to before. That your smile always made him feel safe and wanted; that your touch always brightened even his darkest days. But there wasn’t time left.

“You never did. I knew you well enough to k-know you never meant anything harsh you m-may have said..” you smile again.

And Archons, how Scaramouche hates himself, for never finding the time to apologize properly for the times he’d lashed out; to thank you for staying by his side, even when he’d take his anger out on you or hurt you with his words. He finally breaks down; the wetness on his face could only be tears and nothing else. And he lets them fall. He could care less if an agent saw him, or if another Harbinger were to berate him; fuck it all, he doesn’t care anymore. 

You are the only thing that matters now, and he continues to tell himself this - to keep talking to you before he can’t anymore, lest he regret it if he doesn’t.

“Y/n, please, I-“ he sighs, a ragged, shuddering breath as his tears still fall, even now, “I can’t do this without you.” “You did it once, my love, even when I wasn’t there..” you whisper, pulling Scaramouche’s head closer to your own with your quickly fading strength.

Your lips then ghost against Scaramouche’s, faint, desperate, but unsure.

“I’ve always had faith in you, my storm, b-because I know you’ll do amazing.. even w-without me..” your words are barely a whisper, chest heaving - you’re tired, and you’re too far gone.  Your body falls limp before you can even take another breath, and Scaramouche turns away, his eyes screwed shut. You’re gone. Y/n, his y/n, isn’t with him anymore. 

It stings, an eerie feeling; though loss was something Scaramouche knew well, now he is sure he wouldn’t forget how it felt. First had come the three betrayals, and though he knows that it was beyond your control, that you were only mortal, he still feels as though your death was yet another one. Death truly is the cruelest master, Scaramouche thinks to himself as he finally lets down his guard, sobbing over your still body. 

If only it could’ve taken him instead.

[sevasey51]

How about Chris wife has anxiety

What does he do

Or if u feel more comfortable how does he entertain thier teo kids while she's dealing with bad anxiety ike an anxiety attack

Hey love! I could imagine both of these going a little something like this…..

Mentions of meds (only brief) and anxiety

What does Chris do when his wife y/n has anxiety?

So he knows full well what it’s like to have that little nagging voice and feeling most of not all of the time, so when it comes he’s there to support her, listen and understand.

It was early morning when he woke to find his wife not cuddled up next to him in bed, the spot long gone cold.

“Honey?” He whispers as not to wake his children, confused he rises from bed, in search of the love he’s meant to be laying next to.

He finds her in the den, curled up in her favourite blanket which was weighted, he knew that because weight and pressure helped her when she was anxious. He squatted down in front of her, taking in her expression and the tears lining her icy blue eyes that had been passed down to their beautiful children.

“Bubs, how can I help” he inquired as he knows not to ask how she feels but how to help.

Her face twists in emotion, comfort is all she wanted a hug. But her body couldn’t bare the feeling of touch from another human. Not even her husband.

She just sobs, his heart breaks at the sight knowing her brain doesn’t want comfort in the form of a hug but she, his beautiful wife does. So even though her body is saying no, he take her into his arms tightly “shhhhhh” is all that can be heard in the evans’ house along with small sobs and heavy breathing, and exaggerated breathing to get her to match his.

After a little bit he finally felt her tense body melt into his embrace. That when he knew her brain doesn’t let her body relax.

“Why are you out here sweetheart and not in bed?”He asks gently just faintly above a whisper, eyebrows knitted in confusion and concern.

“My brain wouldn’t shhh, and it got too - she paused to take a breather - much because of the event we have at the end of the week.” She explains quietly due to her horse voice from crying.

“Sweetheart that’s completely fine and 100% validated- He paused reassuring her that her thoughts and anxiety was valid - you’ll have me and Scott there just incase we’ll look after you babe I’ve got you” he finishes whispering as her eyes grow heavier as he speaks.

She yawns before replying “mmm m’kay can we go back to sleep” her sleepy voice inquires.

“Of course we can love come’ere I’ve got you bubs always will - i love you” he whispers and peppers kisses on her forehead whilst walking to their bedroom.

“I ‘ove you” she says barely awake by the time chris walks in to their shared bedroom, she’s out. He cuddles her to her chest and one last kiss before he soon follows and falls back to sleep too.

A couple of hours later after said discussion, she woke up panicked about what had happened chris reassured her she was okay and so were their beautiful children Luna and Ryan.

Chris had always gotten y/n her meds that she takes for anxiety and anaemia because they like to play on each other and bring one or the other out. And got her cuddled back into bed with dodger for a little longer sleeping because she needed it.

Not forgetting to take his own meds, he got the kids up and got them downstairs for breakfast, to Ryan’s request it was waffles with blueberries, holding the blueberries for Luna because the texture so it was mango on the side for her.

After breakfast was served and cleared away, chris did a little arts and crafts with them. Making sure to keep checking on y/n to make sure she was okay and waking her up when it came around to lunch.

And she always was so grateful to have a husband like Chris. Someone who understood but didn’t invalidate her feelings and when she needed it let her do her thing and take the responsibility for a whilst.

They called it ‘going back to basics’ when the person who needed it didn’t have to worry about anything because the other person would look after them and they only had to do the basics like making sure they slept and was relaxed doing the things that took a lot out of the energy supply that was already low from anxiety like taking a shower or even just getting out of bed.

It was a relationship built around love, understanding and strength. That’s what they cherished and having beautiful children just added to the mix.

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[boykingdom]

Dean doesn’t have to drive far before he finds Cas. He’d had a hunch Cas might be waiting for him no matter the direction he went, but still he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he sees the slump of Cas’ shoulders among the trees.

He doesn’t have to walk far, either, once he’s pulled the Impala into the grass beside the road and let the metal door shut behind him with a creak. He’s in the forest after a few paces—it’s a pretty forest, all green and overgrown, the tan of Cas’ coat standing out purely for its dullness. Cas’ back is to him and he’s looking down at something, hands in his pockets, but the rigidity with which he holds himself gives away his awareness of Dean’s presence. Cas won’t turn toward him but will angle his head so Dean can see the sharp line of his cheekbone, like he’s any sort of thing that would need ears to gauge how close Dean is.

Dean has half a mind to hesitate, to stop and take a deep breath and collect his thoughts or something, but he’s so fucking tired of not being near Cas and of schooling how much he gives away to Cas in every conversation that he walks up so their shoulders are inches apart and he doesn’t think twice about it. He looks down to take in what Cas is looking at and finds a small pond with a few muddy-gray fish scooting their bellies across the silt. Dean thinks Cas might be gearing up for a speech about the fish and creation and humanity, something nice and cinematic to bookend their journey, but instead Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

That works, too. At least Dean knows how to respond to that one. “Heya, Cas.”

They’re silent for a second.

“Sam?” says Cas. 

“Went off to the Roadhouse. Wanted to see Bobby and Ellen and Jo,” says Dean. “But you knew that already.”

“Mm. I did.”

They both watch the fish drift. One comes close enough to the surface to form gentle ripples in the water.

Then Dean is smiling, because he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, see the way he shifts and fidgets and is so clearly also looking at Dean out of the corner of his own eye. It occurs to Dean that Cas is nervous—that after everything they’ve been through, after the end of the world, after Cas’ big sacrifice, this angel of the Lord is nervous to speak to his best friend of twelve years. Dean can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him.

“What, did you think we’d never talk about it?”

A pause. Cas half-grumbles, “I thought I’d have a few decades to prepare something to say.”

And then Dean is laughing and laughing and bent over double with it because this whole thing is so fucking absurd and he’s so happy to be standing here next to Cas, weird and awkward Cas who pulled him out of Hell and told Dean he was in love with him just months ago. Cas who he thought he had lost forever. Dean laughs so hard he cries and then he—he cries, and cries, and he’s not laughing anymore. It happens fast and hard. Cas finally turns to him, eyes wide and hands suspended in front of him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Dean’s sniveling and holding his jacket sleeve under his nose so his face doesn’t get all snotty but he probably looks fucking gross anyway, the way the tears won’t stop coming. Cas says, “Dean?” all worried and concerned. Dean practically falls forward into him, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist to clutch at the back of his coat and shakes when Cas immediately holds him in return.

“I missed you so bad,” Dean sobs into Cas’ shoulder. “I missed you so bad. I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so bad.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Cas hugs him tighter, leaving no spaces between their bodies. His voice breaks a little when he says, “I missed you, too.”

They stand like that for a moment. The forest buzzes around them, twiddling with birds and squirrels and insects. Dean breathes Cas in, feels him warm and safe and real in his arms. It’s a small piece of Earth here in Heaven. Unlike any other time before, Dean lets himself lean into it, touch Cas without Death looming over their shoulders. It feels good.

Dean does calm down after a few minutes, and as much as he would love to freeze time and stay suspended in that moment, he knows he can have even more if he gives it one last push. He pulls away, Cas’ hands sliding off his coat, lingering. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed despite himself.

“Don’t be,” says Cas, in a way a that shows he really means it. Dean clears his throat and looks at him. Cas looks back. The whole thing is so achingly familiar, so akin to how they were when they first met. Even when Cas was alien and unknowable and potentially a threat, Dean always had to stifle the breathless thrill of having Cas’ attention. He doesn’t stifle it now.

He hasn’t quite internalized all the things Cas said to him, but he can see Cas was telling the truth about one thing—he is clearly so happy to be standing at the edge of this pond with Dean. Nothing in his gaze is asking for something more.

And as much as Cas would argue differently, Dean isn’t as good as him. He was never content just wanting. He had long ago accepted that he could never have Cas, sure, had recognized that he would spend the rest of his life with a horrible ache in his chest, that he would white-knuckle the wheel of the Impala to keep himself from touching. But he couldn’t find peace with it. Love rotted in him like a body at the bottom of a well. He spent a long time thinking it would kill him and kill Cas too, that it was a weapon to be used against them both, that the heat of his gaze would actually burn Cas if he looked long enough. He still has to choke down those half-formed thoughts when he looks at Cas now and can see in his eyes that he loves Dean without reservation, that despite everything he doesn’t think of Dean’s love as a death sentence. That he wants him.

Dean’s mind was made up the second Bobby had mentioned Cas’ name on the porch. It took him too long to untangle that part of himself that couldn’t separate loving men from danger, but he did untangle it, in the end.

“I know I can do it,” Dean says, both to Cas and to himself, “but I think it might be hard.”

Cas’ brow flickers in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he answers, gesturing lamely at the two of them, at the space between them. He swallows, steels himself, thinks of all the words he spent the nights since Cas died murmuring into his pillow, deliriously drunk. “I don’t know— I don’t know how to be this to someone— to you. I’ve never— and you’re—”

He’s getting frustrated, is upset that after thinking so long and hard about this moment for so many years he somehow still doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how much he means to him, how much he wants him, how hard it is to beat down his self-hatred and accept that he might just deserve Cas, too. But Christ, he wants to try.

“Dean?” Cas says. Dean can see in his expression the flowering bud of hope. He is so beautiful.

“I love you too,” Dean says, because it’s the best explanation he can give. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Cas blinks; his mouth drops open. “God, Cas, you have to know that. Of course I love you too.”

“You mean...?” Cas can’t finish the question. He’s looking at Dean like a man finding faith, finding Heaven. Dean feels so overwhelmed and so happy for the two of them and surely he’s still red from crying before, but again he feels himself burning.

“I’ve been yours,” he chokes out. “You can have me. Please.”

Cas kisses Dean. It happens so fast that Dean feels it coming rather than sees it, feels Cas’ hands on his face, feels himself be tugged forward. Cas’ hands are shaking and Dean’s are too when he grips the front of Cas’ shirt and the back of his neck, eyes closed tight, learning the shape of his mouth. It’s hard and a little desperate and not at all artful, and Dean’s whole self feels a bit like an open wound but Cas is healing him, like he always has, like he has since the beginning.

Dean pulls away for air but doesn’t pull far, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’ and his eyes shut. Cas’ thumb strokes his cheekbone. “Dean,” Cas says, and Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way Cas says his name doesn’t scare him anymore.

Dean opens his eyes. He smiles. “Hi,” he says.

Cas smiles back.

**

They’re sitting in the Impala, Dean’s hand on Cas’ thigh, when Cas asks, “What do you want to do now?”

Dean pauses, thinks. The answer to what do you want has been Cas for so long, but he never let himself think far enough to decide what he would do if he ever got him. He’s safe, Cas is safe, Sam is safe. Realistically, he shouldn’t want for anything.

He looks out the Impala’s windshield, smooths the hand not holding Cas over the steering wheel. He knows that he loves this car with everything he is—that for a long time it was the only home he had. He also knows that he’s tired of the road. Desire has always come too easily to Dean.

“I think I’ll build us a house,” he answers, and immediately he knows it’s the right thing to do. They can pick a spot wherever Cas wants—Dean’s not picky. It’ll be something solid, something with walls that he built with trees he cut himself. Something that reflects the home he already built for Cas, the one that lives between his ribs.

Cas’ eyes light up. “I like that plan,” he says. “I want that, too.”

Years ago, Cas had sat in Dean’s passenger seat and asked him if he would rather have peace or freedom. Dean never got the chance to answer him.

Dean leans across the seat and kisses Cas again, open-mouthed, slow. He does it for him now and for the version of himself who mourned the distance between them. It’s answer enough.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello my beloved! ( Can I call you that? And people it's platonic!) I have an idea and this is for pogtopia wilbur and ghostbur! Can you do a reader who loves painting and one morning they find a picture of them with a note about the reader confessing to then but they didn't do it in person because they were really nervous? Thank you!

And please take as much time as you want also could it be a long story? Thank you!

- Your beloved Moosh 🥺

Moosh, darling! Hello! Yes, you have my full permission to call me that, thank you for asking! This is the third time I've written this story because Tumblr just really enjoys screwing me over...

Also. You never clarified whether you wanted fluff or angst, but it's Pogtopia Wilby so I kinda just went with angst? If you want a happy end to this, I'll rewrite this no problem! But it won't be as long because... Well, you'll see. Also also, I didn't exactly know where to throw the Ghosty Bur in, so... Yeaaaah? He's at the end tho!

THE FIRST PART IS LIKE NEW NEW POGTOPIA WILBUR

TW: (Sorry it didn't save the first time) C!Schlatt, bruising, threatened hanging, self doubt

Perfect Picture of Imperfection (Pogtopia!C!Wilbur x GN!Painter!Reader)

Maybe you painted Schlatt's horns the wrong colour? Or his jawline was off? He was furious when you finally showed him your art piece... It was the best you could do with the few hours you were given! Paint physically couldn’t dry as fast as Schlatt wanted it to you… He didn’t seem to care when he threw the wooden frame of the torn canvas at you, giving you a dark bruise right above your eye, or when he started yelling at you and threatening to burn your art studio down to the ground.

Or even when he grabbed you and suggested to Quackity to hang you at the gallows for insulting the emperor of Manberg.

The man you had once been friends with grinned widely and nodded happily, “Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” He said, without a single care that you were a living human being, only giving a cheer as he picked you up so your feet were dangling on the ground, leaving you silent in terror. Tubbo only averted his gaze.

“Aww… You’re like a little fawn, caught in the torchlight of a traveller.” The ram hybrid smiled in a sickly sweet manner, causing the colour to drain from your face, “Come now, darling, I’m not a monster… You’re the only one of Wilbur’s sweet little subjects that he hasn’t gotten back, and here I thought you were his favourite… Or maybe he left you here to act as a sacrifice so they could all be off doing their own thing... Guess he prefers Niki over you…” He whispered as he dropped you, chuckling softly as you scurried out of the building as you quite literally ran for your life.

You called Wilbur when you were safely hidden in your house, gasps and sobs leaving your mouth quicker than tears could pool out of your eyes…

“(Y/n)... You can’t be calling me when-”

“Wil…?” You whispered into the communicator, your voice shaking enough to shut him up immediately, “He… He’s going to…” Hiccuping meekly, you curled in tighter on yourself as you heard Schlatt’s loud and pompous voice come over the speaker system he had hung up all around the once beautiful country, “I think I’m going to die here…”

The dead silence that followed through the line was sickening…

“Is it true…?” You couldn’t help but find yourself wondering aloud, “Is that why I’m the only one left here? Am I a sacrifice so you can live happily elsewhere? ...Is that why you haven’t come to get me?”

“(Y/n), I want you to never utter those words again.” His voice was dark and steely as there was a bit of crashing around that came from the other side as well as faint mumbles which were clearly from Tommy judging by all the swearing, “You are not a sacrifice. Now... Get your Enderchest and Inventory packed up, I’m coming to get you tonight, and then I’ll explain in person…”

The line cut off and you slowly lowered the communicator down from beside your ear. Your heart was sinking one minute, but soaring the next… A terrible feeling really. You were saved! But… He could get caught trying to come to get you… You couldn’t let that happen for sure. With a heavy sigh, you rubbed your eyes free of tears before standing up and beginning to shove any necessary equipment into your Enderchest, including your finished painting of Wilbur that you were going to give to him when he won the election… And finally, confess your feelings…

When midnight hit and the lights of the city finally died down, you climbed up onto your roof and looked around for the president, fear and paranoia flooding through your veins as your mind went wild. What if he got caught? What if he was trying to give you false hope? What if. What if. What if. These sort of questions buzzed around in your mind for an hour as you waited for your saviour to arrive…

Finally, when enough became enough and you decided he wasn’t coming, you stopped pacing and slowly sat down on the roof as the tears began to start again. You could practically hear Schlatt chiding you in the back of your mind, telling you that you were a fool for holding out hope.

“(Y/n)!” A low hiss came from beside you and a hand touched your shoulder. You certainly would’ve screamed bloody murder if another hand hadn’t quickly wrapped around your mouth, “Sh, sh, sh, it’s me… It’s Wilbur.” The voice soothed softly as the hand left your mouth, quickly allowing you to turn your head.

It didn’t feel real… Seeing him after so long… And in an outfit other than his uniform. “Wil...bur?” You repeated, staring at him for a while before giving him a soft smile filled with relief, “You really came…”

“Of course I did!” He almost seemed offended for a moment before his eyes softened as he realized what Schlatt must’ve drilled into your head. Wilbur easily caught you as you flung your self at him, quickly wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your (h/l) (h/c) hair, “I missed my artiste…” He whispered, donning a temporary french accent for the word ‘artist’.

Holding back a sob, you quickly grabbed his extended hand and followed him as he jumped off your roof, safely landing in a bed of hay that you used to feed your old farm animals that Schlatt confiscated before following him out of this damned country.

After that, things seemed to change between you and Wilbur. He always seemed to be at your side, choosing to personally train you rather than letting Techno train you with everyone else, or even running over ideas on how to expand Pogtopia with you rather than with Tommy. His touches always lingered longer or he somehow wound up leaning closer to you than originally necessary, but you never caught yourself complaining. He would watch you paint beautiful designs along the armour he had gifted you, knowing full well it would chip off and was heavily unnecessary, but he only smiled and let you continue doing it as long as it didn’t interfere with enchantments.

Each day with Wilbur became better and better, but your heart physically couldn’t take it any longer, you had to tell him that you felt this way for him… The way that you had to fight back the reddening of your cheeks when his chest pressed against your back as he adjusted your stance in training, or the way you had to struggle to regulate your breathing every time he complimented you on how far you had come…

He was going to be the death of you…

Your already calloused hands were bruised and blistered, but somehow, you were still able to hold a quill, pinched in between the fingers of your dominant hand. Wilbur had come to your Pogtopia home this morning, but upon realizing that he had knocked you to the ground a little too hard yesterday as you were incredibly stiff and sore, he let you have the day off of training.

This was at least a little chance… You had torn a page from your notebook and sat down at your handmade desk with a bitter sigh. Trust me, you wanted to tell him in person, but you were just too scared… Plus, maybe you could play it off as someone pulling a prank on him if it went south.

Biting your lip, your fingers treated the quill as a brush, delicately running the ink dipped tip over the top of the paper, letting your heart control what words you wanted the ink to form.

Wilbur,

You don't realize how much you mean to me. Although we've been friends for only a year, I feel as though I've known you my entire life. My connection to you is already so deep, and my love for you is already so strong that I can't remember what my life was like before we met. Even more, I can't imagine my life without you now. I can't imagine the future without you, either.

You have saved my life several times already. You have even saved me from myself several times, too! I am so thankful for your guidance and care. Whenever I'm having a bad day, I know that I can just give you a call. I know I can depend on you and, with your help, everything will turn out well.

I want you to know how I really feel. It's time for you to know that I'm ready to admit how much I care for you, how much you mean to me. I know, this isn’t the best timing in our lives, but I trust it will get better through your leadership. I love you, Wilbur.

Please, don't ever forget how much I love you.

Love, (Y/n) (L/n)

Sighing, you put the quill into the inkpot and put your head in your bandaged hands. ‘This is going to work. It will work. Go on. Have faith in yourself, as Wil said…’ You took a few deep breaths and stood up, picking up the letter once it was dry and reading it over as many times as you physically could before your mind couldn’t handle it any longer.

Walking to the door, you cracked it open to search for any sign of your president, sighing again as you realized he was likely out helping gather resources. “Is… This enough?” You mumbled sadly as you stared down at the simple letter before looking at your Enderchest in thought. Surely you could give him a few emeralds or some gold… Yeah! That’s what you’d do! Smiling in victory, you quickly wandered over to the chest and opened it, digging through it for a few moments.

It was sort of empty…

You groaned as you remembered that you haven’t really been one of the miners or forgers for Pogtopia. Instead, you were one of the warriors, focused on protecting others instead of gathering supplies.

Going to shut the chest, you suddenly paused as you saw something colourful resting at the bottom. Pushing aside your old L’Manberg uniform, you gasped as you found your old painting of Wilbur from a few months ago. It was old, yes, and a little dusty but you were still proud of it even now! Perfect.

Pulling out the painting, you began to lightly brush the dust off of the picture, smiling at the splashes of paint and colour forming a picture. It was your magnum opus.

It was a painting of Wilbur holding up a massive L’Manberg flag against the sunlight with a wide smile and hope in his eyes… This was the day that L’Manberg won independence from DreamSMP…

Standing up again, you quickly hurried out the door and walked to Wilbur’s room, silently creaking open the door and looking around, even though you were well aware that he was gone for the day. You walked over to his desk and gently setting the painting down on top of the countless sheets of work, making sure not to mix up any of the papers, then putting your letter on top where he could see it before hurrying out before you could change your mind.

Thankfully you got out when you did because, by the time you pulled an already baked potato out of the furnace, Wilbur came down the stone stairs, looking extremely exhausted, “(Y/n), my artiste…” He murmured with a smile, “I’m glad to see you’re still up and going… I was worried we would have to make you a healing pot.”

“It’s not too bad… It’s mostly just my hands that hurt.” You chuckled and held up your shaking bandaged hands, “You want me to cook you up some potatoes and carrots? Or I could maybe try and get some steak cooked up before you go to work?”

Wilbur tried to smile a bit, deciding not to question why your hands were shaking so badly, taking everything out of his inventory and placing them in their designated chests. “No, no… It’s alright. I’m going to go get ready for Tubbo’s report… I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”

You gave him a small wave before Wilbur disappeared into his office. Taking a sharp intake of breath, you quickly followed after him and peeked through the tiny crack in the door where he didn’t close it all the way. He stood in his room silently for a moment before throwing his hat off at a wall, screaming into hands, muffling it heavily to the point where you wouldn’t have heard it if you were still near the furnaces. Wilbur threw off his jacket before plopping himself into his chair with his head in his hands for a few moments, then lifting it to stare at the painting that you had placed.

He was still for a long time, then he slowly picked up the note, his eyes softened slightly before his face broke out into a wide and genuinely happy smile before his mouth twitched and the smile began to fall, tears bubbling into his chocolate coloured eyes. Wilbur held the note up to his chest and slouched back against his chair, sobbing into his hand, whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ repeatedly.

Frowning, you realized that he physically couldn’t return your love because of the stress of caring for Pogtopia and trying to win back L’Manberg. With a sad smile, you stood up and walked to your room, putting your head down as you saw water droplets hit the stone below you, “It wasn’t a no…” You tried to tell yourself, ignoring the tears running from your eyes as you shut the door, sliding down to your knees.

The next few weeks after that were hell, the complete opposite of the Utopia that you were blinded by for the past month. Wilbur asked Techno to pick up your training, and he never even spoke to you about it again… It was the Piglin hybrid that awkwardly told you. During dinner, Wilbur would practically eat as little as possible as he ignored you, trying to make any situation where he would be in the same room as you as short as possible.

“Wil-...” You reached out to the president but watched as he only gave you the saddest gaze before walking past you as if he never saw you. But he would have no problems talking to Niki, or anyone else! It wasn’t fair!

Time ticked by in a haze of fog and you quickly watched the man you had once fallen in love with becoming a complete shadow of his former self… It was sickening… He… Lost it… His mind was becoming twisted… And all you could do was watch in horror…

You knew something was wrong when he crept away from the festival and the celebration… But you just decided that he was going to take a break from the excitement. He was quite old after all…

Then the ground shook with booming roars as TNT blew craters into the earth, sending debris scattering and people screaming, scattering for their lives. Gasps of terror escaped your lips as you realized the cause of it all… You hopped over gunpowder scented broken stone and batted the smoke away as you saw the final picture to paint the last stroke of horror in your heart.

There was a blond man with massive avian wings holding a diamond sword glimmering with enchantments as the brunet clung to his clothing, slowly sinking to his knees. With a sob of despair, you watched the man you once loved so dearly, get stabbed through the chest by his own father.

“WILBUR!” You shrieked, your ears ringing from the blast as you sunk to your knees, sobs racking your frame violently. Wilbur’s head lazily rolled to look in your direction…

And in his last dying breath… He smiled…

-

“That painting…” A light airy whisper echoed through the darkened stone halls of your home, “It’s familiar… Yet so foreign...”

You gave a hum as you hung your netherite armour on your stand before turning to stare at the spectral figure floating in your doorway, “Which painting, Ghostbur? There’s many… You have to elaborate.”

“Right! Because you’re an artiste!” The transparent male chirped happily, not seeming to notice your flinch, “I mean the one hanging above the fireplace, of Alivebur.”

“Right…” You nodded, following behind the eager sweater-wearing ghost down the eerie hallways and into the office, "I'm going to take it down... I think it's doing more harm than good..."

Ghostbur didn't seem to understand your reasoning, but he didn't say much, knowing that Alivebur hurt many people... But he didn't think he hurt you, "It's pretty though... But your art style has changed, in a good way though!" He smiled softly as you opened the large dark oak double doors.

You walked past your grand dark oak desk to stare at your former magnum opus, dangling above the unlit fireplace. "Hey, Bur, if you have a flint and steel, could you light the fire please?" You glanced over and watched him nod as he dug through his pockets. In the meantime, you climbed up onto the mantle and began to struggle to pull the canvas off the wall. With a bit of hassle, you managed to pull it down and toss it onto the ground before climbing down, just in time for your ghost friend to light the fire.

"Don't damage it, (N/n)! It's still really good!" Ghostbur scolded you with a pout once you hopped down and picked the canvas up, "And you used to be proud of it!"

"I'm not, don't fret too m-" You paused mid-sentence as you saw a letter tucked into the bottom corner of the back of the painting. Frowning in confusion, you slowly picked it up and turned it over into your hand, only to discover that it was addressed to you in fancy cursive, sealed with a light red and white wax seal, "What's this?"

He looked over at you and tilted his head, seeming almost as genuinely confused as you were. Ghostbur shrugged as you propped the painting up against the wall before sitting at your desk, using your letter opener for its purpose, "Love letter, perhaps?"

"I doubt it..." You mumbled softly as you carefully unfolded the paper, recognizing that it was probably a few years old, "Let's see... Who wrote this..." You hummed before beginning to read.

My darling artiste... I'm sure by the time you read this, I'm either dead or... Well, most likely dead, if all goes to plan...

I am writing this letter to you to let you know that life without you is not the same. Life without you is very sad and lonely. I have realised that it was you who keep me alive and cheerful.

I thought I would get used to your absence from my life, but every day has been harder when I think of all the good times we spent together.

There are so many things which I want to confess. It's killing me because I don't want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you.

And I'm not able to tell you I'm in love with you.

What an idiot I am.

And for the past few days, I've been trying to figure out, why there aren't some words to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn't a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe my love for you.

But I need that word. I need it because I want you to hear me say “I love You". I want to make the sweetest gestures in front of you which make you feel even more loved.

Trust me... I know... I act like an absolute ass towards you. I'm so scared of your life being in more danger than it was... I really did love you, and still do, but I didn't want it to hurt you more when I blow up L'Manberg...

Darling, I could have simply called you on your communicator and took you out on a surprise date but I couldn't have expressed my feelings. You have become an integral part of me. I want to give you all my love throughout my life.

The painting you made me is beautiful and I will cherish it for as long as I'm alive... It's a perfect picture of imperfection...

I Love You, (Y/n), even if by now you'll never love me back.

- Wilbur Soot

"That... That idiot..." You whispered, holding your head in your hands in an attempt to hide the tears from Ghostbur, "He planned blowing up L'Manberg from the beginning... That's why he refused to acknowledge me after I... He wanted me to hate him..."

Ghostbur held a bit of blue in his hands tightly, avoiding your gaze as you murmured to yourself, "Yeah... Most of my happiest memories involve you... That's why I couldn't understand when you said Aliverbur hated you..." He glanced away again as he saw you look at him.

"(Y/n)... Are you ever going to move out of Pogtopia?"

"Probably not for a long time, Ghostbur."

[suzyq31]

Preview of Chapter 26 of Iris

Ocean air mixed with the scent of climbing roses on the breeze that passed through Annie and Rosie’s kitchen window. Hermione stood at the sink gazing out at the greenery, hands in the sudsy water. 

She insisted on doing the washing up the Muggle way; she wanted the distraction of using her hands. Outside of setting up some security wards on arriving, she'd kept her wand pocketed. Combining both worlds she was a part of felt surreal after all these years.

Iris’s excited chatter carried over from the sitting room where she was currently helping Rosie with some kind of art project that took up the entire coffee table. 

Their reunion with the sisters had been joyful if tear—filled. Even Annie, who didn’t cry often, sobbed as she hugged Iris and then her. Hermione had only been able to whisper her apologies over and over, thinking of the damage to the shop and flat. Most of it had been set to rights; still, there had been damage to some of the rare and expensive books that couldn’t be undone.

Hermione had attempted to express how she would try to repay the sisters, but Annie had none of it. Once Iris was out of earshot, she’d pulled her aside and made it clear that the only thing that mattered was the two of them being alright.

They’d sat down to supper relatively quickly.  Iris regaled them all with story after story about magic and her favourite person: Harry. Hermione nodded along, smiling through bites of roast chicken and potatoes. Annie and Rosie had kept their questions mostly directed to Iris. She knew by their subtle glances that they had some—likely many—for her, though they would wait until they could talk more privately.

“I’ll put the kettle on.” 

Annie’s voice floated in from the other room and Hermione looked over her shoulder to see her come bustling through the door. 

“You alright Janie?” she asked, her gaze probing and filled with concern.

Hermione shrugged, turning back towards the last of the dishes. “I’m fine.” 

Annie approached the counter, reached for the already dried plates and put them in the cupboard. They worked in silence until the job was done.

“I suppose there’s a lot to talk about isn’t there?” Annie told her, not asking as it was a given, considering everything she’d never told them. 

Hermione could only nod, handing her the last of the crockery before draining the sink and leaning against it heavily. 

“I’m not even sure where to begin.”

Her friend filled the kettle and flicked it on before once more focusing on her. It had often felt that Annie could analyse her like one of the ancient tombs she specialised in deciphering, except Hermione had always done anything she could to obscure her past. 

“Well the young one will be demanding pudding soon and she’s asked about five times when her father will arrive so I’m not sure we have time for everything at the moment. Let’s get to the most important part.” She felt herself tense at the pause before Annie’s voice lowered, a warm hand coming to touch her shoulder gently. “How are you really?”

“I-” The kindness in Annie’s eyes made her throat tighten. “Awful… I mean. I feel awful.”

Annie squeezed her briefly. “That makes sense.”

Hermione kept nodding absently as she twisted her fingers together. 

A loud click broke the silence and Annie quickly poured the tea to steep. When she turned back there was a hesitation that wasn’t normally there as she watched her closely.  

“How’s it been with…”

“He’s… I -He didn’t deserve-” she couldn’t bring herself to finish as she blinked back the tears pressing suddenly and suffocating.

When she looked up at Annie finally, her forehead was pinched. The lines on her face were deeper than Hermione remembered. 

“I always wondered… about him,” she said, a tinge of guilt in her voice. “I didn’t push because… well, you’ve your right to privacy. I suppose I made some assumptions.”

Hermione frowned in confusion and Annie sighed, blowing out a breath. “I thought he might have been a threat.”

She bit down hard on her lip; she knew why Annie would and she felt another surge of guilt. By refusing to talk about him she’d let Annie and Rosie fill in the blanks.

“Clearly I was wrong,” Annie said. Hermione nodded, unable to speak. Annie’s own blue eyes were bright with tears when they met hers. “She adores him.”

She could only nod again as her own tears threatened to fall. The intensity of the love between them -that she had denied them that for years -another surge. Like battering waves in an endless sea. Annie went to say something but the chime of the doorbell cut her off. 

“Were you expecting anyone?” Hermione asked, noting the startled look on her face.

Annie shook her head, brow furrowing.  “Simon said he might pop over this week to drop something off. Could be him.” 

Hermione touched her wand in her pocket. It rang again and Annie wiped her hands and headed towards the door. Within a split second she made the decision to follow, her instincts leading her to trail just behind, wand at her fingertips. 

In slow motion Annie reached for the handle. 

--

Rest of the chapter will be up at the end of the month! Thanks as always for the support and patience!

[storytellerofuntoldlegends]

an icarus and his sun: chapter 6

A/N: seeing y'all freak out over the last chapter when i have the outline and i know that things get worse... it feels me with evil glee. also vyeoh drew some amazing art of the last chapter, show them some love!! <3

Warnings: crying, hugging, arguing, threats of violence, heartbreak

AO3 Link - Tumblr Masterpost

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Jimmy still felt like he was in a daze when they made it back to his empire. Lizzie hadn’t let go of his hand once, and he was grateful for the grounding touch. She was still murmuring words of comfort and asking what happened, but Jimmy could only nod numbly. Every single thought and feeling he had of Scott felt tainted now. Was anything he had felt even real? Or did Jimmy just fall right for Scott’s plan (whatever it was) hook, line, and sinker. Just thinking about it made Jimmy feel nauseous.

Katherine and Joel landed beside Jimmy and Lizzie, and Katherine looking equally as distraught as Jimmy felt shook him out of his stupor slightly. Wordlessly he let go of Lizzie’s hand to pull Katherine into a hug. He held her tight as she hugged him back, crying into his shoulder.

“It’s gone. It’s all gone. There’s barely anything left of my castle,” she hiccuped. Jimmy didn’t know what to say as he held her, but gently rubbing her back seemed to help.

“Fwhip was plotting against the House Blossom Alliance the whole time, Sausage too. I think Gem, Pearl, and Scott were involved as well,” Joel explained. Jimmy just about shuddered at the mention of Scott, trying not to cry.

“Why would they do that?!” Lizzie gasped.

“Fwhip said something about how the alliance was too argumentative, and should be destroyed before anything worse could happen and bring down our empires,” Joel explained. Katherine let out another hiccupping sob at Joel’s words, and Jimmy murmured words of comfort to her. Then he looked up to the skies, and his heart froze. Three figures were flying towards them- one with elytra, one with bright yellow feathered wings, and one with white feathered wings tipped in gold. Joel noticed Gem, Pearl, and Scott in the air as well, and grit his teeth as he put a hand on the hilt of his sword. Lizzie rushed over and put a hand over Joel’s, shaking her head.

“Stay on guard, but let’s hear them out. We only know that Fwhip and Sausage were the masterminds behind this. But if they are here for trouble, we’ll make sure they regret it,” Lizzie said, tone going dark at the end of her statement. Joel hesitated for a moment or two, but dropped his hand from his sword with a frustrated sigh. He and Lizzie did, however, stand protectively in front of Jimmy and Katherine as Gem, Pearl, and Scott came to a landing in front of them. Jimmy let go of Katherine, but she didn’t go far, taking his hand and gripping it tightly.

“I know we’re not high on your list of people to see, but hear us out. We didn’t know that Fwhip was going to take such… drastic measures,” Pearl explained, hands up placatingly as her wings fluttered anxiously.

“But you did know Fwhip was up to something,” Joel countered.

“We knew he wasn’t super happy about the House Blossom Alliance, but we thought that he would just pull a harmless prank or pick a fight with Jimmy or something. Not destroy Katherine’s castle,” Gem continued, Pearl nodding along with her. Scott stayed suspiciously quiet, and Jimmy’s mouth settled into a firm line as he let go of Katherine’s hand.

“But Scott knew. Didn’t you,” he accused, glaring at Scott. His expression immediately turned guilty, and that was all the confirmation Jimmy needed.

“I wanted to tell you, really! But-”

“But you kissed me instead of telling me or ANYONE about Fwhip’s plan!” Jimmy shouted, stepping forward and gesturing angrily, that cold numb feeling from before now replaced with molten fury. Lizzie gasped, drawing her sword and fully intending to lunge at Scott, but Joel quickly scrambled over to hold her back.

“Joel, let go of me, I need to give Scott a piece of my mind for taking advantage of our sweet swamp boy’s heart!” Lizzie fumed, straining against Joel’s hold. Joel glared at Scott, but his grip on Lizzie didn’t let up.

“Scott, you better have an explanation for this, or I will let my wife loose on you,” Joel warned. Scott actually looked a little terrified, and part of Jimmy hated the fact that he was relieved at that.

“I should have warned people about the TNT, I know. I just- it was stupid of me to hope that Fwhip was going to change his mind. And I was going to tell Jimmy, but then I saw Fwhip in the distance, and he had his crossbow aimed at him. I- I figured that Fwhip wouldn’t take the shot if it meant hitting me too. So that’s why I kissed Jimmy, and by that point it was too late to warn anyone,” Scott explained, his expression pleading and apologetic. Joel and Lizzie seemed to accept his explanation, as Joel let go of Lizzie and she sheathed her sword- but they both still glared at him. And Jimmy wanted to believe him, wanted to say he forgave Scott and rush back into his arms again- but there was something else that bothered him.

“What did Fwhip mean, when he said something about ‘playing the part?’” Jimmy asked, absolutely terrified of the answer but needing to know the truth anyway. Scott swallowed nervously, expression overcome with guilt once more.

“Fwhip told me to keep an eye on you, make sure you wouldn’t be a problem. It wasn’t just Katherine goading me into being nice that kept me coming to your empire, at first. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t-”

“Leave,” Jimmy growled, having enough of Scott’s excuses. Scott flinched at Jimmy’s tone. Good, it was about time people stopped seeing him as the sweet swamp boy or the friendly Codfather. He was done being pushed around, done being used and tossed aside.

“Jimmy, please- believe me, I really do care-”

“I don’t wanna hear it! I’m sick of your lies and manipulation! I never want you to set foot in the Cod Empire again, if I ever even SEE you again I will make sure you regret it,” Jimmy shouted, the words fracturing his heart into a million pieces. But he couldn’t afford to trust Scott ever again.

“Jimmy…” Scott trailed off, any fight finally leaving him as his wings drooped. His gaze shifted between Jimmy’s angry glare, the tears on Katherine’s face, the glares from Lizzie and Joel, and the sympathetic and apologetic expressions on Gem and Pearl’s faces. He looked back at Jimmy one last time, eyes glassy- before taking off into the night sky. Jimmy couldn’t even watch him leave.

“We truly are sorry for everything that happened. We know it doesn’t make up for it… but we wish you the best, Codfather and allies,” Gem said softly, before taking off into the sky as well. Pearl gave them a weak smile before following Gem. Jimmy waited until he could no longer see either of them in the sky, and finally let himself cry, falling to his knees as ugly sobs wrenched their way out of his throat. Lizzie scrambled to his side, pulling him into a hug and letting Jimmy cry into her shoulder.

“It’s okay, let it out. I’ve got you,” she soothed.

“He tricked me. And like a fool I fell for it, I fell for him,” Jimmy said between sobs, desperately clutching at Lizzie. Joel came over to kneel at their side, pulling both of them into his arms and rubbing Jimmy’s back. Katherine joined the hug pile too, on the opposite side of Joel. Jimmy wasn’t sure how long the three of them all stayed there with him, but they all held him until he finally had no tears left to cry.

-

After Jimmy had finished crying, Lizzie gently prodded him into changing, insisting that he would feel better in his normal clothes. She was right, and a lot of the tension drained from his shoulders once his trusty cod head was back on his head. From there, Lizzie and Joel brought him and Katherine to Lizzie’s empire, saying that Katherine could stay in the embassy she built, and that neither of them wanted either one to be alone at the moment. Katherine and Jimmy didn’t argue, neither of them wanted to be alone either. So they ended up huddled together in Katherine’s embassy, a borrowed blanket from Lizzie over both of their shoulders. Lizzie stayed with them and made sure they were comfortable, while Joel flew to Pixandria to update Pixl on everything that had happened.

“This is all my fault,” Katherine said numbly, after a long silence. Jimmy and Lizzie looked at her in confusion.

“It’s really not, you didn’t blow up your own castle, after all,” Lizzie pointed out. Katherine smiled weakly, shaking her head.

“But none of this would have happened if I didn’t insist on making friends with everyone. Everyone would have been fine if I just stayed out of it and stopped trying to bring people together,” Katherine said, voice watery.

“Katherine, if you hadn’t tried to bring us all together, I’m sure much worse would have happened. Who knows how many empires would have been destroyed if it wasn’t for you,” Jimmy countered softly. Katherine let out a small sob, hand clasping over her mouth as she tried to collect herself.

“But if I hadn’t started those meetings, pushed you and Scott to be nice to each other- then you wouldn’t have to be feeling this way,” Katherine said, voice as fragile as glass when she dropped her hand from her mouth. Jimmy shifted to face her, gently gripping her shoulders and looking Katherine in the eyes.

“Katherine, listen to me. My- my heartbreak is not your fault. None of what is happening is your fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Fwhip. You hear me?” Jimmy asked, voice gentle but no less serious. Katherine’s eyes went wide.

“You’re heartbroken?” she asked in a shallow gasp. Jimmy gave her a sad smile, throat growing tight as he felt his eyes watering again- funny, he thought he had run out of tears.

“I learned what love was, only for it to get crushed barely a day or two after. So… yeah. I think I am. But that still doesn’t make it your fault,” Jimmy said, tone forlorn before it turned gentle and serious once more. Katherine let out a shaky sigh, nodding her head.

“Okay. Okay. I’m still sorry you’re feeling this way, though,” Katherine said softly. Jimmy just smiled, pulling Katherine into a hug.

“So what’s our next step? Plotting our revenge on Fwhip?” Lizzie asked, and Jimmy couldn’t help but chuckle at her casual ruthlessness.

“I think before we do anything revenge-related, we should help Katherine rebuild her castle,” Jimmy replied, frankly not wanting to think about getting revenge on Fwhip, because that would likely lead to getting revenge on Scott as well. And Jimmy definitely didn’t want to think about Scott at the moment.

“I don’t know if you’re the best person to help me build,” Katherine teased lightly. Jimmy gave her a weak smile in response.

“I think I’ll be able to manage if you’re guiding me,” he replied softly.

“I would definitely appreciate the help,” she said with a smile, and it was the first time Jimmy had seen her smile, truly smile since the ball.

“Then I’ll help, mediocre building skills or not,” Jimmy insisted, glad to have something to look forward to so he could think about anything other than Scott. He was done with him, no matter what his traitorous heart thought about his sunshine smile, his laugh of gold, or those icy blue eyes that contradicted them both. So much about Scott felt like a contradiction, now. He snarled and teased and jabbed, but there was a hidden fondness too, or at least it seemed like there was. Jimmy wasn’t sure if it was ever real to begin with. Then there was how he sided with Fwhip, even though Katherine was his true ally, a business partner too. Nothing made sense, and Jimmy wondered if he should have let Scott explain- no. Jimmy was never going to give Scott a chance to use that silver tongue on him again, paired with a smile that was only gold-plated. He wouldn’t be hurt again.

-

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[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Wilfords Demands: Mutual Understanding

Summary- 5.6k Curtis Everett x You. You are being driven mad after the shot you were given to send your hormones raging. Curtis knows he has to help you. Afterwards a peace settles between you two and the situation you have both been forced into. All seems fine till Wilford collects you to let you in on his plans for you. Divider made by @firefly-graphics​

Warnings- Non Con/Dub Con, sex pollen theme, darkish story line, mentions of scars, mentions of punishment/torture. 

This is an 18+ Blog. If you are not 18+, this story is not for you. 

Chapter 3 / Wilford’s Demand’s Masterlist

This was the first time you have ever reached for Curtis and your mouth crashing into his, your body heatedly pushing into his like you wanted every inch of him sent him reeling for a moment. Of course he knew it was because of the medicine they had given you, but part of him didn't care. You were being receptive, wanting what he could give you, and it was a damn gift. For once he didn't have to feel like it was a job trying to make this whole thing easier for you, feeling some guilt in the pit of his stomach as he worked on making you open up to him and at least enjoy some of his touches. 

His head tilted to explore your mouth, a mix of the water staining your lips and just making you that much sweeter as you kissed him back, eagerly. Even your hands couldn't stop, tracing his muscled body, digging in your fingers to hold onto him while you rubbed your body so raw into him. Pulling back, your eyes pleaded up at him. “Curtis, I really need you to touch me. Please, please fuck me.” You whined at him, and he nudged your legs apart with a knee. 

“Tell me pretty girl, where do you want me to touch you?” Fingers skimmed over your quivering belly and back up with light touches, driving you even more crazy he could tell. Your eyes watered as you grasped his wrist and pushed it between your thighs. 

His fingers slicked between your folds, drenched between your need and the water streaming over you, the water that was supposed to cool you off from your fever. But it was doing no such thing. Curtis’s fingers though started to stroke and rub your core, pressing circles harshly against your clit and teasing you till you dug into his wrist in agitation. He clicked his tongue against his teeth feeling your impatience and used his other hand that had been braced against the shower wall to grab your hand and pull it away. “Hands above you now Darling. I wont ask again.” 

You were quick to raise them above your head, easily encased within his grasp to make sure they stayed there when he thrusted fingers into you. Your eyes rolled up as you clenched your thighs around his pumping hand, nodding for more. “Curtis, what is happening to me.” Your voice was a bit fearful and he twisted his hand easily so that he could brush his fingertips against the spongy spot deep inside you, making your knees buckle in surprise. But his hold on your wrists was tight, not allowing you to fall. 

“They gave you a shot you said? It triggers your hormones, making you horny as fuck and needing to get off.” He said, his tone softening knowing that as good as it felt now that he was bringing you closer to your orgasm, even this was out of your control. “It will wear off, they have used it on me before.” Curtis recalled and you arched for more, quivering as your cunt tightened around his fingers, a flood of arousal coating his fingers and he stroked faster, trying to make you come for him. “Come on baby, just let it happen and you can take a breather till it starts again.” 

Tears pricked your eye as you buried your head in his shoulder, shaking harder and hiking your leg against his hip so that he had plenty of room to keep finger fucking you till it snapped in your belly and you sagged into him. Thankfully he was like a solid wall, letting his hold loosen so he could keep you upright. “It's okay, I got you sweetheart, just breath for a moment.” 

You inhaled deeply, your arms wrapped over his shoulders and you weren’t tired, but shook at the impact it had on you. The fire stroked your spine again and a heaviness started in your limbs that made you sob into his shoulder. “It’s happening again.” Curtis pushed you back to a stand, and his hands rubbed up your arms, over your shoulders and cupped your face. 

“Hands on my shoulders or head, okay?” Cerulean blues burned demanding into yours and you nodded that you understood him. You swore your heart was about to burst through your rib cage as it started to turn worse than before. Twisting your face into his palms, you dragged out 

“I understand Curtis.” 

Curtis breathed out as it was happening so fast. He could already see you curling your toes to try and remain in control, your hands immediately grasping his trapezius muscles and digging in firmly. “Good Girl.” He praised and grinned a bit seeing a trusting smile tug at the corners of your mouth. He sunk down before you, pressing his face against the softness of your belly, his hands sliding up and down your hips and along the back of your thighs. Now you arched to your tip toes to bring him closer to the aching spot between your legs. He licked the water from your skin, taking in your scent of arousal for a moment. 

He tugged lightly the hair on your mound, knowing it would catch your attention. “Lift a leg to go over my shoulder.” Your hands moved from his shoulders to the top of his head to maintain balance, easing one leg to rest over the muscles, and he could see you now, admire just how you spread open for him, hot warmth that was so greedy for him, your smell was just intoxicating. He knew you would taste better, especially with how turned on you were. This orgasm he wanted you to come all over his face. Now was the chance for Curtis to also actually find out what you enjoyed. 

You were always so closed off that it was hard to tell what you actually enjoyed, until you were crazy with lust and came undone. But that wasn't how he worked. Curtis wanted you to at least enjoy some of what was happening. He knew he was for the most part. Dragging his nose through the tight curls covering your mound and inhaling deeply, he glanced up at you, who looked down at him dazed. 

“You still with me Sweetheart?” He asked and you hummed, rocking your hips to look for him with a nod. 

“Barely… it's like a fire burning me from the inside Curtis.” 

Not wasting anymore time, he placed a harsh kiss to your inner thigh before turning to your cunt, his tongue striking you with precision. You couldn't grasp his hair, but you scratch his scalp before wrapping your hands around the back of his head. 

Curtis pushed a hand against your thigh, opening you up and he took quick laps at the arousal seeping from you, groaning against your sensitive cunt at how good your arousal tasted flowing so freely on his tongue. Next he teased your clit, that little bundle of nerves extra sensitive and you arched to your tiptoes before sinking back onto his face to grind against him. 

It was maddening, you wanted to pull away while pressing him in closer. The scratch of his chin was making you whimper and moan, and when his tongue filled you, now that was pure heated bliss spearing you and making you push against his hand to try and close around him. 

For Curtis, eating a woman out was a work of art. There were moves he had to make to get those moans and mewls working from someone, and he was going at it with this mind driven purpose alone. They started out weak at first, barely could hear them around the water rushing down the drain. But a drag of tongue from your clenching channel to slurp up to your clit that he sucked on made you shake and moan so loudly that he doubled down on his effort, making you gush on his face. 

It turned messy, shaking his face in your cunt and teasing over and over. Curtis added his fingers to take over when he wasn't fucking you with his tongue, and you melted. Turning boneless as your orgasm wracked you again with a wail. “Curtis! Fuck I cant anymore, you got to-” You went voiceless a moment, gasping as he speared you again and his hand pressed against your stomach to keep you still. Thighs quivering and you pressed against his forehead to drag him away, gasping back out to finish your sentence. “Please, no more. I need you inside of me because that is too much.” 

Easing your leg off his shoulder, he grasped your hips while moving to a quick stand. You tugged at him to your mouth, your lips lapping over his to fill his mouth this time and gather your own taste to fill your senses. Curtis’s fingers dug into your thighs to lift you and circle your legs around his slim waist while he filled you suddenly, not even giving a moment for you to adjust to his size. Heavy thrusts bounced your hips into the tiles of the shower wall. Your pulled at his mouth, panting against him and moaning hungrily while bouncing back and forth between Curtis and the wall. 

“Yes, Fuck- oh god- so good, just what I needed. Harder Curtis.” 

It was like he was unleashed on you, verging on the edge of pain at how full he was stuffing you, your nails digging down his straining back, and the ice the water turned into now stung just adding to the sensation of how rough it was between you two. 

Fingers dug in hard enough to squeeze into your bones, another orgasm ripping through you, but this time Curtis didn't stop. Rag dolling your body till he pulled himself out, twisting you into the glass of the door, your face twisted to the side harshly pressed flat, your hands scrambling for a purchase as his hand smacked against your ass with a sting till he yanked your hips out and spread legged to claim you all over again. 

He hissed against your ear when his hand wrapped around your throat and squeezed slightly that made you try to inhale all the air you could into your lungs as he slammed himself into you, crushing you to the door. “Come on Pretty Girl… I can feel you got more in you.” Another slam that you swore you felt in your gut and you twisted to catch his mouth, biting his lip till he took over, your body small compared to his, and the fire eating you alive consuming you. He kept the flames licking your body as well as kept you from burning alive. 

It was all consuming and when he forced that next brutal orgasm from you, you edged on blackness till you slipped out of consciousness. 

You never felt Curtis catch you when you started to fall in the shower, how he flooded you with his spend after you passed out or the slow way he pulled from you, limp in his arms. He rinsed you off quickly and toweled dry you off before carrying you to the bed where he laid you down. His hands smoothed along your body, still chilled from the cold water, but the fever the shot had caused appeared to be gone. Nor did you feel him grab your book and dip into the bed to lay next to you, reading till it grew late, and he ended up nodding off himself. 

What you did notice was how your face was tucked against his stomach where you had slid down the bed in your sleep, your leg hooked through his. A first for you, you usually hugged the cold wall as much as he would allow you to. The gentle rise and fall of his abs let you know he was asleep when you lifted your head, and pushed up gently to sit. He never stirred, the book he had been reading had fallen against his chest and his head tilted back to give a gentle snore once in a while. You scooted up closer and eased the book off him, glancing at the cover and shocked to see that he was reading the same book you were, your bookmark still in place where you left off. He actually wasn't far off, and it made you wonder how long he had been reading it when you weren't aware. 

The idea of it shocked you, you always saw Curtis as a brute individual, but you glanced at his bookshelf nearby littered with random stories and biographies, maybe he was more then you had allowed yourself to notice. 

A glance at the windows behind you showed that night had fallen, nothing but pitch black outside and the little lamp Curtis had on the table was the light that illuminated the small room they shared. You were careful to lean over Curtis and ease the book on the nearby table before settling back. Hands pressed to your face and down your naked body, you sighed in relief that the medicine seemed to have dispersed and you were no longer under its effects. 

Next you pulled the sheet up a bit to cover your body, looking at Curtis still sound asleep. You didn't dare try to ease over him to get dressed, that would wake him. After taking you in the shower, you couldn't deny that he had helped you through it, you didn't want to wake him just yet. Instead, now that you weren't feeling his piercing gaze, you allowed yourself to really admire him. 

You have seen him naked plenty of times, the spanse of his chest blocking your view of anything else as he loomed over you fucking you into the mattress. But you never saw him, not like this. 

Your eyes drifted down hard planes of his chest, littered with dark hair that tapered to a line down firm abs. In his sleep they weren't as defined as when he was awake and tense, but you could still see the outline of muscle he had gained in his workouts. You knew he left to do training, but even here he was often doing something when he wasn't paying attention to you. That line of hair dipped below the sheet, following a thick vein below his lower stomach that you knew led to his cock. Your eyes narrowed at the tiny puckered scars littered up and down his torso, and even around the side of his ribs. Those you never noticed before, since they were so faded. But one stood out on the inside of his left forearm. Round and shiny, the size of a half dollar. 

You hadn't realized Curtis woke up and was watching you study him till you felt a tingle of nerves and you lifted your head, easing back with a soft “Sorry, I was…” You drifted off with your excuse and Curtis half pushed up to lean against the wall the beds head was at, tilting his head and shaking his head. 

“You don't have to be sorry Y/N, we are going to be together for a long time. I hope you liked some of what you saw.” He gave a bit of an easy lopsided grin and you peeked at him from under your lashes, relaxing a bit. 

How little did he know how much less intimidating he was when he smiled. 

“I did… You are… very handsome.” You struggled to find your words with this, but was loathe to fall back to the tense silence the two of you normally shared. “Thank you for earlier.” You tilted your head towards the bathroom. “I have never felt that before.” 

He leaned forward to catch your chin in his forefinger and thumb, lifting your face a bit. “And you're a stunning woman Y/N. '' He let you go and settled back with a nod. “Of course. I know how miserable it is, I couldn't let you deal with that alone.” 

You settled in a bit more, keeping the sheet tugged around you. “Can I ask you something Curtis?” 

“Of course Y/N.” He wanted to reach for you and bring you in against him, but he wasn't going to push you right now. You were opening up and were not skittish around him. 

“The scars… what happened? Are they chicken pox or something?” You knew diseases and illness would run rampant through the tail end all the time. Curtis glanced down at his chest, his hand sweeping up and down his chest a moment as his jaw clenched. 

“Scars from a cattle prod.” He cleared his throat a bit but didn't stop his words even though you cringed a bit at the thought. “When Wilford first collected us, of course we resisted at first. They used cattle prods to control us. Son of a bitch stun. Then once we learned our place in the front, they got used less and less.” 

You scooted closer, your hand resting on his arm where the shiny scar was so prominent, Curtis watched as your thumb traced around it, your gaze studying it a moment as his words sunk in. “Then we went into training for fighting. Every time we lost in the beginning, they used the prods on us again. The amount of time we lost by was how long they kept the prod on us. Condition us to keep getting up and going after each other till we basically just about killed one another.” 

Your eyes moved over him again, seeing the little ones first but then the darker larger ones. All the times Curtis lost and had to pay the price. 

“Then as they gathered more people, it changed. No longer were we punished because every fight became one to the bitter end.” His jaw clenched and he took your hand in his own. “I actually do have to talk to you about that.” 

You wrinkled your nose, not wanting any more bad news. You held up a hand to pause him. “Maybe later Curtis? Can you tell me something from before?” 

He looked confused at first and arched his brows. “Before what… before Snowpiercer?” And you nodded to confirm that. He seemed to think, it was obvious he hadn't really considered it before. “I will… but only if you come over here. You're still tired, I can see it in your face.” He lifted his arm and you were slow in moving, careful to keep the sheet around you. He never tried to remove it, but settled his arm around you. Fingers sliding up and down the softness of your shoulder and arm, he settled in to tell you about his childhood in the outskirts of Boston.

It was hours of you two sharing stories and the thoughts Curtis had before faded to the back of his mind, completely forgetting about having to tell you about the tournament. Fading into the next day, you both slept in late and Curtis let you take the first shower before taking one himself. He left the room while you were reading your book, and this time you didn't hear the door click with the lock. Easing up to a stand, you approached the door and barely opened it, but shut it just as quick. Not wanting anyone in the hallway to know that you were in here. Although you doubted that anyone would mess with you being you belonged to Curtis, you didn't want to take your chances. You seemed to be in Curtis’s good graces now and didn't want to upset that balance. Not to mention the man from New Years Day, Grey had scared you with his gaze when Curtis made you crawl away. 

Shaking those memories off, you went back to the table, curling up in the chair to read when he returned with what smelled like breakfast. Lifting your nose in appreciation, he set a tray down on the table that was littered with different things that made your mouth water. “Is that… bacon?” You asked in surprise and Curtis laughed, sliding the plate that had several pieces on it towards you. 

“Yes, a rare treat, but once in a while the kitchens fry some up. We get it a few times a year, so better enjoy it.” 

You picked up the piece, crumbly and greasy between your fingers, you took a nip off the end of it, chewing it so slowly and sighing in happiness at the saltiness that hit your tongue. “God I forgot how good this was.” you nibbled a bit more while Curtis started peeling an orange, unable to hide the grin at how much you seemed to be enjoying it. The freshness of the orange made your nose wiggle and he pried it half apart, handing you half of the fruit which you started to peel the sections apart and alternated between bites of bacon and orange. You honestly didn't know which was better. 

There were also bits of warm toasted bread smeared with butter, berries that were warm as if just fresh picked and even what resembled a watered oatmeal sweetened with honey. Curtis saw you picking at a bit of everything. “I figured you would be hungry after yesterday, so I just got a bit of everything this morning.” 

He was right, you were famished and it was hard to limit yourself to half, but he kept encouraging you to have more and by the time you finished, you were so full. “I cant eat another bite.” 

Curtis finished off the last bite of bread and moved to stand, picking up the now empty tray. You reached to pick up your book again, when he surprised you yet again. 

“How about you come with me Y/N? We will drop this off to the kitchen and walk off some of this?” 

You hesitated. The last time you left the room with him, it ended with a sore ass on your part. He waited silently for your answer though, and you eased up to a stand. “Okay.” He eased the door open and you stepped outside once more, taking a deep breath as you looked up and down the narrow hallway, unsure why it felt a bit dangerous. You have been escorted many times to the doctor appointments, but this has only been the second time you left with Curtis. 

“This way.” He turned away from the section you had traveled to last time, your hand fisted in the back of his shirt to keep a hold of him, especially when you two had to pass through the narrow tunnel between cars. It seemed you two went through many sleeper cars. Door after door you two passed till he opened the next one, and it was lined with tables on one side, and in the back a large kitchen bustling with people preparing food. It smelled heavenly in there to you, catching whiffs of the bacon from earlier still heavy in the air, the sound of knives chopping against cutting boards and things sizzling on the stove. Your step faltered as you two went to drop the tray off, Curtis reaching behind him to tug you forward, his hand circled around your wrist and then kept gently at the small of your back. He led you closer so you could see into the kitchen through a wide window. 

“Wow, the tail end would be in awe of this.” your fingers pressed to the glass as someone opened an oven and pulled out what looked to be an actual chocolate cake, testing it with a knife to be sure it was cooked through. 

Curtis watched as well, none of it new to him but you seemed to be enjoying it, so he didn't push for the two of you to leave. Not quite yet anyways. The kitchen was still mostly empty and he wasn't in any rush to meet with Grey somewhere while you were out with him. “Most of this is for high class. As I said, the stuff we had today was a treat.” 

You titled to look up at him. “We never got any of this… ever. I don't know if you had any, but we only get the blocks, protein blocks they are called.” Your eyes wandered back to the food just piling up in different sections, your thoughts going to how much your old friends would have enjoyed all this. 

Curtis was quiet, he was taken away before the protein blocks were dispersed, but he remembered the desolate conditions. The things they almost resorted to until Wilford had him and a large group of young men removed. “I'm sure they are awful.” 

You hummed softly that they were and Curtis eased you away, towards another door. “One last Car before we head back because I have training today.” He opened a door and you stepped into a blast of warm air and you grinned feeling the artificial sun on your face. You knew this car, it was an extension to the greenhouse that would be the next one. This one had sweet smelling trees blossoming in it, the fruit trees where the apples and oranges came from. Right now the citrus scent filled your senses and Curtis followed you down into a lane where a few people tended to the trees, high up in the branches going through the rip fruit and pruning the dead branches and leaves away to keep them healthy. 

“Doesn't it smell good.” You mentioned as you brushed your hand against the bark, letting it scratch at your palm just for the sensation.” 

Curtis took a deep breath to clear his lungs, and you were right. There was always a freshness in these cars that the rest of the train didn't have. The living breathing plants filtering the air over and over. It was almost as good as being outside once again. You two didn't say much, just soaked in the “sun” and wandered among the trees. But once more Curtis steered you back to the exit and the two of you returned to the sleeper car once more. You were left alone to occupy yourself while Curtis went to train. 

A few weeks passed and things between the two of you continued to smooth out. A mutual understanding happened that day you needed him. He still cornered you in bed, plucking you out of your clothing and fucked you. But you didnt fight as much as before, his hands pining yours above your head as he filled you, sometimes slow steady strokes and other times it was like he was fucking the frustrations out on you from whatever happened in his trainings. You rarely asked, as typically those days you were met with grunts of ‘nothing’ while he laid there afterwards. Either way, he never left you unsatisfied, making sure you reached your pleasure before he allowed his own to take over.

The moments you learned to appreciate were the ones lying with him in silence, once in a while you would read to him afterwards from whatever book you were reading from, his fingers twirling patterns along your skin where he could reach until he made you put the book down and ask for something more personal. And just as he talked about his past, you soon started telling him about your life before Snowpiercer. 

How your mother abandoned you with your sweet grandparents. Whom loved you very much, here you would choke up a bit talking about them. You missed them terribly and knew they sacrificed everything to get you on the train, even a life in the tail end was better to them then you freezing to death with them. Times when it got too hard, Curtis let you cry into the pillow, usually resulting in your passing out afterwards. This is when he would take his leave, go attend whatever business he had and bring back food for that evening. 

You two fell into this routine that worked for both of you, but there would always come a day when it all was disrupted. That day the door barged open. You were in the middle of getting dressed, scurrying to tug a shirt on when Curtis stepped in front of you with a raised voice. “You know you have no right barging into my space.” 

“I do when Wilford demands for your slut.” One shoved Curtis aside, you could see his hand hovering at his hip where a stick hung and his fingers snapped at the clasp and Curtis was about to push back when you stepped towards the other man. 

“It's fine, it's okay… I will go with you.” You nodded, not wanting a fight. 

Curtis turned away from the man having pushed him back. “No Y/N, it's not your scheduled time and they are supposed to let me know beforehand before taking you out of my care.” 

“13 you dumb fuck, Wilford requested for her. What he says goes.” You were being pulled from the room when you saw the stick being pulled out of its holster, the zapping noise crackling at the end and the door slammed shut before you could see them use it on Curtis to subdue him. 

“Come on girl…” You were yanked ahead, leaving behind the only safe place you now felt on the train. You swallowed your fear, as you had no idea why Wilford would want to see you of all people. 

When they left Curtis, he spat out blood on the floor while pushing himself up. Once you left, the remaining people turned on him, making sure he didn't forget “his place”. Leaving him with a few burn marks on his chest and a good kick in his side and a bloody nose. Grabbing a rag to slow the flow down, he checked his door. But knew it would be locked. They didn't want him following after you. He paced the small space, feeling effectively caged in and helpless not being able to go for you. There was little that he could do then wait. Which he did. Yanking out a chair, long legs bounced up and down with a jiggle of his foot, his eyes plastered to the door, feeling like a ticking time bomb counting down. 

You weren't brought to Wilford to begin with. Instead it was back to the doctor who did all the same checks he always did. This time when he had you take a test, after long minutes of waiting, he exclaimed. “Finally!” 

You pushed to sit up, shaking your head in confusion. “Finally what?” 

“13 finally impregnated you girl.” He put the stick in a baggie and marked it with a date before putting it in another cabinet. “I'm guessing it's from that shot I gave you. Works every time.” 

But you had stopped listening to the doctor, your hand coming to your still very flat stomach and breathing in sharply. There was someone growing inside of you at this exact moment and neither you nor Curtis had any idea. You didn't feel different, weren't pregnant women supposed to feel different? You were in a daze till the doctor snapped his fingers in your face to get your attention. 

“Take these vitamins every day and in a few weeks we will take a look to see how it's growing, okay? I'm assuming this is your first. So nothing strenuous, you be sure to tell us if Curtis is being rough with you. Got it?” 

You scowled as you snatched the vitamins from him, nodding. “Can I go back now?” 

“No. Wilford still wants to see you.” The doctor exclaimed while marking your chart, doing some calculations before tapping a button to open the door, signalling you were ready to go. 

Escorted through more cars, soon you were approaching the giant W that you had seen once before. You tried to stall, but was easily overpowered as Claude held the door open, ushering you to get inside before it snapped shut again. You hugged around yourself, not forgetting back when you were first dragged in here. Wilford was up in the engine, seeming to just be standing and watching the roving machine while Claude nudged you forward to a seat. With an extravagant spin, Wilford threw his hands up as if in joy. 

“Y/N!, what a pleasure. I'm so glad you were able to come visit me today. I know you're busy, growing a baby and keeping Curtis company.” He winked as he approached you and you chose silence as your answer. He tugged you back to a stand and pulled you out at arm's length, looking you up and down. “Ahh what a change. You look so good Y/N, simply glowing already. Aren’t you glad I had you brought up from that dirty tail end.” 

You again chose silence but Claude cleared her throat nearby. “Till Mr.Wilford thank you bitch.” 

“Now now Claude, that's not how we treat our guests.” He had you sit back down, and pulled a chair out to move closer to you. “Not the guest of the hour. I have more good news for you Dear. Exciting news, once in a lifetime news.” 

Your gut sank, cause anything that excited Wilford surly couldn't bode well for you. 

“See we have this tournament Dear, very good times. Everyone turns out for the event. The people participating are rewarded when they win. This time you will be given to the strongest man there is. Your beauty has not escaped anyone else's notice. They all want you on their arm. So in the end… you will be moving on with the winner.” 

You shake your head in a no. “No, please I just want to stay with Curtis.” 

Wilford tutted softly and cupped your cheek, grasping it hard enough to make you stop moving, a whimper escaping you. 

“Then my Dear, you better encourage Curtis to win.”

[junosartsthetic]

Hello :) For the yandere writing prompts: Might I get Roses with Shigaraki? Please and thank you <3

"Roses. They once brought great comfort. They still bring me roses but the light in their eyes is gone."

I always get carried away writing these, oops. Anyway here you go! Also this is a tattoo parlor/flower shop AU because of course it is.

__

Your new shop had only been open a day when you first noticed him. You were tending to your freshly cut roses, clipping the thorns carefully, when you heard the bell on the door jingle. You turned, looking to see who had entered. “Hello, welcome to Roses and Company!” you greeted, looking the newcomer over.

He donned a black hoodie, hood over his head and hands tucked into the pockets. You noted grey-blue hair poking out from the hood. His lips were rather chapped. He didn’t reply to your greeting.

You finished tending to the roses, placing them in a vase on a shelf before walking over to the stranger. “Can I help you find anything?”

He glanced over at you. You gave him a smile. He shrugged. “I work next door. I had nothing better to do so I wanted to check this place out.” You noted his gravelly voice. He sounded irritated. Maybe that was just his tone of speaking, you thought.

You remembered the tattoo parlor next door. “You’re a tattoo artist?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He rolled up his hoodie sleeve, showcasing a large collection of tattoos. They ranged from morbid depictions of skulls to scrawlings of words. You thought they were pretty.

“Oh, sweet. I’ve never had a tattoo but I might have to get one now that you’re right next door!”

He gestured to the bouquet of roses you’d just shelved. “How much for those?”

You were only just now realizing you’d never put price tags on anything, assuming you’d have time later today. “Oh, umm…”

He suddenly spoke up. “A tattoo for the bouquet?”

You raised a brow. “Really?”

This day was turning interesting.

He nodded.

Why the hell not, you thought, trotting over to grab the vase before handing it over. “Alright. Deal.”

Next thing you knew you were sitting in a chair, the stranger sitting beside you as he sketched out a few ideas. They were all types of flowers. He was a very good artist, you noted.

“Hey,” you spoke up, causing him to hum. “I never got your name.”

“Tomura,” he mumbled, focusing on his sketches.

You smiled. “I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to meet you.”

You pointed at a sketch of a rose he had, noting it resembled the roses in the vase sitting in front of the paper. “You’re really amazing at art, Tomura. That looks incredible.”

His cheeks grew warm. “I’ve been doing this for a while. Anyway, is that the one you want?”

“It looks expensive, are you sure you want just that bouquet?”

He nodded. “It’s fine. I don’t care about money. I just enjoy the art.”

Within a few minutes, he had laid down the stencil for the tattoo, and you braced yourself for the inking needle.

“Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The sensation of the needle hitting your arm made you jump, but it wasn’t as bad as you imagined. Your eyes watered slightly as he continued his work.

It only took about an hour to complete, and you talked to him during this time, Tomura occasionally responding but mostly just listening.

He realized he really liked your voice. And your calm demeanor. He didn’t know why he suddenly made a deal with you, or why he insisted on giving you a free tattoo. He’d never done anything like this for anyone else. What made you special? He didn’t even really know you. It was odd. He’d have to discuss it with Kurogiri later.

“It’s done,” he spoke after some time, putting the ink needle down and cracking his wrists. He’d usually take a break during tattooing, but he decided to push onward for yours, strangely.

“It looks amazing,” you commented, gazing at your freshly inked arm. “Thank you, Tomura. And you were right, it didn’t really hurt.”

“You should probably get back to your store,” he noted. “Let me wrap it up and I’ll check on it tomorrow.”

You gave him a soft smile. “Sounds good!”

The next day, he showed up at your shop as promised, and you waved him over. “Hey, Tomura. Nice to see you again.”

You gestured to your new tattoo. “It seems to be doing good. I’ve been doing everything you’ve said to take care of it.”

He looked it over before his eyes roamed to your face. You were very pretty, he noticed. He liked the way you smiled at him. Nobody had smiled at him like that before. It made him feel nice.

“Oh, here,” you said, handing him a vase full of roses. “I decided that just one wasn’t enough in exchange for this tattoo, so I wanted to give you another bouquet.”

He stared at the red flowers, freshly plucked and trimmed. They looked perfect.

He took them wordlessly. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he mumbled.

You waved him goodbye. “Alright!”

Day after day, he showed up, and day after day you gave him a bouquet of roses. He always accepted them, and you always looked forward to his visits.

Until one day, it all changed.

It had been a month since you’d opened up shop, and your tattoo had healed up nicely.

You were rather busy today, so when you didn’t see Tomura at all you brushed it off as just missing him when he walked in.

When 10 pm rolled around, you began to close up shop.

You were prepared to walk out, purse in hand, when you saw a figure outside. You quickly recognized him as Tomura.

“Oh, hey! I thought you had already stopped by and I just hadn’t noticed you! I’ve already stored all of the roses away for today but I’ll give you two bouquets tomorrow! Promise!”

Tomura waved it off. “No, I’m not here for that. I wanted to repay you for all of your kindness.”

You cocked your head. “Oh, I don’t need any payment or anything. You’ve been a dear to me!”

He held his hand out, grasping yours. “You don’t have to keep up your ruse. I’m not a likeable person. I know that. But still, you look at me with such kindness. And I can’t get you out of my head.”

You stared blankly. “What do you mean, Tomura? Are you confessing to me or something?” You laughed, meaning it as a joke, but the way his hand squeezed yours, you realized he was completely serious.

“Every waking moment I think of you. I still have all of your bouquets you know, I’ve taken such good care of them. They’re all alive and well. Let me take you to them. They’re just inside my shop.”

You gripped your purse nervously. What had gotten into him?

“Oh, I’m glad you like them. Flowers can be tricky to take care of. Especially roses. People don’t like their thorns.”

He began to tug on your hand, guiding you next door. “C’mon. I’ll show you.”

Despite the lurking feeling of dread, you followed him without question. You knew Tomura. He wouldn’t do anything weird to you. He was a friend.

He led you inside, walking towards a door in the back of the tattoo parlor. You noticed a large chain and a lock on the door. He used his free hand to unlock it, the key dangling on a necklace tucked into his hoodie.

He led you inside.

There, on the walls of the small closet, vases of roses lined the shelves. You noticed they were all pristine, as healthy as the day you handed them to Tomura.

“Wow,” you said, letting go of his hand to caress a rose. “They’re so vibrant. You’d make a good florist, Tomura. You’ve taken great care of these. It’s amazing. They all look really healthy.”

You heard shuffling behind you. You moved to turn around, but a cloth pressed against your face stopped you. An arm wrapped around your waist, locking you against a chest as a chemical entered your airways. You attempted to scream, but no luck. Petrified, you could only wiggle in his grasp as your body began to weaken.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N), but it’s for the best.”

When you awoke, you noticed you were still in the closet, though resting on a loveseat tucked into the corner. There was nobody with you. “Tomura!” you called, struggling to stand. You felt dizzy, and your legs wouldn’t move. “Hello!” you cried. You tried to wiggle your toes, but you couldn’t. What the hell was going on.

“Someone help me!”

The door unlocked, and in stepped Tomura. His hood was off. He’d never taken his hood off before. You looked into his eyes and saw blazing madness. He scratched his neck violently, smiling widely. “Oh good, you’re awake! I thought I’d knocked you out for good! That would have been awful!”

You recoiled in the chair, uselessly attempting to move your legs and escape.

“Sorry, little rose, but I had to. I couldn’t have you leaving me!”

Your eyes widened, terrified. What had he done to your legs; why couldn’t you feel them.

“Tomura, stop it. You’re acting crazy,” you cried, tears pricking your eyes. “Let me go!”

He shook his head. “I can’t. You don’t understand. I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! I can never let you leave me!”

You began to shake, sobbing.

He stepped towards you. “Don’t cry. I’ll take good care of you. You’re the most important of my flowers, don’t you see? You were giving me all of these roses, when you were the only rose I needed!

You cast your gaze to your tattoo as a new wave of tears struck you.

He said nothing else, only turning on his heels and walking out of the closet. The door closed, and you heard the chain clanking as the lock clicked.

You were trapped here. With no ability to walk. And no way out.

As Tomura locked you in the small room, his mind was racing. He’d done it. He’d finally gotten you all to himself. His heart beat rapidly, and he clenched his hands tightly. He was euphoric. And yet, that look in your eyes hit a soft spot in him. Was this the right thing to do? He shook this feeling aside. Of course it was. There was no other way. He had to have you. He had to protect you. He had to keep you healthy, just like the other roses...

Some time had passed, weeks maybe, you’d lost track, and you grew quiet and lethargic. You wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t even acknowledge his presence.

Still, he’d give you food and water. He helped you clean, giving you baths in the tub above the parlor. He even carried you up the stairs, being that your legs were now permanently paralyzed.

Every few days, after the parlor had closed, he’d carry you to a seat, giving you a new tattoo. It was always a rose.

Roses. They once brought great comfort to you. You used to love them. You would love giving Tomura a bouquet each day he visited. Technically, you were still bringing him roses, only he inked them onto your skin. You became his bouquet.

“You still bring me roses,” Tomura muttered quietly, buzzing the flower into your reddened skin, “but the light in your eyes is gone.”

[aithorin]

Chasing You - Thranduil x Reader

Plot: Imagine overhearing Thranduil’s conversation with Tauriel and running away

A/N-This fic is also posted on AO3 under the same username. I will insert a link to it below. However, this is also a slightly different version as I’ve made a couple of edits. I’ll post the updated version eventually on AO3, but for now this is the only edited version. Also, some of the lines in this are from the movies, so as a disclaimer, I do not own any recognizable content.

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21823933

Slight NSFW Warning!

The hooves of your horse thundered in your ear as you pushed it to gallop quickly throughout Mirkwood. All around, the sickened trees passed in a blur, and yet somehow they still managed to loom over you, mocking your troubles with their height. You hunched closer to your horse, looking for comfort, and threaded your fingers throughout its mane. The wind burned at your eyes, causing tears of a completely different kind to well. They mingled with the ones symbolic of your heartbreak, mixing so thoroughly that they became indistinguishable from one another. The wind pulled at both, tugging at them as they trekked down your face. The tears disappeared into the air behind you, the wind having successfully stolen them.

So distracted by your thoughts, you didn’t even notice how the wind had prematurely dried the tear tracks along your face, pinching the skin slightly underneath. All you could focus on was Thranduil. Just the thought of his name sent a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, blurring your vision even more. Moments from your relationship flashed through your mind, and confusion merged with your hurt. You just didn’t understand. All this time he had seemed so genuine. To find out it was all a farce so suddenly only made your anguish sharper. There were no suspicions at all; you had been happy, and you thought that he had been happy too. But as a sob escaped your mouth, you realized that maybe some things weren’t meant to be. Echoes of the conversation you had accidently heard rang throughout your mind, and agony grappled at your heart as you thought about Thranduil’s betrayal.

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

Having finished your chores for the day, you hurried toward the throne room hoping to catch a moment alone with Thranduil. It was difficult to spend time with him considering your relationship was a secret, so every spare moment you had to sneak with him was precious. As you passed by a corridor, muffled voices floated through the air causing your footsteps to slow to a halt. Curious, you crept towards the sound, excitement filling you as you recognized Thranduil’s voice. It was perfect! You’d just wait for him to finish and then maybe you could spend a few moments together. But as the muffled noise turned into clear voices, your excitement quickly diminished as a deep hurt took root within your heart.

“Legolas said you fought well today… he has grown very fond of you.” Thranduil’s deep baritone resonated throughout the room.

A few moments passed before Tauriel stammered, “I assure you my lord, Legolas thinks of me as no more than a captain of the guard.”

“Perhaps he did once...now I’m not so sure.” Thranduil sneered.

“I do not think…  you would allow your son to pledge himself to a lowly silvan elf.” Tauriel stuttered back.

“No, you’re right. I would not.” Thranduil declared, “Still… he cares about you. Do not give him hope where there is none”

At his words, a gasp left your mouth as your heart plummeted. Both of their heads snapped in your direction, but by then you had already turned and fled down the hall. Tears welled in your eyes as you began to understand the meaning behind his words. You were no different than Tauriel. In fact, you were inferior to her being that your station in life was that of a maid. If Legolas couldn’t pledge himself to the esteemed captain of the guard, then there was no hope that Thranduil would ever truly pledge himself to you either. All this time, you were nothing more than a fling to Thranduil, maybe even less. Did he see your feelings as a game, something to be toyed with? The conviction with which Thranduil spoke his words told you more than you ever needed to know. It was obvious he didn’t share in any of the things you felt. A choke escaped your throat as you realized your relationship was nothing but a lie.

Fleeing from the corridor, you ran to the comfort of your room. The door to your chambers creaked open, and light from the hall seeped through to illuminate it. As you stepped inside, you looked slowly around the room. Nothing seemed right anymore. You felt as though you were suffocating, and with a sudden clarity you knew what you had to do. You had to leave. The thought of staying in Mirkwood made you nauseous. Having to stay and look at Thranduil everyday, knowing that he never cared about you, would only break your heart over and over again. Leaving was the only way you had any hope of moving on. You quickly gathered what meager belongings you had, and hurried towards the stables. Climbing on top of the nearest horse, you saddled your pack and took off without a backward glance.

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

The trees of Mirkwood continued to whiz by, the tears continuously spilling from your eyes creating a distorted view of your surroundings. Thoughts raced through your mind as you tried to make sense of the situation.

‘How could he do this to me? I loved him! I gave him everything. My heart, my mind, my trust, my body, everything, and yet in the end he didn’t care at all. It was nothing but a game to him.’ A choked, bitter laugh escaped through the sobs erupting from your throat. Everything just hurt; your heart felt tight, a huge lump in your throat made it difficult to breathe, and your eyes were swollen and tired from crying.

Why, why would he do this to you! You never thought he could be so cruel. Lost in the river of your despair, you failed to notice the sound of legs scurrying across the forest floor until it was too late.

A rustle of leaves sounded to your left before a giant spider leapt from behind the brush causing your horse to rear up in fright. The sudden change in gravity threw you from its back, causing your backside to hit the floor with a hard thud, knocking the breath from you. Letting out a wheeze as you attempted to regain your breath, you looked up just in time to see your horse let out a loud whine before bolting back in the direction you came. By then, the giant spider had turned its attention towards you and moved with a speed that surprised even your elven senses. You scurried back on all fours in terror, the dead leaves crunching beneath your hands. All too soon though, your path became blocked by one of the towering, ill trees that resided in the forest. Still, your arms flailed as you tried to get away, but the spider continued to advance, slowly trapping you in your place. Your breath started to quicken, and terrified gasps resounded throughout the forest. This was it. You were going to die in the forest alone, with the knowledge that no one had ever really loved you. A few stray tears escaped your eyes as you realized just how pathetic you really were. By now the spider loomed above you, its pincers poised above you, ready to strike. Ominous hisses spewed from its mouth, and you squeezed your eyes shut, unwilling to watch it deliver the killing blow. Having accepted your fate, your body relaxed, and you waited for the world you knew to be no more.

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

“I want the watch doubled at our borders. All roads. All rivers. Nothing moves but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom and no one leaves it.” Thranduil ordered, an unspoken warning in his tone, before walking away with a swish of his cloak.

No sooner had he left the throne room was he stopped by a servant.

“Forgive the intrusion my lord, but I couldn’t help overhearing your order and…” The elleth hesitated.

“Out with it, you insolent child! I don’t have all day! You’ve already overstepped your boundaries, don’t push them anymore.” Thranduil said, his patience growing thin.

“Well,” she began, “it’s just...I’m worried about (Y/N). When I stopped by our shared room all of her belongings were gone. I think she went into the forest, but she hasn’t come back. Will she be able to get back into the kingdom with your order?”

At the mention of your name, Thranduil’s blood turned ice cold in his veins. Where could you have possibly gone, and with all of your belongings too? You wouldn’t just leave without telling him, and you knew better than to go into the forest alone. You weren’t trained in the art of combat, and there were too many dangers that lurked in the forest these days. Thranduil’s mind became laced with panic as he ran through all of the possible things that could have happened to you. Were you lost? Injured? Dead? At that last thought, Thranduil swallowed as a hard lump of fear developed in his throat. He had to find you. Now.

He turned to look at the elleth, the cool facade on his face betraying none of the inward worry that he held.

“As king it is my duty to see to the safety and wellbeing of all that dwell within my kingdom. As such, I will personally see to it that (Y/N) is brought back home safe and unharmed.”

At his words, the elleth visibly relaxed. “Thank you my lord. You are most generous and kind.” With a nod of her head, the elleth bowed her head before walking away to return to her duties.

Thranduil turned to the nearest guard. “You,” he said, “Ready my elk. We leave at once.”

“Yes my lord.”

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

Thranduil raced through the forest, looking for any sign of a trail. Suddenly, a lone horse came barreling in their direction, rearing in a panic. The small group of guards he had with him leaped in front to calm it down.

Grabbing its reins, Thranduil inspected the horse, noticing a pack saddled to its back. Peering inside, he saw your possessions and his expression turned grim. Without a word, he swung back onto his elk and charged down the path the horse came from.

Galloping along the path, Thranduil prayed that you were okay. He would never forgive himself if something were to happen to you. Meeting you had breathed new life into him. For the first time since his wife died, he actually felt happy, something his own son couldn’t even provide him. Every beat of his heart was dedicated solely to you, and if you were to be taken from him like his wife was, he didn’t think he would ever be able to recover.

Deep in the forest now, Thranduil was beginning to doubt that he’d be able to find you when he heard noises coming from off the path. The hiss of a spider, leaves crackling as someone scrambled. His eyes widened as he realized a spider was attacking someone. Jumping from his elk, Thranduil’s footsteps pounded as he ran, and the sound of metal scraping could be heard as he drew his sword. Bursting into a clearing, he saw a giant spider above someone, poised to kill whoever was trapped. As the spider went in for the killing blow so did Thranduil. Fortunately, Thranduil was faster, and blood spurted as he drove his sword into the spider’s back. The spider howled in pain, limbs flailing as the life slowly drained from it along with its blood. All too soon, the spider dropped dead, and Thranduil hurried to push it off of whoever was trapped beneath it.

Rolling the spider’s body to the side, Thranduil was met with the sight of you curled tightly, hugging your knees to your chest with your eyes clenched shut. Dried tear tracks painted your cheeks, and visible tremors shook your body. Thranduil kneeled next to you as a big weight lifted from his chest. You were alive! Scared and shaken but alive. He had made it to your side in time, albeit he was cutting it a bit close.

Right in front of you, Thranduil slowly reached out to place a gentle hand on your shoulder. At his touch, you jumped and started to shake even harder, your eyes still shut tight.

“Meleth nin,” he spoke softly, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

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

“Meleth nin” you heard a soft voice whisper, “Open your eyes. I am here, and you are safe.”

At the sound of his voice, you wanted to let out a sob. It sounded just like him, but you knew that it couldn’t be Thranduil. There was no way that Thranduil was in front of you. He was back at the palace, most likely atop his throne, while you were here, probably bleeding out from a spider bite. That was it you reasoned. You had been bitten by the spider, and now you were going delirious from its venom before you died. It was the only explanation. He didn’t love you. You didn’t want to open your eyes. If you did the illusion would be shattered. At least this way you could pretend that you wouldn’t die alone, and that your love was here.

But when his hand started to shake your shoulder, the possibility that maybe he actually was here started to seem more like a reality. You reluctantly opened your eyes to see his cerulean ones staring into yours, deep with concern. You wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold him, but with the threat of death looming over you gone, you remembered why you left in the first place. You snatched your wandering arms back and lowered your eyes as more tears suddenly welled in your eyes. ‘He isn’t mine’, you reminded yourself, ‘he never was’. Having him be so close yet at the same time so far made your heart clench painfully in your chest.

“Melamin, are you alright? I was so worried I had lost you.” Thranduil whispered.

Deciding to ignore the endearment, you chose to answer the way your relationship now demanded. That of a respectful servant addressing her king. Still looking down at your feet, you replied meekly, “Yes, your majesty. Thank you for rescuing me. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

At your words, his eyes squinted ever so slightly in confusion. Why were you talking to him like that, as though you were just another one of his subjects? Something else was wrong. You couldn’t even look at him. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the few guards surrounding the clearing leaving just the two of you.

“What is wrong meleth nin? Why can’t you look at me?”

The continued endearments caused the sob that had been stuck in your throat to escape. Why did he insist on continuing the game? Was it not enough that he had taken your heart? Must he continue to squeeze it as well? How spiteful could he be to insist on calling you that?

“Please,” you whispered “Do not continue to jest. My heart cannot take it.”

Thranduil grabbed your hands and with the sudden movement, you finally tilted your head to meet his gaze. Seeing your heartbroken face, he felt his own heart twinge within his chest. He could feel you slipping away and with every passing minute he feared that he would not be able to get you back. “I don’t understand,” he pleaded, “Whatever it is that I have done, tell me, and I will not rest until I have eased your mind.”

His words made your head droop in despair. So he was going to continue to feign ignorance until he could break your heart and see your expression for himself. His insisted cruelty caused the first seeds of anger to break through the dam of your heartbreak. Thranduil might have shattered your heart, but you’d be damned before you’d let him see the effects. You’d get through this conversation, and then part from Mirkwood and put this chapter of your life behind you.

With your newfound determination, you looked at him with your face hard and eyes steely. “Do not think me so naive that I will continue to play along with your game, my lord. You may have fooled me once, but I refuse to let you do so again. You can cease your act of mocking love and concern. Please, just go back to the palace and have a laugh about the foolish maid who believed that a king could ever possibly care for her, and I will be on my way.”

Thranduil stared at you in bewilderment. Where was all of this coming from? Just this morning, everything was fine, and in that short time you now doubted his love for you. What could have possibly happened?

“Whoever has planted this seed of doubt in your mind will wish that they had never opened their mouth,” Thranduil swore gravelly, “I do not know what has caused this skepticism, but know that my feelings for you are honest and true.” He lifted your hands enclosed in his to place a soft kiss upon them.

Looking into his eyes, you were tempted to believe him. He seemed so earnest, but the words that he spoke earlier rang through your mind, “Do not give him hope where there is none”, and your temptations were banished. You let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. YOU were the one who made your feelings toward me clear as day, no one else. If you cannot bring yourself to be honest about anything else, then at least take responsibility for revealing your true feelings about me.”

“I do not know what you speak of!” Letting go of you, he stood from the forest floor and began to circle the clearing in frustration. “Care to enlighten me?”

Crossing your arms, you stood with him. “I heard you. Earlier, in the corridor with Tauriel. With it, the veil from my eyes was lifted, and I am now able to see this relationship for what it is: a complete and utter lie.”

He spun around to face you. “That had absolutely nothing to do with you! It was about Legolas. It, in no way, concerned how I feel about you.”

“It had everything to do with me.” you spoke softly. “If the prince is not allowed to pledge himself to Tauriel, the esteemed captain of the guard, where does that leave me? I am a servant my lord, the lowest of the low, and if the prince cannot be with someone who is far above my own station, why would the king of all people do any different?”

You turned to face him, and saw a guilt stricken look cross into Thranduil’s eyes as he realized the implication of his words.

“Forgive me Meleth. I did not realize the severity of my words when I spoke.” He apologized. He crossed the clearing to stand in front of you. Gently grabbing your shoulders, he looked deep into your eyes, “My feelings for you are earnest and unchanging. You have reminded me what happiness looks like. When you came into my life, I saw glimmers of light that I had not seen since my wife died. The first time I looked into your eyes, my heart thawed and began to beat within my chest again. You are the one who has breathed life back into me.”

Shrugging his hands off, you turned away from him.  “Be that as it may, you must believe it someplace deep inside otherwise you would not have spoken as you did. If it really was a mistake, then you would not care if Tauriel and Legolas were together, but you do.”

“No!” Thranduil protested, “I did not realize how selfish I was being when I spoke with Tauriel. If Legolas wishes to be with her so be it. I do not care.” Turning you back around, he gently cupped your cheek and tilted your head up to meet his eyes. “How could I care if it would cost me you?” He whispered.

Staring into his eyes filled with nothing but love, you felt the weight on your chest slowly begin to lift for the first time in hours. Perhaps there was hope after all. Yet as your overwhelming emotions faded, your mind began to clear, leaving nothing but logic and the cold sting of reality as you reconsidered his earlier words. Casting your eyes to the ground, you said, “As much as it pains me to say it, it does not really matter whether you care or not. In many ways, the words you spoke held nothing but the truth. It’s foolish to believe that we can ever truly be together. I am a maid, and you are a king. This relationship has no future for you surely cannot pledge yourself to me. The people would never accept me as queen.”

Crossing your arms, you turned your back so that he would not be able to see the tears welling in your eyes. “We aren’t even truly together right now. We ignore each other around the presence of others, stealing hidden moments in the dead of night. Do you know how painful it is? To see you look at me so coldly, so uncaringly, in the light of day, yet share in the warmth of your embrace at night. It’s exhausting. Do you have any idea how much it makes my heart ache? All I want is the freedom to speak to you, comfort you, touch you, whenever I wish, but our relationship forbids it! I can’t even send you a simple smile when I pass you in the halls! Too often, I can see the stress of a wasted council meeting etched on your face, and I yearn to soothe you and share in your troubles but I cannot. I did not lie when I said your conversation with Tauriel lifted a veil from my eyes, but I can see that it's different from what I originally thought. I think it would be best for us to part ways right here, and that way we can both move on. Elves are immortal. If I left now, I would be but a flicker on the line that is your life. I’m sure it would not be too hard to forget me and our relationship.” you mumbled quietly.

Thranduil’s gaze turned fiery. “Do what you will. But know this, should you choose to leave this forest do not think for one second that I will ever forget you. Ten, a hundred, even thousands of years from now, I will ache for you every second of every day. Not once will you ever leave my mind.”

His gaze softened, “Please… come home, and I promise we will truly be together, no more sneaking around. I am not ashamed to be with you; we will walk the halls together and share in each other’s troubles as you wish.”

“But your advisors and the people-”

His eyes flashed, “Speak no more of it. Love has slipped from my grasp once before, and I refuse to allow it to again. I am the king of this realm, and if I wish to be with you then the people will have to accept it.”

Hearing his words, you wanted nothing more than to accept, but your doubt and insecurity still lingered near the surface. How could you accept when you knew that you would only hold him back? The people would not be happy, and it would lead to unrest in the kingdom. How could you be that selfish? You couldn’t tear apart an entire kingdom for your own happiness. To make matters worse you wouldn’t even be able to help Thranduil bring about peace. You were a servant for crying out loud; you knew nothing about diplomacy!

As an internal war waged within you, Thranduil noticed the doubt in your eyes holding you back. He could sense that you lied upon a threshold and with one little push, you would surrender your doubts and come back to him. Determined to give you that final push, he glided towards you. Lost within your mind, you didn’t even notice that he had started to move until he had pressed himself against your back. The feel of his hard chest against your back brought an immediate halt to the worries swirling within you. Time came to a complete standstill, and you held your breath in anticipation, nervous yet also excited to see what he would do.

Achingly slow, he lifted a hand to gently brush your hair back, baring your neck. With the back of his hand, he started to tenderly trace a path along the curve of your neck. The hand continued downward, skimming the curve of your breasts to reach its resting place on your belly. Your eyes fluttered closed again in appreciation, and without even realizing, you leaned slightly into him, unconsciously craving to be closer. He bent down, his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me Melamin, what troubles you so?”

You shivered as the heat of his breath hit your neck. As he started to pepper your jawline in featherlight kisses, your mind became clouded, but you still managed to share your doubts with him. “I still worry… of the people’s reaction… to our relationship.” you whispered.

Thranduil hummed in response and raised his hand to caress the other side of your jaw. He pressed himself even closer to you and with it a fire that only he could sate ignited within you. “Tell me, does it feel like I care for their reaction? Let go meleth, and I promise you everything will be fine.”

With that, he used his hand to tilt you toward him and leaned down to capture you in a kiss. It started sweet but soon an overwhelming need took over you. The kiss was transformed into a battle of passion, and you turned around to fully face him. Your hands trailed all over Thranduil’s body, sliding up his chest to eventually twist themselves into his hair. With a soft tug, you pulled him even closer to deepen the kiss. Your lungs burned for air, but you didn’t care. At that moment, all that mattered was him. With every second that passed, your doubts slowly melted away as thoughts of Thranduil consumed your mind. All you could focus on was the feel of his lips and his hands gliding over your hips. You wanted nothing more than to drown in the river of his love.

Breaking the kiss for a moment, you opened your eyes to gaze into his. Seeing the love and adoration he held for you in them, you allowed yourself to be drawn into the torrent, and you let go.

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

Afterwards, as you lay cuddled together on the forest floor, Thranduil reached down to entwine your hands together. Resting his head against your shoulder, he brushed a stray strand of hair out of the way and asked once again, “Come home, meleth nin?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you replied, “Yes.”

[cacoetheswriting]

congratulations on your 2K achievement!!! I’ve been binging your Spencer Reid fics all week and can I just say you are the QUEEN of Spencer x pining 🥺🥺🥺 if you’re in the mood to write for him could I request 32 & 37 from the angst prompt list?? I’m ready to cry some more😍😍

thank you so so much 💘 and omg i can't believe you’ve been reading all of them ahh!!! also, jsksjksjssksj to be considered a QUEEN of spencer x pining !?!?!? i’m literally speechless and fucking honoured 🥺😩

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Warnings: a tiny tiny bit of fluff, mainly angst, pining, unrequited / unreciprocated love, jealousy, heartbreak, [spoiler] not a happy ending Word Count: 1.2k Prompts: “I love them and they don’t even know I exist.” & “I can’t just delete my feelings because yours aren’t the same.”

A/N: i listened to falling apart by léon on repeat when writing this little blurb, it doesn't necessarily have anything do with the plot but i recommend playing it while reading for extra ✨pain✨

-

“Kid, just go and say hi.” Derek encouraged, his hands landing at the back of his head as he relaxed in his chair.

The sigh that escaped Spencer’s lips was slow, almost as if his brain needed the time to come up with a rebuttal. A good enough reason as to why he shouldn't do the only thing he truly wanted to do.

“What then?” The young doctor questioned, nervously glancing at you from the safety of his own desk. “What do I say after hi?”

Rolling his eyes at the resident genius, Derek chuckled softly. “After you say hi, you make small talk.” He stated calmly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Spencer contemplated his best friend’s answer. Small talk. He could do small talk if he really put his mind to it, right? After all, he’s done it many times before whenever the team travelled for cases. Granted, it was usually a one-sided conversation which often left the other person feeling very confused, but it was still small talk.

God, this was hopeless. He was hopeless.

“I love them and they don’t even know I exist.” Spencer mumbled while fumbling with the hem of his sweater, his gaze still very much glued to your perfect frame.

Derek scoffed. “Okay Reid, now you’re just being overly dramatic. They know you exist because we've all been working together for a little over two months now.” He leaned forward before continuing, “But, they’re never going to get to know you, and your amazing personality, if you don't talk to them.”

Spencer’s nose twitched briefly. Sometimes he really hated when Derek was right - which, when it came to advice on his non-existent relationship with you, was more often than the brunette doctor cared to admit.

“Now, go say hi or I’ll do it for you.” Derek threatened with a sly smirk.

It was the mental kick Spencer needed, because he quickly sprung up on his feet and with one last encouraging smile from Morgan, he ambled through the bullpen towards you.

Reflecting on it now, it was both the best and worst decision of Spencer’s life.

Best, because as soon the second he approached you, you asked him to join you for lunch. The two of you talked nonstop for the whole hour. The flow from topic to topic was so natural, Spencer completely forgot what he was so apprehensive about.

Best, because after that afternoon, lunches together became a daily occurrence and it wasn't long before they also evolved to other activities. Even outside office hours.

Best, because the more time Spencer spent with you, the more his love for you grew. Which, coincidentally, was also the reason why he considered it to be the worst decision of his life.

You were spending every waking moment together. Sharing secrets, watching random documentaries, carpooling to work, strolling through museums and art galleries. Now that your friendship blossomed and the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm around one another, the young doctor couldn't possibly admit just how strongly he felt about you.

Especially since he knew you didn't feel the same way.

“And then, we shared a dessert. Which I know sounds kind of lame, but I don't know Spence, there was just something so electrifying about the moment. I actually think we might see each other again.” You finished, plopping down next to him on the couch.

A part of your friendship the young doctor didn’t really care for was when you’d show up at his door late at night and ramble on about the latest date you had just come back from. Most dates were luckily a complete disasters, and while you complained, Spencer did his best to fight back a satisfied grin.

Most dates. Not all.

Unfortunately for Spencer, this person you were causally seeing now, seemed to be doing quite well.

“So, if you go out again, it will be your fourth date.” The statement came out more jaundiced than the young doctor intended it to, and he was instantly feeling thankful you didn't seem to notice the odd tone of his voice.

You raised an intrigued brow before letting out a melodic chuckle. “Really? Honestly, I wasn't even counting. I guess when it feels natural, it doesn't matter.” You shrugged your shoulders lightly, ready to move onto another topic.

Spencer however, was fixated on your words - “I guess when it feels natural, it doesn't matter.”.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. The thought of another person giving you what he could only dream to give you made his stomach churn. Jealousy began to stir inside of him. It made the palms of his hands sweat against his jeans. He was suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“You okay Spence? You look a little pale?” You asked, slowly brining your hand to his forearm. Before you could touch him however, the doctor flinched and jumped to his feet.

“I-I love you, Y/N. I-I... I’m in love with you.” He blurted out, closing his eyes for a split second because he didn’t want to look at you when you said you didn't love him back. He couldn't take that kind of pain.

“Oh, Spencer...”

There was a clear shift in the surrounding energy. No longer free and homey, instead it felt tense as if the slightest movement would shatter the imaginary glass wall currently built between the two of you.

With teary eyes, you stood up and intertwined your fingers with his. The warmth of his touch brought comfort into this heart-rending moment, but was it enough to ensure the two of you would walk out of here still friends?

“I... Spencer, I don’t know what to say.” You breathed with a heavy heart.

“I-I know... Trust me, I know you don't feel the same about me. I just needed to say it because it was eating me alive.” Spencer continued, slowly opening his eyes. When his hazel gaze locked with yours, the butterflies in his stomach erupted all at one before sinking heavily. “I can’t just delete my feelings because yours aren’t the same.” He muttered, a broken look spread across his features.

Lone tears slowly trailed down your cheeks, each droplet representing a different memory you and him shared together. As you silently sobbed, holding onto him with all your might, you searched your mind for the right words. 

Although, deep down you knew nothing could fix this.

After what felt like forever, Spencer freed himself from your grasp. He wiped away his own tears using the sleeve of his sweater and took a singular step back. He averted his gaze, eyes landing on his feet, and you’ve been friends with him long enough to understand what that meant.

Spencer wanted you to leave.

Sniffling, you slowly grabbed your things. You didn't want to argue with him, beg him to let you stay so the two of you could talk this out. You’ve caused him enough pain already.

He met your gaze one last time, just as you opened the door to his apartment. You tried to smile in hopes he would maybe mimic the expression, but the best you could do was purse your lips into a thin line which didn't give either of you much hope for your future.

As you stepped outside the threshold, you felt cold and empty - as if you were leaving a part of you behind. In a way you were. But unknowingly, you were also taking something with you.

Spencer’s broken heart.

-

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no​, @calm-and-doctor​, @idroppedmygourd​​, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @willowrose99

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Cardigan (Wolfstar)

I sat down to write a teeny drabble with two lines from the song Cardigan by Taylor Swift. It quickly spiralled into this. (I really love it though).

Set in the cannon universe, cw for mentions of death, injuries and scars. (Nothing graphic though).

I knew you, dancing in your Levi’s drunk under a streetlight. 

“Shh! Pads. you’re gonna get us caught!” Remus half-whispered, his own voice a tad too loud for his own liking but his slightly tipsy state didn’t allow for a lower volume. Sirius spun into him smushing his fingers right up against Remus’ lips, both of them chest to chest under James’ cloak. It was hard to believe the four of them mused to fit under this - now it only just about covered Remus and Sirius even with Remus ducking down to Sirius’ height. 

“Come on Moony, you’re ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’,” He said, punctuating each word of the grand title with his index finger poking into Remus; chest. “Even if we do get caught, you can charm our way out of it.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but followed. The passage was dim and the ground was uneven and to be perfectly honest, they hadn’t yet discovered if this particular passage way had been caved in since they last explored it the previous year, but Sirius seemed sure of himself and that was enough for Remus. If Sirius was the one leading, he’d always follow. 

“Alright, but I’m late on a transfiguration essay, so if Minnie catches us, you’re on your own. I need to save my charm for that.” He said, his tone stern, but all his reserve melted when Sirius smiled up at him and pressed a victorious kiss to his cheek. 

“I take back your title.” Sirius said dramatically, looking at Remus with a smug righteousness. “Apparently ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’ isn’t so perfect after all.”

He pressed his mouth right up next to Remus’ ear just as they stepped out the little secret entrance, ducking under the ivy trellis that hid their little passageway. “It’s a good thing I like bad boys.” Sirius breathed, and Remus couldn’t wait any more, not caring whether the cloak revealed their ankles or not when he pulled Sirius in for a blazing kiss. 

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Sirius smirked and kissed him again. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Remus laughed and took off walking again, tugging the cloak off as soon as they were far enough away from the school, catching hands and spinning under the soft glow of the lamplights illuminating the path to Hogsmeade. Sirius tilted his head back, still spinning, their hands acting as the axis that centred the entire universe. 

“I love you too.”

I knew you, hands under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better. 

“Sirius, if you don’t start being more careful, I’m gonna-”

“What?” Sirius teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, looking far too haughty for a man sitting on a countertop, his legs dangling in the air. “What’re you gonna do Re? You gonna punish me?”

Remus pursed his lips to try hide his smile, but gave in, kissing Sirius once briefly.

“No,” He said, pulling up Sirius’ jumper to get a proper look at the gash he had acquired after climbing a tree. Then subsequently falling out of said tree. “But I will send you to Madam Pomfrey and have you try to explain to her that you thought you’d be able to pull off a levitation charm if there was a ‘more extreme sense of urgency’.” He finished, mocking Sirius’ words from earlier. 

Sirius just scrunched up his face playfully in retaliation, before breathing in shakily as Remus coated the cut with a liberal amount of salve, watching in fascination as the skin knitted back together.

“There.” He said, straightening up to stand between Sirius’ legs, pulling down his jumper again. “Good as new.”

“Nah ah.” Sirius countered, shaking his head as his legs locked behind Remus’ back, binding them together. “Gotta kiss it better.”

Remus wet his lips, shaking his head in fond disbelief, but leaned in willingly, feeling the hot slide of Sirius’ mouth against his own cooler one. 

“All better?” Remus asked, panting slightly as they rested their foreheads together. 

Sirius shrugged, hooking his arm more firmly around Remus’ neck. “Close, but not quite better yet.”

Remus huffed a laugh through his nose, but gladly locked their lips together again, the pair fully intertwined as if they had been made for each other. 

(And maybe they had. For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite. 

“Sirius?” Re said softly, pushing the door to their dorm open slowly. “Are you here?”

“Yeah,” Came a muffled reply. “I’m here.”

Remus stepped into the room, looking first to Sirius’ bed to find it empty. Remus frowned, looking around to find Sirius curled up on Remus’ own bed, his favourite cardigan folded gently around him.

“Hi sweetheart,” Remus said, voice hushed as he climbed onto the bed next to the other boy, noting the red stained eyes and puffed lips. “What do you need?”

At the words, anything that seemed to be holding Sirius together until that point shattered, the raven haired boy collapsing into Sirius’ arms. 

“Re,” He gasped, between his sobs as Remus just pulled him closer. “Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Isn’t love supposed to be good? If it’s so great, then why the fuck does it hurt so much?”

Remus’ heart clenched. Regulus. 

“I don’t know sweetheart,” He murmured, holding Sirius close. “But it makes us who we are.” He cupped Sirius’ face so he could meet the raging stormy eyes. “It’s better to have loved and have lost than to never have loved at all.”

Sirius just blinked at him. 

“But for the record,” Remus said, touching their heads together. “I don’t think you’ve lost him. He’s just lost right now. But he’ll find his way back to you.”

Sirius nodded, and slumped against Remus’ chest, no longer crying, just breathing deeply. 

“You know Remus Lupin,” He whispered after a while. “I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m gonna marry you someday.”

To kiss in cars, and downtown bars, was all we needed.

“Oh Merlin, they’re snogging again.” Peter commented as he turned his head to spot James and Lily, leaning in for a kiss. Remus, currently with his tongue in Sirius’ mouth heard this, but let Peter discover the other couple in his own time.

“Christ, the pair of you are too. You’re all fuckin at it.” He grumbled. If Remus’ mouth wasn’t already a little preoccupied, he would have laughed. There it was.

“Right, I’m off to find humans capable of holding decent conversation.” Peter muttered and he might have left. He could have stayed and done a jig on the table for all Remus cared, but in this moment, he noticed none of it. What was the poem he had read somewhere? Stars and moths and rinds slanting around fruit. This moment.

You drew stars around my scars and now I’m bleeding. 

“Hey, look at this.” Sirius said somewhat excitedly, rolling away from Remus momentarily and returning with a quill and a jar of ink. 

Remus eyed him skeptically, his arm tucked under his head as they lounged on his bed, the curtains drawn to create the illusion of their own little oasis. 

“I bet I could draw stars on your chest and then your scars could connect them, like in astronomy.”

Remus bit his lip, looking at Sirius’ appraised expression. “I feel like I should say no,” He said slowly, even as he unscrewed the ink. “But go for it.”

Sirius grinned triumphantly and studied Remus for a minute, brushing the quill over his lips as he concentrated. Remus couldn’t help but muse that if Sirius put half as much effort into his schoolwork as he was doing here, he would be top of the class. Finally, Sirius ditched the quill, dipping a finger into the ink directly. 

“I don’t want the point of the quill to scratch you.” He explained, after noticing Remus’ raised eyebrow. Something warmed inside Remus’ chest while something cold trickled over the outside. Remus closed his eyes and let himself focus on the slightly ticklish, but mostly soothing sensation of Sirius tracing patterns over his skin. 

“Done.” Sirius muttered after a while and Remus opened his eyes, raising his head a little to peer down at himself. He looked like some abstract piece of art, covered in black and blue and red and green, scars shining silver between it all. 

“Woah,” He breathed, “That’s pretty cool.”

Sirius grinned, then pointed to a star just over Remus; appendix. “That’s Sirius right there.”

Remus hummed, pursing his lips together, then grabbed a jar of ink, tracing a star a little messily, right over his heart. 

“Nah,” He countered, “Sirius is there.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but came up to press their lips together. In the morning, they both looked like works of art.

But I knew you, stepping on the last train, marked me like a blood stain. 

“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll be taking this train.” James said, the four of them standing in a row on the platform, not yet ready to get on. 

“We’ll be back.” Remus said. “Someday, we’ll be back.”

Sirius linked their fingers together. As one, the marauders stepped onto the train. 

Mischief Managed.

I knew you, tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy.

Remus just stared at the auror. 

“Mr Lupin,” The man said gently, playing his hand tenderly on Remus’ arm. Remus didn’t know what his name was. It was probable the man had said it but Remus wasn’t listening. Everything had gone dark. “I realise this must come as a shock.”

Remus wrenched his arm back, shaking his head. “A shock?” He laughed a little manically. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Mr Lupin, we have evidence that Sirius Black was the one to-”

“Well you’re wrong!” Remus yelled. Or maybe he had whispered. It was possible he hadn’t even spoken at all, but the words swirled around and around in his head. “I don’t know how, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong, this isn’t right, you have it all wrong, he would never-”

Remus gasped, pressing a hand to his cracking heart as if it would hold him together. “He would never.” He repeated, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they had gotten there, he didn’t know, but their presence was suddenly noticeable with the cold rush against Remus’ skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” The auror said and then he was gone. And Remus was alone. 

Had it always been this way? Remus alone. Remus with friends. Remus with Sirius. Remus alone. 

Maybe he had made the entire thing up. 

But dreams didn’t leave you feeling like the last kiss you’d ever had was from a  dementor, not your true love. 

It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. He had said that to Sirius once. 

What a fool he had been. 

I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water, when you are young they assume you know nothing. 

“It is believed this was a plan Mr Black had been staging for quite some time now.” A newspaper read. Remus snorted and threw it in the fire. Sirius couldn’t even plan a week in advance. What they fuck did these people know. 

But then, what did Remus know? His love was long lost, Rapunzel in a tower. Remus was no knight. 

But he knew in his heart, none of this was true. He knew. He didn't care what anyone else said, they may have known his thoughts, but Remus knew his heart. 

But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss. 

Sirius’ leather jacket still hung in the cupboard under the stairs. His hair potion, still in the shower. Remus couldn’t bear to see them. He could never throw them away. 

I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s.

Remus should have fought harder for Harry. 

He should have, he should have, he should have, he should have. 

He should have known better.

What if.

A smirking smile and stormy eyes. Hair held up with a wand. Those same dark strands coiled around Remus’ fingers. 

The smell of smoke would hang around this long. Cause I knew everything when I was young. 

Remus woke up to James’ scream. Except it couldn’t be James. Unless… Had this all been a dream?

James opened his eyes and suddenly there was Lily. Lily and James and they didn’t know who Remus was. 

(Remus had been the first one to hold baby Harry. Before even Sirius. And now he didn’t even know him)

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time. 

Remus hated Sirius. Not for being the notorious mass murderer Sirius Black. But for leaving him alone.

Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Remus wanted to laugh. His question to Sirius now would be this; Why couldn’t he stop loving someone he should hate.

Chasing shadows in the grocery line.

The students all murmured about the Grimm. The paintings gossiped about little else. Even the staff room had a few words on the subject matter. Remus tried not to let his heart flutter. 

(But his boy was free. And there was a grim on the loose).

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.

Walking down to Hagrid's hut, Remus thought he saw something rustle in the bushes. He stepped off the path and looked closer, barely even breathing as his heart thundered, but the shadows that had lurked were gone. 

And you’d be standing in my front porch light.

“Lie low at Lupins.”

For the first time in twelve years, amber met grey. 

“Re,” Sirius croaked, and Remus shattered. He pulled Sirius inside the door quickly, shutting it and reinforcing all of the charms around his little cottage, drawing all the blinds shut and placing a charm around the area so he would know if anyone approached the house before he finally turned, and there he was. 

And I knew you’d come back to me.

Not Mass Murderer Sirius Black. 

Not even Padfoot. 

But Sirius. Remus’ Sirius. 

“Re,” Sirius said again, “It’s not true, it’s not true.” He said, repeating the words as he shook his head, eyes filling. “It’s not true, I would never.”

He would never.

Remus shook his head too, pulling Sirius into the tightest hug they ever might have shared. 

“I know.” He whispered. “I know.”

You’d come back to me.

Sirius after a few weeks of good food and warmth looked a lot more like the boy Remus had once known, but there was no denying the person with his was now a man. Remus supposed they both were. 

You’d come back.

“I love you.” Sirius whispered one night as they were curled under a blanket, Remus reading as Sirius lay on his chest, the position comforting and oh so familiar. 

“Do you think you could ever love me again?”

Remus’ heart cracked as he set down his book and curled his fingers gently around Sirius’ jaw, tilting his head so Remus could look into that swirling sea. 

“Love you again?” He said, his voice nearly cracking in disbelief. “Pads, how could I love you again when I never stopped?”

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite. 

“I can’t believe you still have this.” Sirius whispered, pulling the same cardigan he always stole out of the back of Remus’ drawer. 

“It used to smell like you.” Remus admitted. “But I wore it too much, I missed you too much.”

Sirius smiled, shrugging it on, it curling around his shoulders the way he curled into Remus, tilting his head up and pressing his lips against Remus’. 

“I can fix that.” He whispered and Remus held him close, taking his time. 

(For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)