#did i mention my kitchen is still under construction

[deathtodickens]

This animation class is kicking my ass but I made a dancing llama and that is all that matters.

[itsphoenix0724]

Promises (Rhysand x Reader)

Summary: You don't argue with your husband often, and never anything as serious as this. However, some things may be too hard to come back from.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of Rhys' trauma from under the mountain

Word Count: 1.7k

Part 2

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time writing for Rhys, but I apologize; this isn't the happiest thing! This takes place during ACOMAF, and I tried to keep it canon accurate. I may have diverged a little though! I really just needed to get some angst out from first week of school stress lol. If you ever want to interact with me my requests are open! As always constructive criticism is very welcome! I tried to makes this a realistic portrayl of real feelings and emotions. I hope you all enjoy even if it stamps on your heart a bit <3

You’re sitting at the dinner table in the Townhouse, nursing a glass of wine, when you feel your Husband’s power rumble into your bones. It normally feels comforting to you, but now all it does is further the knot of anxiety growing in your stomach.

It’s been a long week. 

It was the first time that Rhys had called in his bargain with Feyre. You’ll always be eternally grateful for what Feyre did for your family, for your court, and the entirety of Prythian. It still didn’t stop the ugly jealousy that clawed at your insides at Rhys spending the week away from you with her. Especially after you learned about the dancing. You knew why it had to happen, you really did. He had explained everything to you in the tearful reunion after he returned from under the mountain. 

You hope Amarantha burned in whatever hell she crawled out from. 

“How was your first week,” you take another gulp of wine, trying to drown the spiders crawling up your throat. 

“I think she’s making some progress. Tamlin isn’t even teaching her how to read! Can you believe that? Even after he saw it almost kill her and his supposedly beloved emissary.” He rubbed out the crease forming between his eyebrows, maneuvering around the kitchen as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. “She was paper thin and so so pale.” he shook his head as he knocked back the liquor. 

“You didn’t come home the whole time.” You tried your best to keep the venom tamped down in your voice, you weren’t even really angry just confused. Judging by the way the muscles in his back tensed your endeavor had not been successful. 

You knew he would have to call in this bargain eventually you just didn’t expect him to ignore you the entire time she was here. He could’ve taken you with him, you had even expressed interest in meeting Feyre. You had wanted to thank her personally for everything she did to you and extend an olive branch for her time in your court. Rhys had shut down the idea immediately because he thought she might have been overwhelmed. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he turned around and looked at you from his spot leaning against the counter. You didn’t look at him, staring straight at the grooves on the table. You sensed the defensive tone immediately. Rhys almost looks like a cat with all the hair raised on its back. Feline eyes sizing you up like he’s about to pounce on you.

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t have come home to even sleep. When I tried to reach you mind to mind your shields were up.” Your nails dig into the wood, leaving crescent marks in the pine. Rhys doesn’t have an answer for that when you meet his eyes. It almost looks like he’s looking through you instead of at you. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone in case she tried to jump out a window.” He says the answer matter-of-factly. It’s the same tone you heard him use during the conferences he held with the citizens. He wasn’t exactly brushing you off, but it didn’t feel like he was listening to you either. 

“Why couldn’t you have just told me that?” Your voice cracked. You have been married to Rhys for almost one hundred years. You could tell when he was being shifty, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something from you. Judging from that regretful look in his eye you were correct. 

“I thought you would react poorly. Clearly, I was correct.” The clipped tone is enough to send a white-hot bolt of anger through your body. 

“Do not blame your poor communication skills on me Rhysand.” The glare you fixed him with could have brought the monster that lurks in the bottom of the library to its knees, but Rhys just met your eyes with a steeled look of his own. 

“She needed help. She was begging somebody to come rescue her. She was withering away in the Spring Court! You know how many times I’ve been pulled from bed because she’s vomiting during the night-” Rhys sounded exasperated. But you were tired, so tired. 

“You’ve barely come to bed since you’ve been back.” Your voice was hardly more than a whisper, but the deafening silence that followed your words made it sound like an explosion. You knew it was a low blow. Rhys sometimes couldn’t stomach sleeping in your bed after what Amarantha did to him. After he was startled awake one night a bolt of his power shot your sleeping form out of the bed because, in his nightmare-filled haze, he had mistaken you for her. He had felt awful, and now mostly slept in one of the guest rooms in fear that he would cause serious damage to you. You had tried to convince him, but he knew how powerful he could be, so you relented. 

“You don’t get to throw that in my face right now.” The growl that came from your husband sounded like cold black death. “She needs to be trained. She needs help-” all the pent-up emotion started to boil over inside you. Your airway got smaller, white noise was sounding through your head, and your eyes couldn’t focus on a spot infront of you. 

“I DO NOT CARE WHAT FEYRE NEEDS!” the boom in your voice surprised even you. Rhys took a step back, you rarely even raised your voice, let alone yelled at him. His eyes widened, but his flood of emotions quickly matched yours. 

“SHE SAVED ME! I PROMISED TO KEEP HER SAFE!” The way Rhy’s voice ricocheted off the walls made you flinch. The pure night-kissed power had stolen the warmth from the room and all the air from your lungs. 

“You made promises to me too. Do you remember that?” your voice echoed out with calm fury as you slipped your ring off your finger and held it up to the light. “Do you remember the promises you made to me when you put this ring on my finger?” You didn’t even know where the rage was coming from, You weren’t angry, but it grabbed ahold like cold unforgiving ocean waves and kept pulling you farther into the eye of the hurricane. “You pledged to me your undying loyalty, your faithfulness, your honesty.” That last word coated your tongue in acid. 

It burned you and Rhys as it left your mouth. 

“Do you truly believe I have been unfaithful to you?” his voice grated out like shards of glass. However, in your current state, it seemed more condescending than questioning. 

“I believe you are not being honest with me. I have been married to you for practically 100 years, and have known you even longer. Do you think I don’t know when you’re not telling me something?”  You shot up from your seat and slammed your wedding ring on the table. His violet shield slipped for just a moment to see the hurt flash in his eyes. You haven’t taken that ring off since he gave it to you. 

“You are being irrational.” Rhys tried to step towards you, but you only backed away from him, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. 

“Why are you being so secretive about Feyre? She is engaged Rhys-you took her from her wedding. If she truly needed help why not bring her to Velaris? Why not let her meet me? Why not let her be happy with Tamlin?” The questions kept pouring out but the protective growl Rhysand made at your last statement had you recoiling. He had given himself away. He obviously knew it too, as he tried to step towards you. The tears kept pouring out as you shook your head. “You need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.” Rhys finally hung his head in defeat as he slumped into one of the chairs. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands as he stared at your trembling figure from the other side of the table. 

“She is my mate.” Your eyes widened in horror. It felt like the dinner you made earlier tonight was going to make another appearance on your kitchen floor. “She is my mate and I don’t know what to do.” 

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do?” Your voice was shaking with scarcely contained fury as you stormed up to the table. “I am your wife. I am your people’s queen. What more is there to think about? I thought you loved me.” A new wave of tears washed over you, and you swear you could hear your heart breaking. It was so loud. You wonder if Rhys could hear it too. 

“Of course I love you!” he looked at you with desperation and pleading in his eyes. “It’s just more complicated.” You shook your head at him as your sobs finally flowed out of your body. 

“It shouldn’t be complicated,” you heaved out through the tears “You promised to choose me every day. If you can’t do that I can’t be here.” You turn from the table and march up the stairs. You distantly hear Rhys get up and follow you to your room as you shove clothes inside a bag. 

“What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you?” His eyes widened in horror as he tried to grab the items out of your hands. “Darling-”

“Do not call me that right now.” You manage to sniff out the words behind the tears. “I just can’t be here if you cannot choose me. There shouldn’t even be a question.” 

“Where will you go?” He at least had it in him to sound concerned about your well-being. 

“I don’t know, anywhere but here.” You shoved the last thing in your suitcase and winnowed away without another word. You left Rhysand in your house, with your ring sitting on the table. He found himself sitting at the kitchen table for the rest of the night, nursing a bottle of whisky and running over the cool sapphire with the pad of his thumb. He didn’t know if you were ever coming back. He didn’t know where you went. 

What the fuck had he done?

[lundenloves]

“ 𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍𝐍𝐘’𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 ” ¹

≔ simon refuses to come to terms with soap’s death and it eats at him. his grief follows him into the house and you’re growing tired of it, ultimately resulting in a fuck off argument.

⤷ i had fun with this and though it’s unedited and likely mid, the general idea of simon being unable to grieve is something my brain really believes in.

∷ no warnings, primarily angst and arguments | 1.3k

masterlist | dad!simon masterlist | taglist | request info

If this was a cinematic, cameras would’ve been thrown around the house. In every corner, every false window and crevice, complete with one or two camera men on the move — walking through the set with purposeful footstep recoil to immerse the audience. 

The others would be crouched to catch shots of power, hands dropped to sides and balled fists. It would all come together so nicely, the false stairs that led to nothing and the kids that sat by the top, huddled together as if it was a cold night and not a shouting match. Except it wasn’t a cold night, and this wasn’t a show. 

There was no flashy equipment with dozens of foot traffic and the industrial sized lights didn’t exist. Neither did the hangar a home scene was to be constructed under. There weren't trailers filled with makeup artists and hair stylists because everything has to be just right. No. This was reality. 

This was late nights, eyebags and fatigue induced arguments. This was baby cries and projectile sick, a sequence of unfairness. One child sleeps, one comes alive and two in the morning hadn’t ever seemed so restless. Simon would’ve given his life for this all to be a show that night. Something he didn’t have to live. To face. 

You recklessly followed him through the house, the wood creaked under each step and hands ran through his hair to join at the back of his head. “This is your fucking issue. You just—“ You waved your hands, coming to a halt opposite him in the kitchen. His hands fumbled the drawers for a lighter. “You store everything away until it bursts in your head and I get the brunt of it.” 

He laughed at that, shoulders briefly rising in amusement before sticking a cigarette to his lip. “That right is it?” A mumble for the way he stilled to light it, head tilted with the action. 

“I’m not fucking doing it anymore.”

His brows creased at that, sliding the lighter back onto the counter with eyes locked onto yours in a certain deadness. The ember burned with his inhale, chin tilted upward to exhale the smoke by the now open door.

Your chest heaved in frustration. “You never talk to me about things. I'm your wife. Your fucking wife.” Your words landed on deaf ears for his chuckle, lazily shifting to tip his cigarette before rubbing at his upper lip. “Talk to me. This isn’t a threat, or an interrogation or fucking anything to do with your job.” You closed a step. “Learn to seperate your work from your home, fucking hell.” 

The cigarette was slowly ditched, left on its ashtray to create a trail of upward smoke and Simon took a step closer. Physical space between you now limited for his frame and right then came a quiet, “If it was that easy, do you think I'd be like this? Hm?” His tone hardened, body shifting ever so closer to raise his voice in your ear. “Eh?” 

There was a pause for him to linger above you. The smell of his cigarette still clung to the air and you pulled your face up at his immediate presence. “He’s fucking Dead!” The roar was one that pushed a physical reaction from you, a step backward and a scowl. By now, the cameras would have taken a solo shot on his mannerisms. The way his fingernails dug into palms, resting in their familiar dents of anger. “He’s dead.” And a second camera would’ve caught his falter after a voice break, shaking his head in out of body denial. 

“And what. Eh?” He took his own step back to reach for the cigarette. “What the fuck do you want me to do about it?”

You shook your head, no doubt accompanied by a reluctant tear for the mention. “You know what?” A laughless chuckle came, puffing out your lips in exasperation before eyes had fixed back onto the man before you. And for a second, a brief second, he looked panicked. Frightened almost. As if his whole world had come crashing down and he had only just noticed in a matter of seconds. 

“Fuck you.” You point to his chest, a finger pressed against the hard muscle twice in punctuation. “For all I care you could’ve joined him.” 

Simon laughed, clapping his hands in aggressive amusement. “Oh that’s good.” His voice would raise just a notch though plastered with a defensive smile, landing his palms back onto the counter to watch you grab keys from the unit. His shoulders sunk inward, shaking his head once you had reached the hall. “Would’ve been better if it was me, eh!”

His voice echoed off the walls, and the creak of the top step was something you selfishly couldn’t deal with. Your kids wouldn’t easily forgive you for leaving that night, though in your defense it was all a blur. Simon leant forward on the counter, just enough to see you angrily fumble with your shoes. “Because I was fucking thinking it too.” 

Though the shoes were picked up in an instant, and the stomps of your feet hit the hardwood flooring abruptly. In mere seconds you found yourself in front of him. “You don’t get to be like this.” A finger prodded to his chest once again, your step forward forcing his reluctant step backward. “You don’t fucking get to say that.” 

He stared, slow blinks defeating any hint of outward care for your words. Words that were clawing at your insides, turning a nausea in your stomach. “Do you know just how much bullshit you’ve put me through?” Your hand raised to your height, gesturing the scale of his intolerability. “Do you even know the half of it?” 

Simon wasn’t lost for words, though he let you have your moment. The welling of tears in your eyes was somewhat betraying the fire your tone wanted to hold. Fingernails continued digging into his palms, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if blood was drawn hadn’t it been for bitten nails. 

“Do you even know how many times i’ve cried? How many times—  because you’re so fucking,” Your hands waved in attempts to find the right word. “Unclear! You’re so, so,” A laugh escaped you, “So self-centered.” 

Simon broke then, standing up straight from his previous lean and ridding the cigarette he had picked up once more, brows raised while tipping it. “I’m self centered?” A chuckle. “Fuck off.”

Though you’re already backing down the hall, shaking your head with a grin. “Hah,” Hands dropped to your sides. “You’re unbelievable.” Tone dull, the lack of shock condoning a tinge of pain in Simon’s chest. 

The door slammed and he laughed. He laughed in deflection and knowing that he would sleep bad that night, that the cameras would now be shakily walking backward from the door and his laugh would echo. The slam seemed to shift the whole house and little feet were heard scurrying back into rooms, their doors clicking shut with upmost quiet effort. 

“Text me when you’ve grown up, yeah?” Were your last bitten words, leaning on the bannister to slide old shoes on and Simon lit up another cigarette. 

Silence hadn’t ever seemed so loud. His ears rang and his head spun for your exit, a symbolic line in your marriage for thus far you had never left.

Your patience was finally running out.

“Let me feel something, mate.” Came a mumble to no one in particular, though it was meant for Johnny. An arm crossed to his chest with the opposing elbow leant on the crease, cigarette ash blowing across the kitchen floor for his lack of care. 

The cameras would cut and you wouldn't really be gone.

Neither would Johnny.

≔ idk man, i just write and then dance and dance and write. my tags didn’t work so pls help signal boost this or i’ll spiral due to lack of engagement 🫵🏼

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @st4rluvrz @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta @sluttyforsimon @loveangelic @st4rluvrz

[parkerslatte]

Finding Home || Part Three

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mentions of parental death

Summary: Azriel and Y/N cross of two tasks and get to know each other a little better.

Finding Home Masterlist

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

If Azriel had thought a week ago that he would be sitting outside a small cafe with flowers overflowing in hanging baskets waiting for Y/N to come out with drinks, he would think it was a completely made up scenario in his head. But it was his reality. The air was cold but it was nothing that he couldn’t handle, but Y/N was wrapped up in her scarf, thick coat and gloves and shivering as she sat in her chair, placing a mug of coffee in front of him. 

As he looked at her, he did feel bad. The only reason they needed to sit outside was because of him. There was nowhere inside the cafe where Azriel could sit comfortably with his wings. Azriel watched as Y/N pulled out a seat and sat down opposite him, cupping her mug between her two gloved hands. She raised her gaze and met Azriel’s slightly concerned one. 

“What’s with the look?” Y/N asked, her voice slightly muffled by her scarf. 

“You can sit inside,” Azriel said. “I can stay out here.”

Y/N frowned. “Absolutely not! We are completing that list together. It will not be together if I have my coffee indoors while you sit out here all on your own.”

“But you are shivering,” Azriel said.

Despite the many layers Y/N wore, there was still a small shake to her body that Azriel could tell she was trying to hide. “I will be fine,” she answered. “Now, how do you want to tackle the tasks?”

Azriel took a sip of his coffee, the small chill in his body slowly warming. He was used to the cold temperature yet the warm drink still felt satisfying spreading through his body. “I don’t know. I haven’t even read the whole list.”

Y/N held out one of her gloved hands. “Give me the list.”

Without any questions, Azriel handed over the list and Y/N unfolded it and placed it on the table. She shuffled her chair closer to him, the metal scraping against the cobblestone street. While Y/N’s eyes were on the list in front of her, Azriel’s were on her. He still couldn’t believe that someone was willing to do any of these tasks with him. 

“We can cross a lot of these off in one go,” Y/N said. “You can easily do number one and number thirty at the same time.”

“What are those?” Azriel questioned.

“Read a book and relax,” Y/N said. “In fact you can easily pair number twenty two with it as well. Have breakfast in bed.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I don’t see how I could have possibly done that by myself. I would need to go to the kitchen and make the food then go back to my room. It would be easier to just sit at the kitchen table.”

Y/N giggled and Azriel turned his head toward her. “What’s so funny?”

“That you assume that I will make you breakfast in bed.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “That’s not what I meant, I just…”

Y/N placed her gloved hand on his forearm. “Relax, I’m just teasing. But I will be expecting you to make me breakfast in bed too.”

“There will be no doubt about that,” Azriel replied, his gaze falling to the list once again. “So what shall we do about the theatre one? As far as I know the theatre in Velaris is currently under construction.”

“Well, there is a theatre in the Summer Court, it’s right on the beach. It’s gorgeous! My father was originally from the Summer Court and he took me there when I was child. I try to go back on occasion. It’s a way to remember him.”

“I’m sorry,” Azriel said, placing his hand on top of her gloved one.

Y/N smiled, yet it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s okay. It didn’t happen suddenly or anything, he caught an illness that was incurable, even the best healers couldn’t help him. For a year I was expecting it but even when it happened, it was a surprise.” 

“When did it happen?” Azriel asked. 

“Nearly one-hundred years ago,” Y/N answered, looking at where Azriel’s hand rested on top of hers.

Azriel looked at Y/N, truly looked at her. Despite her happy and calm demeanour, there was a certain sadness lurking beneath the surface. Something within him wanted to take all of that sadness and pain away and make sure that she never had to feel it again. 

Y/N cleared her throat. “So, how about we tackle two of these tasks today? One obviously being the coffee and the second could number seventeen, cook dinner? Only if you want to, of course.”

Azriel smiled. “Of course I want to.”

The smile that spread across Y/N’s face was unlike anything Azriel had ever seen. It felt as if a warm blanket had been draped across him. “Great,” Y/N said. “We can buy some ingredients and go back to my apartment. Unless you want to do it at yours?”

Azriel thought of his apartment. The lifeless rooms that held no meaning to him. He had moved into it when he began to feel like he was intruding on Cassian and Nesta. Every morning he would have breakfast with the two of them and he could tell that both of them were too polite to mention that they just wanted breakfast for the two of them. 

His small apartment was the first and only thing he looked at before he bought it. It did its job well enough and that was all Azriel was after. Now…he only craved a home. Somewhere where memories are etched into the walls and floors. Somewhere where he could make his own memories…with his own family someday. Y/N’s apartment was the closest thing to that. Even if he hadn’t even fully looked around it, just from the living area alone, Azriel could tell it was well loved and lived in. He could tell that it was a home, not just a building. 

“No, your apartment is fine with me,” Azriel answered.

Y/N nodded and folded up the list and placed it within her own pocket. Azriel couldn’t help but smile at that simple action. She was really in it for the long haul with him. This complete stranger he met not even twenty-four hours ago. 

“I don’t have a particular recipe in mind but when we buy the ingredients, we can just improvise,” Y/N said, taking a sip from her coffee. 

Azriel agreed and lifted his own coffee back to his lips, smiling as he took a sip. The feeling of a real smile still felt foreign on his face yet he was getting used to it. As he looked at Y/N wth her thick scarf, gloves and coat he couldn’t help but smile a little wider. He wasn’t expecting to be caught but as soon as Y/N’s eyes met his, she smiled in return. Her quiet laugh was the only sound he could focus on. 

“What?” Azriel asked. 

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, I just…you weren’t who I expected you to be.”

Azriel frowned. “What do you mean?”

Y/N shrugged. “I just didn’t expect the shadowsinger of the Night Court to be all smiles and laughs. It’s far from the way others talk about you.”

Azriel deflated a little in his chair and Y/N’s eyes widened. “Not that it’s a bad thing. I was just expecting you to be…broodier, I suppose. But you seem to smile a lot. It’s rather beautiful.”

Her compliment sent another faint blush across Azriel’s cheeks. He hadn’t received attention like this from someone for quite a while. It was nice. 

“I-thank you, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

Y/N waved her hand dismissively. “You don’t need to thank me for a simple compliment you know damn well is true. Just look at those dimples.”

Azriel cleared his throat. “You are ruining my reputation here.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “It was ruined the moment that gorgeous smile appeared on your face.”

Azriel’s cheeks began to ache. He tried to fight the smile away but he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “when do you want to buy the ingredients?”

Y/N quickly glanced at her coffee, it was nearly empty. She lifted it to her lips and took a final sip. “Now, if you are ready too?”

The coffee in Azriel’s mug was gone, only a tiny amount remained, not even enough for a mouthful. “Let’s go.”

As the two stood to their feet, Y/N suddenly gasped. “Wait, before we go.”

She dug in her pocket and pulled out the folded list and placed it down on the small wooden table. “We can now cross one thing off.” She handed a pencil to Azriel. “You can do the honours.”

Azriel took the pencil from her grasp, her fingertips brushing against hers. He expected her to pull her hand away the moment they made contact but she didn’t. In fact Y/N didn’t even pay any attention to the scars on his hands. All she did was look at him with an excited expression on her face. Azriel didn’t want to recall his hand. 

“One down, twenty-nine to go,” Y/N said as Azriel reluctantly pulled his hand away to cross out the task.

“Twenty-nine to go,” Azriel repeated.

Originally thirty tasks seemed to be a long and pointless list but now as he stared down at it, he couldn’t help but think that it was too short. He was only one task down but he had found that he hadn’t had as much fun or smiled as much as he had in a long time. The way Azriel felt; he never wanted the feeling to end. 

“Let’s go and get the ingredients,” Y/N said, tucking the list back into her pocket. “There was a recipe my parents used to make that I loved when I was younger. If that’s okay with you? If there is something you would like to make, just tell me. They are your tasks after all.”

“That sounds perfect to me, Y/N,” Azriel said. 

She smiled and linked her arm through his. “Then let’s go, shadowsinger. Let’s show the rest of Velaris how intimidating you are with that gorgeous smile.”

Azriel couldn’t help but blush. 

***

The moment Y/N and Azriel entered her apartment, it was getting dark outside. Their trip to gather ingredients for their meal took a lot longer than originally anticipated. The two of them simply enjoyed strolling around different stores with one another. The domesticity of it all made Azriel’s heart soar. 

“So,” Azriel said as he peeled potatoes. “Tell me more about yourself, Y/N. I’m sure you have spent more time talking about my smile than you have talking about yourself.”

Y/N laughed as she nudged Azriel out of the way to reach for the carrots next to him. “I can’t help it if your smile takes my breath away and I find it hard to speak.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but remained silent. 

“In all honesty, I’m not too interesting,” Y/N said.

“Liar,” Azriel said, nudging her with his elbow lightly. 

“I’m serious!” Y/N exclaimed. “I just have a simple job.”

“What is it?” Azriel asked. “You haven’t mentioned anything about your job so far.”

“I haven’t? Hmm, must have slipped my mind,” Y/N said and began to chop up the carrots. “If you must know, I work in a music shop. I teach lessons there on occasion too.”

Azriel smiled softly. “That is not simple.”

“It really is,” Y/N replied. “It’s nothing like a job defending this court and keeping it safe.”

Azriel frowned. “It may not be but it is a beautiful job regardless. What do you teach?”

“Mostly piano and violin,” Y/N answered. “I mainly teach children but sometimes I get some older fae request lessons.”

“How long have you taught them?”

“Probably close to a century now,” Y/N replied before sighing. “Before that I simply worked in a bakery.”

Azriel gleaned over and noticed her eyes glossed over in sadness. He stopped peeling the potato immediately. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N said, though it was clear she wasn’t. “It’s just…the reason why I started to teach children to play music is because it is what my father taught me. From the moment I could walk he began to teach me piano. I was awful at first and I hated playing it. But I soon fell in love with it.”

Azriel placed his hand gently upon hers, squeezing it to offer some comfort. Y/N’s eyes snapped to his hand then to his eyes. A small smile appeared on her face. 

“That piano over there was his,” Y/N said, glancing to the corner of the room where a piano resided covered in a layer of dust. “I haven’t been able to play it since he passed.”

“It is a beautiful piano,” Azriel said. 

Y/N smiled. “It truly is. My mother gifted it to him for their mating ceremony.”

Azriel smiled. “She must have truly loved him. It is a beautiful gift.”

“She did,” Y/N said. “I don’t remember much of my mother, she died when I was only two years old. But I do remember the love she had for my father. And from what I vaguely remember and from what my father told me, she loved me very much.”

Azriel smiled. “Your parents sounded wonderful.”

“They were,” Y/N said sadly. “My mother was Illyrian, you know?”

“Really?” Azriel asked, looking to her back, seeing if she had hidden wings she hadn’t told him about. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Y/N chuckled. “A lot of people don’t realise. I was born without wings, not even the power to summon them at all.”

Azriel looked down at the potato he held in his hands as he realised he had gotten caught looking for the most distinguishable feature of an Illyrian. 

Y/N brushed her hair behind her ears. “My ears aren’t as pointed as the High Fae’s either, but not as rounded as yours.”

Azriel looked at her ears, at the tips that seemed different to any he had seen before. Though he was rather distracted by the jewellery that decorated them. 

“So it seems that we have something in common, Azriel,” Y/N said. 

Azriel looked away from the jewellery that decorated her ears and back to her eyes. “It seems that we do.”

Y/N smiled before picking up her carrot again. “Tell me about yourself now. I feel like I’ve spoken about myself forever.”

“There is not much to talk about,” Azriel answered. 

Y/N groaned. “Come on! You are what? Over five-hundred years old? There is surely plenty you can talk to me about.”

“You are not that much younger than me!” Azriel exclaimed. “There is surely more fot you to talk about too.”

Y/N gasped dramatically. “You should never assume a female’s age, Azriel. Now, tell me about yourself. Remember I am holding a knife, I might not be able to do anything with it, but remember I am holding one.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh. “What do you want to know?”

“What are your hobbies? What do you like to do except flash that smile about?” 

Azriel nudged her gently before cutting into the potato. “I am…not really sure what I like doing.”

“Come on,” Y/N said. “There has to be something.”

The shadowsinger shrugged. “I like reading, I suppose.”

“Great, that’s a start,” Y/N said. 

Azriel placed the potato in the pan and moved onto another but found himself at a loss for words. What did he like to do? In his feelings of loneliness he had seemed to abandon everything he enjoyed doing in favour of taking on more tasks and missions to distract himself and keep himself busy. He was sure that he hadn’t picked up a book for his own pleasure in quite some time. 

“I honestly can’t think of what I enjoy doing,” Azriel admitted. “It’s been a while since I have done anything for my own personal pleasure.”

Y/N looked up at him, something akin to empathy in her eyes. Azriel looked away quickly and continued to peel the potato. “I normally just ask Rhys to send me on more missions to fill my time.”

“You need to take time for yourself,” Y/N said, lowering the carrot once again. 

Azriel scoffed. “I’ve taken enough time for myself. All I ever am is by myself.”

“I never mentioned anything about being by yourself,” Y/N said. “Do the things you enjoy doing but invite someone along.”

Azriel looked down at her, his eyes calculating before his shoulders slumped. “It’s difficult. Every conversation I have with my family now is all about their family. I just feel so…behind.”

Saying exactly what he was feeling aloud made everything real but at the same time lifted a small amount of the weight on his shoulders. 

“It’s okay to be behind, you have a long life Azriel. You don’t need to catch up with your family, you can take things at your own pace,” Y/N said, toying with a carrot shaving. 

“Y/N, I am nearly five hundred and fifty years old,” Azriel said. “If I was destined to have a family, surely I would have been blessed with one by now.”

Y/N shrugged. “I am four hundred and ninety eight. If I were destined to have a family, surely I would have one by now. It doesn’t matter when you begin your family, Azriel. What matters is that you are ready to start it with the right person.”

“You’ve never found that person?” Azriel found himself asking. 

Y/N shook her head. “I thought I did. It was a long time ago now but he was from the Winter Court and I was in love with him and he was in love with me.”

“What happened?” Azriel asked. 

“We grew apart,” Y/N replied. “He was part of the Winter Court’s army and was constantly busy with his duties where we would have no time to see one another. We still loved one another but we weren’t in love with one another. It ended amicably, I was even invited to his wedding. When I saw them, that was the love that he deserved, not the surface level love I was offering.”

“What about you? I guess you haven’t found that person either?” Y/N questioned.

Azriel thought of Elain. “I thought I did too. But we were not compatible at all. After the initial…lust passed, we were left with stale conversation. She is a great friend now, though. There has been no one since.”

“There’s another thing,” Y/N said. 

“Another what?” 

“Thing we have in common,” Y/N responded and shuffled over to the other side of the kitchen and poured glasses of wine out and passed one to Azriel. “To our loveless lives.”

Azriel huffed out a laugh and clinked his glass against hers. “To our loveless lives.”

Taglist:

@justdreamstars @naturakaashi @thesunloveschips @hijabi-desi-bookworm @mischiefmanagers @waytoomanyteenagefeels @amara-moonlight @ithan-holstroms-girl @meshellexplosionmurder @nightcourt-daydreaming @brujitafantomarico @qinfeii @pinksmellslikelove @schultzlindsey5 @mell-bell @we-were-beautiful @fightmedraco @glitterypirateduck @lostinpages13 @actuallyacerrr @poetryinshadows @saltedcoffeescotch @topaz125 @acourtofbatboydreams @luvmoo @daily-dose-of-sass @applerubyy @tonysttank @just-a-social-casualty-1 @scatteredstardustt @samaxraph99 @i-m-in-loki-s-army @katlyndawn51 @skyesayshi @iamjimintrash @reverieinthestars @witchymomfrien @oliviajdjarin @tele86 @sfhsgrad-blog

- strike through could not be tagged -

[xxblairexxss]

Doudou (part 3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 (Charles’s ending)

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader / Lando Norris x reader

Theme : Angst / fluff

Let me know what you feel and which side are you on!

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Charles explored the aisle of chocolates, scanning each brand while holding a basket that was halfway full with packets of chocolates.

“Mate, that’s a lot. You tryna get high on sugar or something?”

He turned around and was greeted by Lando, who had an amused curiosity expression on. “I never knew you were that big fan of sweets.”

“No, my sweet racks needed a restock. I wasn’t gonna finish everything in one sitting.”

“Great. I was gonna say I’m one call away if you were overdosed with all that.” Lando had realised Charles’s behavior had been more light-hearted and carefree during the winter break. He wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with the break or it was you. The last time he hung out with you, you did mentioned that you bumped into Charles but didn’t go into the details of what you guys talked about.

And he didn’t ask you because he wasn’t sure if he would like to know.

“Hey, uhm, did something happen between you and Y/N?”

The question made Charles stopped looking at the rows of chocolate. Lando never asked about you, it wasn’t a topic that he would put on the table if you weren’t presence.

“Yeah, I mean, no. I don’t know. Why do you ask?”

“Nothing. You just look different.”

“I haven’t heard her voice for so long, mate. Hearing her voice was enough to lift up my spirit even if the conversation I had with her wasn’t exactly how I wished.”

Your voice was his favourite song.

“I didn’t know you were this close with her.”

Lando was taken aback. He thought he sounded casual with the conversations but it seemed like some of his true feelings slipped off along with the words he had spoken. “No, we only shared a couple of texts and phone calls. It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“Chill, I was just saying. She deserved a good friend like you, Lando. I wasn’t gonna stop you from hanging out with her or anything. I just…wanted her to be happy and I know she’s in a good hand with her friends…. and you.”

But Lando knew Charles said that because he was far off, way far off compared to what you and him had been through.

ynusername

Liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 334,546 others

ynusername bb face *(*❦ω❦)*

username belleee

username la plus belleee 😍

username Your hair is cuteee

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You scrambled through the cabinet to find that one thing that had always been there when you didn’t need it but vanished when you badly needed it, like right now.

“Ah! Here it is!”

The sound of doorbell broke the silence in your apartment. You had a slept over with your friend yesterday and the house was a mess. It wasn’t that bad but messier than usual. Your friend, Lia had decided to bake her own version of cake to celebrate your first job and to make it short, the cake wasn’t edible but it was the thoughts that was counted. So now your kitchen was a mess chocolate chips was everywhere, the dishes, the batter. It was best to say that your kitchen was under construction at the moment.

“Charles? What are you doing here?” You were in an oversized hoodie, your hair was a mess, your head was throbbing and your period cramp was like cherry on the cake. Complete set.

“Hey, I brought some chocolates for you…”

“Chocolates for…?”

“Your period cravings?”

You weren’t gonna ask how he knew about it because you knew he had always set a reminder on his phone. But you didn’t expect him to still keep the reminder on.

“You still set it on?”

“I never turned it off. I am not sure if you had a new favourite so I bought some of your all time favourite and some of them are new ones. It has new flavour written on the packaging but I didn’t buy any flavour that has fruits.”

Because you hate fruits and chocolates combination.

He rubbed on the back of his neck awkwardly and was going to walk away as you took the bag of chocolates and sweets but you stopped him.

“Do you…wanna come in?”

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You just wanna dug a hole and hide your face when the reality hit. You shouldn’t have invited him in because you were only humiliating yourself. You could see the way Charles blinked as he walked into your apartment.

“Did you get rob?”

“No….Lia came over last night and we were trying to bake to celebrate my first job but it didn’t go according to plan. I didn’t get to clean up the mess because I woke up with a headache and—“

“It’s okay. Give me that.” Charles stepped closer and and took the heating pad that you had in your arms, the thing that you were looking for before he rang the doorbell. “You should go and rest, I’ll fill up the heating pad and make ginger tea for you.”

“Can you make the tea with honey and—“

“Lemon, yeah I know, silly.”

He knew you couldn’t stand the smell of ginger tea alone.

The heating pad and tea did help to soothe some of the pain but you were still feeling awful. Charles had left you alone in the living room and you could hear the thud and clunk sound from the kitchen as he cleaned up the mess and cooked a simple and the only pasta recipe he knew that would be edible even if he cooked it horribly.

After all those ruckus, you were both now sitting on the couch with some random movie playing on the screen of the television.

“You really didn’t have to buy this much chocolates. I won’t be able to finish it.” You chuckled at the bag of snacks sitting on the coffee table.

“Yeah, I didn’t think I would end up with a bag full of it. The new flavours were the one that sold me out.”

“Do you wanna try some of it?”

“Yeah, sure.”

After spending like half an hour rating half of the chocolates, they ended up making you feel drowsy. Charles had noticed your head kept on falling forward as the sleep tried to win you over. He took the heating pad from your hand to change the water inside before pulling you to his side which caused you to jolted awake.

“Do you want to lay down?”

“Yeah. Can you hold me….?”

“Of course, doudou.”

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You fell asleep in his embrace, the embrace that completed the missing piece of comfort in your heart after the night. You had your ear against his chest and the sound of his heartbeat was a comfort to you. You could smell his cologne and feel the rhythm of his breathing as your head moved along with his chest as he breathed. You missed everything. You missed him.

“I haven’t washed my hair.” He tittered to your sudden remark which made your heart flutter.

“Is that what woke you up? It’s not the first time I have seen you on your period. I still think you look beautiful.” His palm went back to apply light pressure on your stomach.

“At any point in your life when we stopped talking, have you ever regretted what happened to us that night?” That was the actual thought that woke you up.

“Every second of it.”

“Charles?” You looked up.

“Yeah?”

“If our story was only meant to be up until this point in our lives, how would you take it?” You could feel your throat closing up as you imagined the end of us, the life where Charles was no longer in the frame with you. It was a hypothetical question. You just wanted to know what his answer would be.

Charles believed the question, or the possibility of you not being in his arms, either of it gave him goosebumps.

“Do you see yourself being happy after it ended?”

“That’s not the answer!”

“Answer the question first. If our story was to end here, where do you see yourself?”

“What if I can’t see myself ever being happy?

“Then I am still gonna chase after you. I have never prayed for anything so bad but I would beg for the universe that somehow, in any case that it could hear me, all I asked for is a chance to fix everything, to be with you again.”

“What if I see myself being happy after our story ended?”

“Then I would feel strange.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s just strange to see evidence of you changing and continuing on without me being there to witness it. But you said you would be happy. I think being given a chance to grow up with you and learn about love together was enough to shape me for who I am today so it would be selfish for me to ask for more chances to be with you when you are already happy on your next chapter of you life. So, maybe if our story was to end here, I’m gonna continue with my life, it’s gonna hurt, of course, but I’ll always go back to reread our chapter all over again and remind myself that you are happy, and that’s all that matters.”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“I don’t think this is the right shape, Lando. Look!”

“Yeah, that one has double sided holes. But it can’t be this one.”

Lando had asked for your help and when you asked him to elaborate more, he said you should know once he came over.

He came over with a 10,000 pieces set of Lego. He couldn’t ask you out on a date because he was scared you would pulled away if you knew he liked you.

But he was very desperate to get to know you better so he came up with Lego. He thought 500 pieces would be too short so he went for 10,000 one.

“Oh, look! We did it! We did the first section. How many sections left?” You placed the small stacked up section away to start with the next one.

“I think we have….40 sections left. Yeah, 40.”

“What?! Ugh, that one took us 30 minutes because you weren’t helping.”

“Oh, yeah? I wasn’t the one helping or it took 30 minutes because you just picked everything that looked like the shape without double-checking and I had to go over the steps again to fix it back?”

“I call dibs on the first one!” You laughed. Lando couldn’t help but to smile at you, the sound of your laugh made him wish he could stop the time.

“Would you drink coffee or beer for the rest of your life?”

You straighten your back and sit up to look at him. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, just wanted to know your answer.”

“Coffee. I don’t like to drink. I only drink when I’m with someone I’m familiar with.”

“Why?”

“Why I don’t like to drink or why I only drink with someone I’m close with?”

“Both.”

“I was born with migraine. It was genetic. Beer would trigger my migraine. As in why I always drink when I’m with someone I’m close with, it’s because I’m a woman, Lando. Isn’t it not obvious?”

He cackled in response. “Oh, yeah. I just realised about it. It wasn’t that obvious, actually.”

“Lando!” You slapped on his arm. “And it was also because when I get drunk, I just become more….affectionate.”

“Interesting. Would you rather watch sports or play sports?”

You and Lando spent another hour making different sets of legos while answering some random questions like ‘comedy club or dance club’ or ‘skiing and skateboarding’ and Lando jotted down everything you said is his mental note.

Play sports, check.

Dance club, check.

Skateboarding, check.

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“There was this one time my dad sent me to a karate class and—“ You bursted out into another fit of laughter and rolled your body on the fluffy carpet.

“And what?” Lando has no idea what you were going to say but he had already joined you laughing. “Y/N, what?”

“And the next day I came to school, I punched my friend in the face because I tried to show her what I’ve learned.”

“No way! Are you kidding? What happened then?” He guffawed at what he just heard, unable to imagine you punching someone in the face.

“She cried, of course! And I got scolded by my teacher.”

“That was amazing!”

“No, it’s not! I have never felt so embarrassed.”

“That was some hands-on training, wasn’t it?”

“You could say that.”

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You and Lando shared more funny stories without caring about the time and for some reason, the night felt so short. It was already midnight when you started feeling sleepy, and so was Lando.

“I’ll get going so you can take your beauty sleep, yeah?” He ruffled on your hair before taking all his stuffs except for the Lego box.

“Thank you for today, Lando.”

“No, I should be the one thanking you. I had a lot of fun tonight.”

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landoprivate

Liked by 5 others

He thought you had a lot in common with the moon; it’s light, its beauty, and its distance from him.

[elioslover]

Little Angel, Only Freak? - Grapejuice.

🎃 Halloween Flashbacks 🎃

This can be read as a stand-alone piece! 👻 I've really been wanting to include some flashback moments from Harry and Klutz's past, so I thought Halloween would be the perfect place to start!

Premise: Harry has been pining over Y/n - his best friends slightly older sister - for as long as he can remember.

GRAPEJUICE MASTERPOST / Other Writing

NB! Y/n's (Klutz) brother's name is Jack. In Grapejuice it's mentioned that Harry may have wrote some songs about Klutz. These events were inspired specifically by two of his masterpieces lmao, so lemme know if you notice any references hehe. - Em. xo

Warnings: Drinking/smoking (this oneshot contains quite a bit due to the fact that they are attending a lot of Halloween parties). Age-gap (2yrs). Self-insert she/her.

Word count: 5.4k

🍷 2011 🍷

Sitting with your legs criss-crossed, on the kitchen counter which is perhaps the highest off of the ground you are most comfortable with. Your firm belief in keeping your feet on the soil, neither under deep waters nor up in the air. 

That aside, you are eating a toastie, courtesy of your own cooking- rather surprised that not only did you manage to get ready on time, but actually finished with plenty to spare. 

Indulging in your meal, the sound of Travis Scott accompanying your chewing, Harry's sudden appearance in the kitchen is startling, but nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, there have been plenty of worse and compromising interactions in the past. 

“Aren’t you too old to be trick-or-treating?” You mumble through your food-filled mouth, eyeing him from top to bottom, shamefully admiring his choice of costume. Perhaps you were a sucker for a sexy pirate- though a large part of you believes the 'sexy' part was unintentional. 

Harry only smiles and meanders further into the kitchen, invading the fridge for god knows what before giving up, strolling over to you, invading your space in an instant and with audacity you have never witnessed prior, he snatches the half-devoured triangle of a toastie and takes a hearty bite before speaking through muffled chews, 

“Age is but a construct.”

“I guess I agree.” You shrug, thoughts travelling to the dangerously explicit fantasies you experienced at the mere existence of Tom Hard, your brain concocting a dreamland in which a 15-year age gap would be graciously welcomed. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Harry archives the moment. An entirely separate dreamland surrounds him and yourself. But, you still seem so far away, Harry is aching to extend the conversation, “Where are you off to, a Tarantino-themed party?”

“That my dear, is none of your business.”

“Well for what it’s worth,” he informs both sweetly and sultry, “you make a beautiful *Viper.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Styles.” You open the gates and let your guard down, needing him to know you notice him- see him, and if vulnerability is the way to make that clear, god willing, something inside you wishes to share it. 

Harry is stunned- your words are one thing, your tone is another. He wants, no, he needs to hear your softness, again and again. Then there is an invasive double honk and it can only belong to the red Mazda parked in the driveway, stark headlights shining through the kitchen curtains. 

You hop off the counter without a care in the world, straighten out your costume, and check your makeup in the reflection of the microwave before strolling straight past Harry and into the entrance hall, grabbing your matching purse. You raise your voice to address both your brother and the sexy pouting pirate stunned to silence,

“That’s my ride." Certain they've both heard, you open the front door and as an afterthought, call over your shoulder, "Save me a Mars bar!”

👻

The boys are in line for the entrance to a club that Jack stated would be "popping", but there is a clear age limit and Harry's anxiety is already reaching its limit. He turns to Darth Vader- ignoring how ridiculous his friend is- and Harry cautiously ponders aloud, 

“Are you sure we’re even gonna get in?”

“Trust me.” Jack sternly enforces. 

“What is this hold you have over me?” Harry concedes. 

By what could either be deemed a miracle or exceptional finesse, it's not long before the boys have their left wrists stamped with a small ink jack-o-lantern, and are entering the club. 

“See! Am I ever wrong?” Jack projects against the booming bass, but Harry certainly hears him, more focused on the dissipating nerves being replaced with confidence. 

“Drinks!” Jack doesn't allow a retort, making his way to the bar with the assurance that Harry is following close behind. Harry was, and after a few other patrons are tended to, the boys order their choices and cheer a duet of tequilas in celebration of their success. 

The tequila is still travelling down Harry's throat when a voice, so sweet and so familiar, almost causes him to choke, his eyes opening, neck dropping to look at the person who had exclaimed "Oi!". Unsurprisingly, you are standing there, arms on your hips, a look of disappointment painted across your face,

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“To be fair, I didn’t expect you to be here either.” Jack shrugs.

“I thought you were trick-or-treating, Jack." You chide.

“Oh, please, we’re seventeen. You knew that was a cover.” His eye-rolls with a jovial smirk. 

“Still. I thought at least a house party.” 

“Which is exactly where you said you would be.”

“Shut up.” Your last line of defence. 

“C’mon, Y/n. Go have fun, it’ll be like we’re not even here.”

With a dissatisfied sigh, you grab your drink from the bar counter and gather within the group of girls all dressed with glamorous uniqueness, disappearing into the mass of dancers, praying that Jack’s statement would prove correct. 

But, as expected, this promise was broken within the first hour after the desperate need for a Marlboro was lulling in your lungs, and for some useless and godforsaken reason, smoking is banned from the bar and dancefloor- bar vaping- however, due to the lack of an outside area, the designated smoking zone was the hallway. 

After a trip to the bathroom- which had vanity counters, ladies waiting near the cashmere wash towels to unnecessarily aid in drying your hands; each bathroom is garnished with gold framing and every stall comes with a little glass table attached to the wall; perfect for cutting lines of coke- you decided it was time to settle down for a good smoke, spotting an empty, luxurious maroon and velvet two-seater sofa. 

Your focus is on the ridiculous custom silver bear lighter you bought second-hand, your head bowed, smoke balanced between your lips, so it comes as a great surprise when you glance up and Harry is standing before you. By the time your cigarette sets alight, he is settled next to you on the lounger, 

“Fancy seeing you here.” He teases lazily.

“You lost Jack?” You shift your body to better see him, simultaneously handing him your smoke. 

“Always do.” He softly chuckles, knuckles brushing your fingertips in exchange, and he takes a good drag, hoping it will miraculously cure the anxiety that seemed to return the moment he found himself alone. 

“That guy’s a menace.” 

"This is the strangest hallway I've ever seen." He comments, glancing around the room of scattered stoners and straight smokers. Then he remembers the house he visited less than three hours ago, "And that's saying something." 

"Our hallway is not that bad." You lamely defend- this conversation has been ongoing since youth. 

"Can't believe we're sitting on a chez lounge." Harry marvels, hand stroking at the smooth material. 

"This place truly is something." You agree, proceeding to ponder the answer to a premonition she needs confirmation for, “What are you doing over here?”

“Just needed a breather.” He admits. “You?”

“Guess I’m doing the same.” You consider. 

“What’s the matter, klutz?” He reads your mood like a medium- some sort of magician.

“Boys are shitty.” You allow him the tip of the ice burg- it has been bugging you, perhaps not as much as the other things bothering and plaguing you.

“We are.” He agrees lightly, knowing it would be detrimental to pry. 

“You aren’t. most of the time, anyway.” 

“I thought I was the most annoying person you know.”

“You are. Maybe ever.” You dramatise your distaste, “But you are by no means shitty.”

For a reason Harry had always known, yet never questioned, he found your presence as relaxing as falling asleep cradled by a fluffy cloud. He briefly wonders if you feel the same, but knows better than to embrace hope. Nevertheless, he says what he can guarantee will suit your interesting demeanour, 

“I’m sorry about… whatever you’re going through.” 

“Thanks, Harry.” You smile earnestly as the pair of you proceed to pass the cigarette back and forth, comfortable in the presence of taking a cool-down. 

But, with your vulnerability out in the open, it becomes mandatory to verify the reason he is currently sitting beside you, 

“Why aren’t you down there?”

Harry knew it was coming, thought about what to say, and came up with a few reasonable excuses but as soon as the question leaves your quirked and lush lips, the truth comes pouring out and he cannot do anything but witness his honesty,

“I feel out of my element.”

“That’s all in your head.” You try to reassure him, knowing it isn’t that simple, yet hoping he might allow you the chance to prove it, even for just a moment. 

“Oh, is that right?” He smirks. 

You are standing before he can blink twice, singing your cigarette in the ashtray and reaching your arm out for him to join you, 

“C’mon, I’ll show you.”

He doesn’t protest- he doesn’t even hesitate as he wraps his hand in your own, raising from the chair and allowing you to drag him wherever you please. 

This results in descending stairs, weaving through a crowd before finally reaching the destination; the bar. He shouldn’t be surprised, but the pleasure and subconscious pride he wore as you tugged him about, moving closer, sometimes a few steps apart, but never letting go of his hand- even if only one finger was hooked to his own.

The bartender arrives with such haste that Harry is almost certain it has something to do with your beauty- it does- but mere moments later he finds out that you are in fact a regular visitor- and a loved one, at that. 

Harry is so enamoured and floored with such an overload of new information about you that he hardly registers when you tilt over the counter and order four tequilas. 

And when the tequila arrives, there are five, offered as, ‘on the house’. Your reaction is mischievous and Harry feels exhilarated at the promise of your mission to make his night memorable.  

“Bottoms up.” You command, double-parking and encouraging Harry to wrap both of his shot glasses in each palm. He does as follows, giving you awkward cheers before copying your skill and tossing back the tequila one after the other. You then guide Harry to drop both glasses on the table and immediately grab the lonesome shot glass, still filled to the brim. 

You go in for half a sip, savouring the sharp spirits slipping down your throat but leaving half the glass full. Handing it over to Harry he finishes the drink and turns to you in anticipation for further instructions. Your shoulders can’t resist a consequential shudder, and then you clap your hands together and cheekily beam up at him,

“Now, we dance.”

“I can’t dance.” His pitch is one of panic and protest. 

“Neither can I.” You answer proudly, wrapping his hand in your own and leading him onto the dancefloor.

🍷 2016 🍷

Your boyfriend has caused yet another scene, taking it personally when some poor guy dressed as a zombie accidentally stepped on his foot.

Before he had the chance to toss more furniture, you plan an escape and make a beeline for the kitchen- somewhere likely to be devoid of party-goers. But when you round the corner, the sight of Harry, dressed in a white and red striped shirt, hair quaffed beneath a goofy matching beanie, and eyes framed by large, black round glasses. He's sitting on the counter, his light jean-clad legs dangling, shoes knocking against the bottom cabinets.

He seems too calm for such a festive evening, especially when he is as notorious as Jack when it comes to turning into a playful nuisance- affectionate, chatty, and likely to end up attempting to dance.

You walk straight over, only coming to a halt when your sternum presses into his knees, and beneath those gaudy glasses, you don't miss the way his deep green eyes swell and his lashes bash beautifully with bafflement.

"Ah, here's Waldo." You beam up at him.

"Y'got me." He lightly shrugged, a sneaky smile painting his cheeks.

"What do I win?"

Eyes widening with an accompanying Chesire cat smile, your tone tainted with taunting cheeriness. But, nonsensically you lean in closer, bare abdomen grazing his denim.

Whether intentional or not, Harry is set alight, his burning knees spreading along his stomach, trailing up his chest, simmering his heart and throat, coals burning at his cheeks and brain. He is so stoned on placebo, that his mouth is unable to project his profession,

"Anything you want."

You are experiencing first-degree burns, bathing yourself in diversion,

"Are these your real glasses?" You lean your face forward, lining up with his own, your hands gently clasping the black frames and examining the determined false lenses. "Guess not."

There are less than zero reasons for your bodies to remain so stuck, relaxed in the sanctuary of physical contact, but neither of you makes an attempt to move, unaddressed and absolutely mad. You deem it time to turn things around,

"Avoiding the party?"

"A little." He shrugs.

"Bad company?"

"The worst." He tilts his chin to the ceiling before returning his gaze to your own, "Though I can't imagine I'm much better."

"Anything is better than the mess going on outside." You meet his pondersome eyes with a competitive roll of your own.

Now Harry understands the crash he had heard through the kitchen window. Your expressions of annoyance and disappointment emit all of the information he needs to know,

"Dickie acting up again?"

"You know that's not his name."

"It should be."

Harry has never shied away from expressing his distaste for your boyfriend- simply because you were dating him. Harry was hardly around, and when he was, you were almost guaranteed to be absent due to plans with Ricky.

With a sudden bough of frustration, your hands press into Harry's upper thighs to properly balance yourself. he does everything- and more- to avoid physically reacting to your unusual closeness. You breathe out and it matches the mournful furrow of your brow,

"He's just... why does he have to be so aggressive?"

"Yeah, that table certainly didn't deserve that." Harry leans in, looking down at you with a worrisome but sensitive demeanour. And then he leaps and lightly wraps his hand around your hip.

His eyes are studying your soft face, his heart focused on your sweet features and the feeling of your skin separated by his clothes, but his head is still stuck on the confusion currently holding you captive. He can't help by prying,

"He's not... aggressive with you, right?"

"Not yet." The words trail off of your tongue. And then you toss everything aside, pressing your fingers into his thigh "I don't wanna talk about it right now."

Harry doesn't know how to react, sudden shocks of arousal emulating at the discomfort of your digging nails, the desperate desire to destroy the distance between your lips, loop his arm around your neck, softly cup your cheek and express how special you should be treated- with such certainty that you never forget,

"I like your costume. Might be your best so far."

It definitely is, you are rather impressed with how well your Other Mother costume turned out. Though, your already tragic bank account has taken a traumatic bashing,

"I spent way too much money on it."

"How much?" His grin is mischievous.

"Too much."

"Now I have to know." He pleads, but know you will never utter the shame you suffer. He won't let you off the hook so easy, though, "Just to rub it in, I'll have you know, I only spent three pounds."

You huff, leaning further into his touch, enjoying the feeling of his fingers on your flesh. He has to tilt to see you fully, and you aid him craning your neck to meet him in the middle, dismissing the deemed unnecessary distance,

"Well, you've done a terrible job at making it hard to find you."

"Maybe I wanted you to find me." He shrugs with suave.

"That was ambitious."

"It worked, yeah?" He is seeping with playful pride, though he cannot prevent his need to compliment you- perhaps the only way to get his attraction across was through words, true words at that, "You really do look beautiful."

"Not just sexy?"

"Sexy as fuck." He groans, fingers pressing into the plush fleshyness of your waist, "But not just sexy."

"Filthy." You scold seductively.

And then you seem to find yourself sinking further into his touch, trying with everything in you to get nearer- his neck so biteable, collarbone begging for loving bruises. Harry is on the same page, body pressing into your own, his palm trailing up and settling on your lower back.

You think he might kiss you. You think you are out of your mind... But, you think you're going to let him. The only thing to pause your seemingly-senseless thoughts is the defensive, stern, and frankly, threatening boom of your boyfriend,

"Hey, what the fuck are you doing with my girl?"

Like velcro being violently ripped apart, you have never moved with such haste in all of your current existence to date. Harry is now at least three feet away from you, and your boyfriend is berzerkly striding towards him. Harry calmly and rationally raises his palms in defence,

"Nothing, mate."

"Ricky-" You edge closer.

But, your boyfriend has already aimed his fist at Harry's face, and instead of reacting with returned aggression, he interjects,

"Mate, chill out." Harry reasons with a casual shrug, "She's like a sister to me."

An invasive feeling of disappointment pangs at your heart at the sound of sister, and to this day you will not analyse why. It was something you were guaranteed to repeat in the future.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" Ricky scoffs but his arm drops to his side nevertheless.

Harry hops off of the counter with ease, stepping past your boyfriend with effortless confidence. He glances over at you for a mere instance- not long enough for you to comprehend the event that just unfolded.

He reaches over to the nearest countertop and grabs his solo-cup and before turning his back completely, he addresses Ricky with finality,

"Believe what you want, Batman."

🍷 2018 🍷

Harry knocks for a third time before Jack finally answers the door- and when he does, dressed Pennywise- a red balloon tied to his wrist- Harry instantly regrets his entire life, attempting to prepare for a chaotic Halloween party. Whenever Jack finds himself in an extravagant, far-too-detailed costume, two things are certain; there will be a magically, monstrous punch bowl, and Jack will be dancing on any piece of furniture that catches his eye.

“So, this was your last-minute decision?” Harry works hard to keep the disturbed feelings from projecting across his features.

“It was this or Heisenburg, okay?” Jack sighs, audatiously comparing his- what can only be described as a slutty Pennywise to simply purchasing a hazmat.

“How much time did you spend on this?” Harry finds his amusement increasing.

“Too long.” Jack admits with distaste. But all in all, This is the best of his costumes to date, and Harry certainly agrees.

“I’m sure the ladies will love it.” He commends, and Jack nods avidly, his face mimicking that of confidence.

Harry ponders halfheartedly as they enter the home Harry knows so well- the home he spent at least a quarter of his 28 years. It's only as he reaches the living room, packed with both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Many of them seem older than he, and Harry can only assume these are friends of Jack’s college, and your work colleagues.

A pang of panic threatens to become a full-blown wave of disappointment and regret. Missing out on the life he could have had.

Before he can be swept away by his newfound unfamiliarity, Jack has led them to the makeshift bar- a dining table decorated with spooky decorations, all surrounding the notorious monster of the eve- the Halloween punch. Harry doesn’t protest- by this point he deems it necessary.

Lightly tapping their cups together in cheers. Jack takes a hearty sip before his brows suddenly raise in realization,

“Huh. That’s funny.” Jack finally takes a moment to acknowledge his best friend, emulating the Devil himself.

“Hm?” Harry asks halfheartedly, eyes scanning the room for something and he doesn’t even know what.

“I just noticed your costume.”

Harry’s gaze snaps back to Jack, giving him a puzzled look, masking a sudden bough of insecurity simmering beneath the surface,

“I look funny?”

“No, Y/n told me she was gonna be an Angel. Coincidence, huh?” Jack shrugs.

“Is she here?” Harry tries to hide the sudden panic.

“Not yet. You know she’s gonna lose her mind over it.” Jack grins, always bemused by the so-called banter between his sister and best friend. 

Harry’s panic is substituted by an odd sense of relief- he now knows what- or who- he had been searching for. With a bough of mischievous confidence, he mimics his best friend's grin and informs,

“Just what I wanted to hear.”

👻

Upon the news of his holy crush’s imminent arrival, Harry finishes his first punch cup and then heads towards the ‘bar’ to pour another.

Pleasantly, someone is already attending to the punch- an old teammate from his high school football team has the same intentions, finishing up on filling his cup before recognizing Harry and enthusiastically initiating a catch-up. One that proves helpful, replacing his thoughts of you with good conversation and in turn, allows him to react.

It’s unclear how long this chat persisted as the boys moved from the make-shift bar to a spot on the porch- already scattered with smokers and an extremely tense game of beer-pong.

Eventually, the punch has caught up with him and Harry has to excuse himself in favour of the bathroom. This should be an easy enough task, but this monstrous punch has proved poisonous as it lags his movements and encourages him to take a long, good look at himself in the cobweb-framed mirror.

Impressed with his costume, and impressed with how calm and cheery he felt. Things don’t seem so bad- the intrusive thoughts were offering silence for the sake of letting him have a good time.

His best friend’s home has always had the oddest of hallways. A complicated combination of narrow to wide, with unnecessary corners and nooks. These proved sacred during the times of childhood, the perfect place to out-smart the person trying to yell, ‘Tag, you’re it!’ Now, this hallway is treacherous and Harry longs to find himself back in the living room, especially with the amount of party-goers crowding the corridor.

Looking back, Harry wonders if he would have even seen you wedged between a pair of what seems to be Cersei and Jaime Lannister. It would be hard not to, with the way the shimmering satin dress and the sparkling halo create a ring of glory around you.

But you certainly see him, meandering down the hallway dressed in a costume to match your own. Your first feeling should be annoyance, but unfortunately, your thoughts are redirected to just how good he looks.

The duo you were humouring are a thing of the past as you mutter an “excuse me”- gaze and mind already set on intercepting Satan himself.

He’s leaning against the wall- being extra careful to not knock over any picture frames. His head is bowed, contemplating his next move and it suddenly and forcefully occurs to him that his original plan to find you was diverted by a pointless side-quest.

As if the thin veil of Halloween was thoughtful enough to grant him instant gratification, a set of white heels, laced to the upper calf is walking his way. He lets his eyes trail the length of soft thighs up to the seams of lacy trim, savouring each fleshy, smooth thigh before finally addressing the owner's face.

When his eyes are met with your own, glittering with each blink, Harry’s widen in surprise, jaw threatening to slack as you stop before him. Giving him a good glance before mimicking his stance and balancing yourself against the wall. 

“Well, well, well.” Your tone is both amused and annoyed.

A sudden rush of ease and euphoria washes over him at the coolness of your mood- though, that was subject to change rather quickly in the presence of Harry.

On a whim you attribute to both a poisonous punch and the devil standing before you, Harry is taken off guard by the sudden contact of your palm on his chest, even more, surprised as you push and guide him into the nearest alcove.

But that was as far as your thoughts had progressed, what was the plan now? This is a result of impulsivity, and when you concede and don’t go on to say anything further, Harry takes the opportunity to back you into the corner, arms balancing loosely on the wall near your face.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?” His smile is cheesy.

“I’m sure you’re enjoying this.” Your eyes roll, arms crossing your chest in distaste.

Harry tilts down ever so slightly, aligning his lips with the shell of your ear,

“Loving it.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this is just a coincidence?”

“Believe what you want, Angel.”

He returns to his previous position, aching to get a better look at your face, hoping that the blush pink scattered across your cheeks is a product of not makeup, but himself. You cannot admit that it’s a combination of both- not even to yourself- instead opting for a classic eye-roll and continuing to do what you do best,

“I see you chose to go costume-less this year.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“You’re the Devil.” You try, “Truly.”

By now, your hands have dropped to your sides, securing distance but still unexplainably allowing Harry the chance to wander closer if he wishes. He does, but only enough for your chests to brush, his head bowed to gaze your way, one of his hands reaching out to fiddle with the accessory adorning your head,

“Why, because I make you want to ditch that pretty little halo?”

“You’re insane.” You chide, palm raising to his abdomen in protest.

“And you want me.” He articulates with certainty.

“Correction, you’re psychotic.”

But you like the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your hold, the musky and fruity aroma invading your senses. The curve where his shoulder and neck meet is aligned with your chin, and for a split second, you ponder the impulse to get closer, latch your lips to his skin and sink your teeth in.

Harry likes having you so near, he can smell the Chanel and cocoa butter seeping from your skin, the crown of your head smells of something fruity and fresh. And when your hand absentmindedly trails further along his stomach, settling on his shoulder, Harry almost stops breathing when his impulses get the best of him, wrapping his free arm around your waist, and when you don’t protest and your free arm goes to rest along his shoulder, he thinks he might have a chance,

“Are you sure, pretty Angel? Your body seems to think otherwise.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“You’re more than welcome.” he smirks, loving the way your eyes simmer with conflict, “…To shut me up, that is.”

You decide that fame has done a lot to him, not just the typical singing, stadiums and superstardom, so why the hell is he talking like a… man? Like he knows how to seduce a woman, and why the fuck does that make your stomach churn with curiosity.

But, you remind yourself that age equals experience and that makes you the superior. Besides, from the way he’s currently behaving, you have an inkling that his ego has likely inflated.

This could be fun. Two could play at this game, and no matter the amount of fraternizing Harry may have committed, you were competitively and egotistically prepared to knock him down a peg.

Raising to the tip of your toes, hand tightening on his shoulder, nails softly scratching at his back, your other hand reaching to wrap around his neck, your thumb stroking the crook of his chin. Batting your eyelashes with a lick of the lips, you ensure he hears each and every word,

“Is that what you want, sweet boy?” You coo, and Harry stiffens in an instant, blinking rapidly as you push on, “Want me to take care of you?”

“You can do whatever you want.” He blurts out before the ‘ou’, fist flexing against the wall, his body aching to be tangled up with your own.

It's cute, and unnecessarily arousing, and as much as you know you shouldn’t, there’s an ache in your chest that chants for you to crumb him along for just a little longer,

“Pity. After all, this is just a costume.”

“Prove it.”

His eyes are eager, nose bumping along your forehead, and your hand comes to its finale as it holds his cheek in place, gently pulling his face nearer to your own. You pout, but the sly smirk prints itself at the corners of your lips nevertheless,

“A Devil certainly isn't deserving.” 

“Prove it anyways.”

Harry thinks he’s about two sentences away from begging for something he didn’t know he needed so desperately. As much as it pains you to put a pin in this, the confusion of juxtaposition of attraction is threatening to make you light-headed.

“No.”

So, to Harry’s utter dismay, you release him from your hold and tactfully slip out between the space you once occupied. With one more sympathetic pat on his shoulder, you smile at him and make your way back down the hallway, feathered wings taunting him in your wake.

🍷 2019 🍷

Harry was lucky enough to have been in town for Halloween- he can't count how many holidays he missed over the last half-decade. He’s dressed as her favourite thing; a teddy bear- fuzzy ears and makeup to match. Your brother, Jack was hosting his famously chaotic annual Halloween celebration, and Harry was far too giddy at the guarantee of seeing you again. He can't count the missed holidays, but he can certainly count how many years it’s been since you last spoke- mar the quick birthday wishes, and periodic congratulations and praise.

But, after an hour or so, he is starting to doubt his certainty, gaze shamelessly studying the room, hoping he had merely missed your arrival. Two solo cups of warm beer later, Harry is itching to locate you- this is your tradition after all, and he was so sure that this time would end differently, that she would finally see him for the man he was becoming.

He definitely wouldn’t be asking Jack why you weren’t here- partially because he seems preoccupied with a makeshift gravity bong. Instead, Harry seeks out one of your oldest friends, Nova, who is dressed as a Harley Quinn, but before he can even reach the group in which she mingles, his boot trips on a rug and unable to help it, the contents of his cup comes spilling out, splashing and coating Nova’s front with the sticky substance. After apologising profusely- even if just to come off polite- Harry musters up the humility to ponder your lack of presence.

Disheartened and disappointed when she responds with, “She’s in Italy”, Harry is once again confused by Jack’s lack of mentioning the news. Though none of his business, the dichotomy of standing his ground and avoiding the question versus caving in and simply asking Jack has him in quite the frenzy.  

The rest of the evening is a bore- Harry switches to ginger ale, and though he attempts to mingle, maintaining interest proves to be impossible, and for the first time, Harry makes the decision to head home early.

But, now, with a make-up-free face and his favourite jammies, he is tucked beneath the fluffiest sheets and your mere existence is pulling the sheets tighter, trapping him in a series of thoughts of yours truly, thinking about you.

[jackie5656]

Sneaking Suspicions With; Tangerine (Bullet Train)

A/n: Are we proud? Two uploads in two days. This is how I procrastinate doing any homework. Could not get this idea out of my head so here we are. This is my first for Tangerine, but I just recently rewatched Bullet Train and couldn’t resist. Had to add Lemon too because it’s simply not complete without him. Also, the bit about Thomas is all true, I was obsessed with that show when I was young. Enjoy!

Summary: The one where your boyfriend attempts to build a kitchen table, and nearly slaughters your neighbor...

T/W: A LOT of cursing, some suggestive humor, mentions of violence...duh

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” You wince as tools clatter in the kitchen. Discarding your current task of rummaging through boxes with Tangerine’s scribbled writing marked ‘bathroom’.

You’ve finally moved in to the new place after months of preparation. Having been together for 8 months, it was about time you moved in together. Tan practically lived at your old place anyway, though taking this step was intimidating for both of you. His brother had egged you on for months, desperately wanting their shared apartment as his own.

Hence why Tangerine is sat on the floor, muttering curses as he attempts to assemble your dining table.

“Tan, why won’t you let me help you?”

“I told you, I’ve got it, love. Fucking bastards,” his shoulders tense with anger as he speaks. “Can’t even make a buildable fuckin’ table. I’ll show them ‘quick and easy’ right up their fuckin’-”

“Did you even look at the directions, baby?” He furrows his brows, turning to you like you’ve grown another head. 

“Directions are for morons.” 

“Or for people with zero table assembling experience.” You mutter, fighting a grin under his tense stare. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow, only sporting a wife pleaser and trousers in the summer heat. You internally cringe at the reminder your stubborn boyfriend intends to install the air conditioner on his own as well.

“Maybe we could ask Brian across the hall, he said he does construction for his dad part time.”

“You chopping it up with that lad already? Right git, he is.”

“He’s nice, Tan.”

“He’s a flirt, and a shit one at that.” It forces a laugh from you, Tangerine frustrated that the sound still manages to ease the tension from his muscles. 

“I’ll ring Lemon, then.” 

“I swear to Christ, if you call my muppet of a brother-” 

And that’s how Lemon ends up knocking at your door, takeout in hand and a bright smile on his face at the sight of you. 

“Hello, lovely. Call for reinforcements already?” 

There’s a distant “fuck off” from the kitchen, but you nod nonetheless, thanking him for the food and much needed company. Lemon’s rooted for your relationship even before his brother. Insisting he get your number that fateful night in that shitty club all those months ago. 

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

You’d been sharing drinks with a group of friends when a man bumped into you, nearly knocking you over with the size of him. He’d caught you by the shoulders before you could fall, sending the drunken, clumsy patron an icy glare before surveying you for any injury. He’d clasped both his hands around one of yours, profusely muttering overly-posh, accented apologies. You were ready to cuss out whoever had been so careless before you laid eyes on him, overwhelmed with the British charm and piercing eyes. 

“Can I buy you and your friends a drink? I’ll be out of your hair after, promise.” His sincerity makes you want to request he sticks around the rest of the evening, though you shake your head. Polite commonalities ingrained in your nature. 

“Not necessary, I appreciate it.” You assure with a kind smile, ignoring your friends gawking at the pin-stripe clad gentleman. He nods, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable as he gives your elbow a gentle squeeze in one last apology. Heading back the way he came, sitting beside another well-dressed man at the bar. What looks like a round of chastising from the raven-haired man, and the handsome stranger is waving him off, glancing over at you and taking a generous sip of his drink. 

“You did not seriously just turn Poseiden-incarnate down.” Your girlfriend finally manages to close her slacked jaw, frustrated with your shyness. 

“He was just being polite, Brooke. I didn’t want to have him buy for the whole table in obliga-” A waitress approaches before you can finish, smiling brightly at the lot of you as she sets down a round of espresso martinis. 

“The gentlemen across the bar insisted. On him, of course.” The older woman shoots you a wink, a chorus of cheers from your friends in salute to the man across the way. He sends a kind smile, tilting his own glass and looking like he hates the sudden attention. He meets your eyes for only a moment, starting up conversation with the man beside him in a silent obedience to his promise of leaving you be. 

It’s hours before you see him again, headed outside for some fresh air after spending too much time on the dance floor. You’re sober enough to hold your own, comforted in the array of bouncers nearby if needed. You’re sat on a bench just in front of the club, craving some relief from your heels. There’s a flick of a lighter beside you, a curse when it doesn’t ignite any flame. You’re searching through your clutch instantly, offering up your own light without a second thought. 

“Didn’t take you for a smoker.” You perk at the accent, trailing the extended arm to meet the man’s gaze for the third time that evening. 

“Don’t. Not cigarettes, anyway.” He smiles through the now ignited stick, quirking his head in quiet contemplation. His eyes study you, and surprisingly, it’s almost endearing. There’s no suggestive indications to his observations, like most men you’d encounter. It’s contemplative, as if he’s trying to figure out. 

“You always stare at strangers?” Your wit pleasantly surprises him, and his grin grows despite himself. 

“Apologies, love. Just taking it all in. Mind if I sit?” You nod, thanking the cold for the constant flush of your cheeks that’ll hopefully conceal the blood that rushes to them at his words. “Never got your name.” 

“Y/n, nice to meet you.” You take his extended hand for a shake, wincing at the formality of your words. 

“Tangerine, pleasure’s all mine.” He awaits the usual ‘like the fruit’ with sudden irritation, but it never comes, so he relaxes.

“That a nickname?”

“Of sorts.” You don’t pry, not interested in scaring him off just yet. If he wanted to tell, you, he would. In his mind, Tangerine thanks you profusely. Pleased to have met someone uninterested in forcing information out of him. 

“Whose your friend?” You mean the other good-looking guy beside him the entire night, who must still be inside. 

“Brother,” he corrects, not unkind. “Hoping he won’t be trollied on the way home.” Your eyes narrow, unaccustomed to the slang. Tangerine exhales a stream of smoke away from you, wetting his lips with a twinge of amusement. 

“Drunk, love. Or wasted, as you’d put it.” A laugh escapes you, thoroughly entertained with his dramatic mock of an American accent. 

“That is not how we sound.” You nudge his shoulder with your own, defensive and patriotic for likely the first time in your life. “You guys are still salty we won.” He bellows a laugh this time, and the warm sound erupts butterflies in the stomach. 

“Blokes chucked boxes of tea in the ocean in retaliation. The fuck kind of war crime is that?” 

“One that proper fucked your economy.” You attempt your own dramatic accent, curious as to why he tries so hard to fight smiling. You assume he’s usually much more stoic without the aid of alcohol and new company. 

“Bloody hell, that was awful.” He teases with no real ill-will, stubbing out his cigarette when his brother stumbles out of the building. You hear him mutter something about ‘shit timing’ as the taller man approaches, kind smile adorning his handsome features. 

“You’ve found your Edwards!” He clasps his hands together, absolutely delighted before he sits himself in between the two of you. Tangerine looks absolutely pissed, astonished when you beam brightly at his intoxicated brother. 

“Edwards?” You question despite Tangerine’s shaking head of warning. 

“Edwards.” He assures, adjusting his suit jacket as he gets comfortable. “Wise, kind...We’ve only just met, I know. But, you see, I’m great at reading people.” 

“Christ, here we fucking go again.”

“Everything I learned about people, I learned from Thomas the-” 

“Tank engine!” You finish for him, the pair shocked at your enthusiasm. “That was my favorite show when I was little!”

“You don’t say?” The man beams, looking over at his brother with an undoubted stamp of approval. 

“Swear it. Had the stuffy for years, an entire train table set too.”

“The one with the wooden tracks you could build yourself?” 

“And the magnetic crane to lift up the figurines!” The two of you are absolutely enamored, enthralled in the conversation whilst Tangerine broods opposite you. Making a mental note to shoot his beloved brother in the foot the second he gets him alone. 

“Bloody hell, I loved that set. What a coincidence!” He turns to his brother, shaking with anger. 

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Is all he manages, messing with the rings on his fingers to calm himself from the outright cockblock. Fuckin’ muppet. 

“Names’ Lemon. Pleasure to meet you doll, truly. A real Edward, you are.” 

“You really think so?” The alcohol ends any fight to conceal your pleased expression, glancing over at Tangerine who forces a smile at your grant of attention. 

“Know so. Brother over here’s a Gordon, don’t you think?”

“I could see that.” This time you’re the one to study said man, lip quirking when he shifts under your gaze. 

“Alright, we should get you home.” Tan rises with a roll of his shoulders, ready to head back with his head hanging low in a failed feat. Lemon frowns, pushing away the strong arm that’s pulling at him so he can dig through the inner pocket of his expensive jacket. Pulling out a folded and well-worn sheet of paper. 

“Here comes the fucking sticker book. Of course.” 

“You know I bring it everywhere. Here, love.” Lemon peels the Edward sticker from the sheet. Sticking it onto your finger with a soft ‘boop’. You gasp, delighted. 

“The lady’s real chuffed, Lemon. Let her get back to her friends for Christ’s sake.” He pulls the man to a standing position, waving down an approaching taxi with an ear-piercing whistle. “You got a friend getting you home safe, sweetheart?” You nod, pressing the new sticker to the back of your phone and pressing your case back on it. Aiming to keep it safe indefinitely. Tan suppresses a smile, finding it absolutely adorable. He buttons his jacket, straightening in self-discipline to push away the love-sick thoughts. 

“Have a good night, you two. It was nice meeting you.” There’s a hint of sadness in your tone, the farewell and the unlikeliness of running into them again tugging at your heart strings. Weird, considering you just met the two men and you already want to get to know them more. Especially the handsome fuck with the unrelenting charm. 

“Like-wise, love.” Tangerine ushers his brother into the backseat of the car, muttering something to the driver before turning on his heel to face you again. Brows taught in consideration. He battles with himself, weighing if he’s selfish enough to try and get to know someone as seemingly kind-hearted as you. You’d deserve better. He surveys you a final time, every nerve-ending in his body begging for more. You’re about to head back inside when he clears his throat, grabbing your attention.

“Any chance you’d be willing to give me your number, sweetheart? Just to make sure you get home safe?” He prays it doesn’t sound too hopeful, as desperate as he is for you to comply. You cock your head incredulously, and he swears his heart skips a beat. 

“Just to make sure I get home?”  

“And maybe to ask you to dinner. Or, you say no and I fuck off.” You chew on the inside of your cheek to suppress the excited grin. Hoping you appear nonchalant despite yourself. Taking a few steps forward, you extend your hand. Brows raising in expectation as he stares at you. He snaps out of it, digging into his pocket with a muttered ‘oh, right.’ 

“All right mate! Thought you’d never get the balls to ask her. Been going on and on about her since you nearly tackled ‘er”

“Fuck off, Lemon.” Tan seethes, eyes averting to you when you giggle through your rushed typing into his phone. “He’s drunk, pay no mind.” 

“Trollied, right?” There’s teasing heavy on your tongue, and it takes everything in him not to pull you in for a kiss right there. On the curb of some mangy club whilst the impatient driver honks in warning. 

“Right. Goodnight, love. Careful getting home, yeah?” You nod, mindlessly standing up on your tip-toes to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Night.” 

And with that, you’re headed back inside. Feeling his eyes on you the entire time. Only looking back when the door closes behind you. Ensuring he can’t see you spying. He has his head down, biting a smirk from his lips before gaining composure, tossing himself into the cab beside his brother. 

***********

“You’re not needed, I have this handled.” 

“You don’t actually. I’ve seen corpses more capable of brain activity than this, mate.” 

“Piss off.” 

“I would, but I like your girlfriend more than you, and therefore don’t want to leave her with this,” he motions to the mess of tools and table parts, “all alone.” 

The two of you sit opposite him, Lemon unfolds the discarded instruction sheet with a deep sigh. 

“You’ve got the wrong bolt on that one.”

“No I don’t.” 

“You do, mate. Considering I’m the one with the fucking instructions.” 

“See, if I was a fuckin’ mug like you, I’d need the directions. But I’m not, so I don’t.” 

“Well, you must be. Considering that’s the wrong fucking bolt.” 

You rub your temples, fighting an oncoming migraine. Taking the drill from the floor and setting it counter-clockwise to remove the damned bolt. Tan takes it from you, setting his hand on your stomach to push your criss-crossed form backward. 

“Hey!”

“What did I say? I didn’t want you doing this, Dove. You’ve just gotten those nails done. I-” He stops himself, taking a breath. “We got this covered.” 

“This seems patronizing and sexist.” 

“Quite the opposite. I respect you so much I’d rather not have you sit on the floor and do this.” 

You huff, arms crossed as you glare at him. Too worn out to argue, and figuring there’s an array of boxes to be unpacked, you scramble to your feet. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Maybe later, love. I’m quite busy at the moment.” The cheeky response gets a laugh out of even Lemon, who straightens as soon as your heated gaze snaps to him. You flip them both off, no real anger to it as you head back toward the bathroom. 

**********

Another couple hours pass and you’ve finished both bathrooms and are working on the master bedroom. Airpods in to block out the onslaught of arguments. You hum to your music, unaware of the eyes on you.

Tangerine leans against the doorway, finding comfort in watching you in your shared home. It’s weird, new, to share just about everything now. Scary, no doubt. Tan had walls around him so high it took months for you to even shake them. But you’ve done it, somehow. A little minx, he regards you, because you’ve managed to get through to him sometimes without him even realizing. He’s eternally grateful whatever scraps of good karma he had left accumulated to bring you into his life. Terrified it might one day be ripped away. Every time the thought passes his mind, his throat tightens, and he gets the overwhelming urge to hold you and never let go. 

Your startled gasp snaps him out of it, a hand clasping over your heart in shock. “Christ, Tan. Give a girl a warning.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He swallows, a beat before continuing. “I love you.” Your eyes narrow at his sweet tone, trying to uncover the mischief in his sultry voice. 

“What’d you do?”

“Nothing, honest. I can’t say I love you?” 

“You can.” You turn your head from him, suppressing a smirk as you busy yourself with folding clothes. “Just...Not in the hall, okay?” 

“What? Why?”

“It’s just,” you’re holding in a laugh now, a death wish for sure. “I don’t want Brian to hear, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, hiding his clenching fists at your teasing. 

“You think that’s funny? Taking the piss like that?”  You muffle a laugh with your sleeve, morphing it into a cough. “Tread lightly, my love.” 

“You know, I bet Brian builds loads of tables. Must be real fast at it, considering he works in construction and all. Lot’s of strong men in that field of work.”

“Y/n.” Your name is rare on his lips, singed with irritation. You’re clearly well-past having him worked up, You press on, keen on getting him back for his suggestive comment from before. 

“I always wanted to get to know a blue-collar type. So hardworking, great with their hands-” You’re in the air and flopped onto the mattress yet to have a bed frame before you can even process it. He cages you in, an arm on either side of your head to support himself as his eyes bore daggers into yours. Curls unruly and dampened with sweat. 

“Stop it. Or beloved Brian’s in a body bag by tomorrow morning, yeah?” You know he’s not entirely serious, but also entirely capable, so you nod. You press your lips together, thoroughly amused. He takes your jaw in his hand and uses his thumb to pull your lips free. Tugging you into a kiss, he’s only satisfied when you gasp after your bottom lip is bit. Not too hard, he’d never hurt you, but it’s enough warning to shut you up. He gets up, hands on his hips and breathing heavy as he watches you get to your feet. Wordlessly, he sweeps a leg under yours, chuckling when you’re collapsing back into the mattress with an umph. 

“You really are a fucking Gordon, you know that?” There’s no time to scramble away from his lunging form as he tugs you by the ankle toward him. One hand grabbing your arm and the other on your leg as he hoists you over his shoulder, cheekily reminding you of the power imbalance as he carries your squirming form down the corridor and into the kitchen. Where Lemon lays sprawled out on the now standing table. The air conditioner hums across the room, and the faux argument is ripped from your mind as you survey the accomplished tasks. 

“Nothing a little teamwork and drive can’t do,” Lemon boasts. “You know where I learned that, Tangerine?”

“If you mention the fucking trains, It’ll be the last thing you fuckin’ do.”

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

“Tan, could you pass the lo mein?” Your boyfriend chews thoughtfully, considering it for a moment before extending it to you. Your eyes narrow when he pulls away as soon as you reach. 

“Maybe you should ask Brian.” 

“My god, we’re still on this?” 

“Should have known better than to tease him with another man, love. Gordons are prone to jealousy.”

“Fuckin’ pipe it, Lems.”

“It was a joke, baby. Are you gonna hold this over my head forever?” You find it endearing, hard to believe Tangerine could think there’s even a hint of honesty to your teasing. 

“Until I’m sure you’re proper guilty, yeah.” There’s a hint of play in his tone, and you know he only wants to hear you repeat your devotion. 

“Tan, love, baby, sweetheart, love of my life, will you please pass the lo mein to your dutifully devoted girlfriend?”

“Sure thing, love. Could have just said so.” The playful banter is stuttered to a halt when Tan sets the box beside you, the legs of the newly built table creaking as they give out. With their instinctive reflexes, Lemon and Tangerine keep the entire thing from collapsing. You’re slack-jawed, in utter shock at the absurdity and slight victory of being right, as god damn usual. 

“Dove,” your boyfriend’s voice strains under the exertion, meeting your eyes “be a doll and take everything off here?” You’re up in an instant, quickly snatching the array of food and plates off the surface. Lemon begins to laugh despite himself, and Tangerine seethes with frustration. 

“Maybe we should-”

“Don’t. Don’t even think about saying that fuckin’ muppets name.” Tan stares daggers into his brothers eyes, paying no mind to your stifled giggles. When they finally set the table on the ground, you approach him. Tugging at his arms so you can wrap yours around his waist. You press your chin into his chest, running a hand through his unruly curls. 

“Baby.” You’re soft, tone so sweet and eyes big and pleading. 

“Lose the puppy eyes, doll. It’s a no.” 

“I personally would like to finish dinner not on the floor. But that’s just me.” Lemon purses his lips, brows raised expectantly at his brother.

Tan releases a deep, shaky sigh, dark gaze softening when he meets yours. He tries to tug his head away when your hands hold it, but you’re insistent, making him face you again. 

“I’m all yours, alright? I promise.” You kiss both his cheeks and then his neck, some tension leaving him. He tilts his head in faux irritation when you stick out your pinky to him, grinning when he finally gives in and wraps his much bigger one around yours. 

**********

“It’s already so nicely decorated in here.” Brian surveys the room with a polite smile, turning to you. “All this is your eye, y/n?” You straighten, hoping the man won’t notice your boyfriend’s homicidal stare. 

“Tan has more taste, admittedly.” You’re not just trying to take the attention off you, it’s the truth. 

“Well that should be obvious, he got you.” Lemon coughs, setting a hand on his brother’s shoulder with tight, grounding grip. The slightly shorter man boils beside him, eyes boring into yours in an enraged ‘I told you so’. 

Your neighbor places his work bag on the floor, cringing at the sight of the flattened table. He approaches the brothers, clueless, patting their arms with sympathy. 

“Should have gotten me earlier, guys. You know you can call me over any time for some help. Handiwork isn’t for everyone, some things are just left for the professionals. 

“No kidding.” Tan mutters, letting Lemon pry his fingers from the biggest kitchen knife you own when the man’s back is turned to them. 

“We’ll have to grab brunch sometime, y/n.” He’s blissfully unaware as he talks between rounds of the drill. Unscrewing mistakes and penciling out where they should actually go. “I’ll fill you in on the rest of the neighbors. Some of the ones to avoid and all.” Lemon’s practically wrapped around his brother, praying to a god he doesn’t believe that the clueless fuck will shut up. You cross the room while he drills away, placing your hands on Tan’s chest and pressing into him. He can’t even see you, can’t even feel you as his blood burns his own skin. Considering the fasted method of kill and cleanup over and over again in a final stitch to calm himself. 

“You’ll have meet Cody first, of course. I’ve already told him there’s finally another young couple in the building. Thank god.” 

“S-Sorry, mate?” Lemon loosens his grip in realization, fighting a bellowing laugh. 

“My bad, I tend to drill when I’m talking. Cody gets on me for that, too, This is what I mean, sweetheart. We need to escape the doting boyfriends for a little. Enough to drive anyone nuts.” He shoots you another smile, pleased to see you nodding profusely. 

“Absolutely.” You turn to Tan, whose brows are taught in utter confusion. “They can be a real pain sometimes.”

“But, alas.” The drill whirs, he stops talking for a beat and then releases the trigger to finish. “We love them.”

“To bits and pieces.” 

Tan collapses against the counter, right exhausted from the strain of keeping his composure. Pure relief washes over him, and you let him pull you into an embrace.

“Boys, would you mind helping me turn this right side up? i think I’m all finished here.” They comply, Tan reluctantly pulling away and kissing your temple in silent apology. Together, they set it upright and each give it a good shake to ensure it’s stability. 

“Thanks, mate. I owe you.” Your boyfriend gives the now beloved neighbor a firm shake, a hint of guilt in his eyes. 

“British and handsome, you two are truly a killer pair.” Brian gathers his things and checks a notification ding on his phone. Sighing fondly. “Speak of the devil.” He waves his phone to you with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “See you all soon.” Giving you a quick hug, he exits as soon as he came.

“Most definitely not a diesel, that bloke.” 

[sparrowrye]

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 4

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 4: forever tied

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whispers filled my ears. They turned into moans, morphed into wails, and pierced my eardrums with screams. The terrified faces circled me and their cloudy claws passed through my body. I couldn't breathe and my entire body was frozen in place. I couldn't move.

Striker's yellow eyes popped open. His smile emerged and glinted in the light. He wrapped his claws around my throat and a horrible collection of wails escaped his open jaws as they came down on my face.

I shot up with a yell. I clutched my chest as my eyes scanned the dim room. Everything was so still that I could see the dust drifting to the floor. There was nothing and no one here. My heart was still pounding in my ears as I stretched out my magic sense. Alastor was already downstairs but it had felt like he had been in my room only moments ago.

I let out a sigh and fell back into my bed. I had been having a ski load nightmare every now and then. It was making me concerned that I was having repeated dreams now.

I stretched in an effort to release the adrenaline. That's when I noticed a plate on the bedside table with three small cubes of meat. My mouth immediately started to water but I hesitated. He had been in my room. Why did he leave them, though? What was in them? Another mind drug of some kind? Something else?

I couldn't resist though and, sitting up, I ate one of the cubes and got myself ready for the day. When nothing happened, aside from the satisfying feeling of my cravings disappearing, I ate the other two. I found Husker in the kitchen and asked about the plate. He shrugged and also found it odd that Alastor had left them for me.

It took only two days for me to realize Alastor was putting distance between us. Training sessions stopped and he wouldn't try to touch me. It actually became rare for us to be in the same room. Had I worn him out? Was something about to happen? Was he keeping his distance to see if I would chase after him for that rush of energy when we touched?

Regardless of his reasons, I was happy to have a break from him. My chest felt lighter and I found myself spending more and more time in the Safe Haven. I would help where I could but most of the time I just watched everything and everyone. Vivian, our teacher, had a schedule for the children that allowed them time inside learning and outside playing. When we spoke, she had mentioned how surprised she was that she needed to teach them social skills and basic things about our world. I reminded her that most of them could only remember being trapped in cages and only allowed out when they had to fight. Manners weren't a thing.

Fights were still a common thing among the young children. The teenagers were able to ignore that instinct, for the most part, but the younger ones were not used to settling their problems with words rather than fists. When I first began watching the lessons, I thought Vivian would need help stopping these fights. Though it took only seconds for her to pull them apart and sit them back in their seats. She was a kind, quiet woman but she didn't play around when it came to these petty fights. As good as I was at stopping the older folks fight, she was fantastic at preventing most of them before they happened.

Althea was much like me in the observing and watching aspect. She sat on the steps to her hut and watched the construction. We had been fortunate enough that most injuries were minor but every now and then someone would get sick and a few others would follow. She was able to keep the sickness from spreading and made them feel better by the next day. I noticed her hair was turning a bright green at her roots, telling me that she had a different hair color hiding underneath the black dye.

The Safe Haven was now called the Hazbin Haven, serving as a tribute and show of respect for Charlie's hotel. The princess was all over the place, seemingly never still or resting. I caught Vaggie having to forcefully pull her away from a project to make her sleep.

Alastor brought the journalist, Spencer, to the haven to take a picture of what had been built already. The man kept himself as small as possible as he walked beside Alastor. It wasn't until a few minutes after they had been talking that Spencer seemed to stand taller and had a genuine smile on his face. What were they talking about?

It wasn't until Spencer started taking pictures with an old camera that I finally figured out why Alastor was talking to him so much. They had a common interest - old technology. Alastor brought him back to his old print shop once he had finished. From how long he was taking, I could guess he was making sure everything in the article was perfect.

As the days went on, I found myself spending more and more time with Althea and Vivian. I ate dinner with everyone in the grand hall but usually sat with the two women instead of Charlie's group. Husker made it a point to have breakfast with me every morning after my comment awhile back. It felt good to spend time with just him again.

A meeting with Charlie revealed that we had far more humans than Demons at the haven. She failed at recruiting more of the overpopulated Demons from Hell. No one wanted anything to do with the Radio Demon. It didn't make sense, though, considering that they were more likely to be murdered if they didn't belong to the haven that the princess of Hell was running.

So Charlie started paying close attention to social media and the news. She would listen for the scheduled executions for Demons and ask me to go with her to save them. These publicized executions had disappeared on this side of the continent but was still a wide practice elsewhere.

I should've known our luck would run out soon.

Charlie teleported us just outside a city. We scouted the buildings to find where the Demons were being held until their execution. It was well past midnight and very dark with a new moon. They were scheduled to die in four hours.

I waited on the roof with Charlie as Vaggie and a few others went into the jailhouse. My senses were on high alert and something in the air felt off. For a big city, it was awfully quiet. Usually cities this big had officers walking through the streets.

"Something's wrong," I said to Charlie. I stretched out my magic sense to Husker and the others but they seemed fine. They were still moving around and no fear was emitting from anyone.

Husker opened the door and a collection of officers had the entrance circled in an instant. Their guns cocked and the tips pointed right at his chest. Half the group was already outside but not a single gun went off yet.

I wasn't going to let it. I ran across the roof and glided into the center of the circle. I casted a huge gust of wind right as I landed, throwing everyone off their feet. I whipped my wings up and back so the dust dispersed faster. I looked and felt bigger, my shadow covering the bewildered faces. I noticed a few of them escaped down the closest street.

"Fire!" the captain yelled. I curled my claws inward and the tips of their rifles bent upwards. Some of them backfired painfully. The group began to disperse as the captain screamed and ordered them to stand their ground.

I slowly paced towards the captain. He dropped his rifle and pulled a smaller one from his hip. I casted it out of his grip with a flick of my fingers. I needed only to take a few more steps before he ran down a street after his men.

I noticed onlookers from the surrounding buildings. Many of them had their phones out recording me. I really hoped this wouldn't do more damage than good.

When I turned on my heels to face the group, I noticed a look of awe on some of their faces. There was a mix of various horns, tails, feathers, fur, and more. I stayed in my Demon form as I approached the group. Husker and I touched claws before he took the lead down the street. I brought up the rear, helping an injured mother carrying a newborn baby. Was this city really going to kill a baby?

Charlie was ecstatic about having more Demons around. Althea had her hands full healing pressing injuries from when they had been forcefully taken and imprisoned.

I kept my distance and watched from afar, content on the flat roof of one of the new buildings. Some of the current residents had woken up from the commotion and came out to see what was happening. Many of the current Demons came to meet the newcomers, happy to have more people like themselves.

My ear twitched at the sound of Alastor's shadow work. I remained in my sitting position and listened to the tap of his boots and cane. His presence was around my shields but not up against it like usual.

"Something on your mind?" His radio filter buzzed in my ear.

"Just thinking." I pulled one leg up to rest my chin on it.

"About?"

I was silent for a moment. "We're trying to help people but it's our fault for them needing it in the first place."

"What do you mean?" I heard him shift his feet to look at me completely.

"If we hadn't made a broadcast about Demon-kind, they might still be okay to live their life without fear."

"They would have to hide their true nature their entire life. What life is that to live?"

"Better than being hunted by everyone and forced to live somewhere else." I scratched at a spot near my foot.

"You ought to spend more time with Charlie," he said, "She talks endlessly about how happy some folks are. You seem to always be involved in the disputes."

I stretched my hearing to listen to the conversations. The mother I had been helping was thanking Charlie repeatedly. The others were talking to current residents about believing they would never see the light of day again. They were actually happy?

"You seem to be distant lately," I ventured, changing the subject. I kept my eyes focused on the group instead of his sharp smile.

"Does that bother you?" He cocked his head to the side.

"It's out of character for you. Is there a reason?"

"Not in particular." He rubbed his claws together. "Rosie has been asking of you. She wants to see you again."

"That would be nice." I heard little whispers and tilted my head to look up at him.

"Hm?" He caught my quick turn.

"Nothing. Thought I heard something." I continued to watch the group from afar. It took me a minute before I realized Alastor was in my head again. I hadn't felt him push through my shields. He was just a cool presence almost blending with mine.

Surprising myself, I let my own presence become more mailable and smaller, allowing him to cover entirely and meld with me. I followed his magic trail and wound my way into his own mindscape. Well, it wasn't his mindscape—more like his memories.

I could see him and Spencer bent over the first article. Then I could see him watching me and Husker from the upstairs window. It faded to him and Rosie talking in her store. I could hear this conversation plain as day, as if he was also visiting it and letting it play out.

I felt my heart drop in my stomach. He did have a reason for keeping his distance. He had started his plan to 'treat me nicely' so I would actually care about him. It jumped to previous conversations with Rosie and if my mouth was working, it was hanging open.

He was trying to strengthen our connection so he could test out its abilities and limits. He didn't actually want to have a connection, he just wanted me to be at his level enough to make it strong. It was all a trick, all manipulation. I wasn't hurt or surprised. I knew he was a manipulative freak but it made me angry.

My distaste wobbled the connection. I was harshly thrown back to my own mind and the back of my head hit the edge of the roof.

"Don't ever do that again!" he snapped. He was bent forward and his knees locked. His antlers had stretched out as his eyes darkened to the red dials.

As he stood up I shoved him back with my legs. He stumbled and his tentacles came up to pin my legs to the roof. He dusted off his chest where I had pushed him and stalked towards me.

"You won't succeed!" I yelled, making him pause. "I'll make sure you never taste the feeling of our power. I'm not a tool to be used."

"You are a headache," he hissed, curling a red claw near my face.

"I'm not the one manipulating someone for my own benefit."

"If you actually worked with me this would be easier for both of us."

I sliced my claws through his tentacles and they faded into shadows. We both stood up simultaneously. "Have you forgotten how you started this? How you kidnapped me, how you treated me, how you drugged me." I was expecting him to take a step back as I advanced but he didn't. I let myself grow slightly bigger so I was almost at his eye level. "You invade my personal space and my mind. Why would I want to work with you?"

His smile didn't fade, his eyes narrowing and his presence wrapping around me. This one felt hot and heavy, dangerously claustrophobic. He said, "I have been incredibly patient and kind with you." I scoffed, taking a step back to put distance again. "I could have you back in a cage in a dark basement. No one would ever know where you were and no one would ever come looking. You'd be trapped down there for eternity. Yet I have not done that. I have provided you with a bed, clothes, food, and recently an incredible amount of freedom. If our fates were not tied, you would not be alive."

"But we are." I used my Human form and slowly stepped toward him. "Our souls are forever tied. We may even be powerful together, but unless you can treat me with even just the basic amount of respect, nothing will come of it." My legs were dangersouly close to visibly shaking and my palms were wet with sweat. I felt like I was dangling myself over the jaws of a bear trap, not sure when or if I will fall into it.

My airways started to close. I fought against his magic to reopen them but he was much stronger. I collapsed to my knees as the lack of oxygen took all my energy. I tried so hard to just breathe. He couldn't kill me but this was dangerous.

"Your lack of respect towards me does not warrant more on my end." He stepped close so his boots almost touched my hands. I fell onto my elbows and eventually my back. The corners of my vision were getting darker, zoning in on his terrifying face. "I'm the one in control. Until you've reached my level, which I expect to take centuries, that fact will always remain."

My airways opened up just enough for me to get a little more oxygen. I rolled onto my elbows in an effort to stand, though it was in vain. He bent down and pulled my chin up so I was forced to look him in the eyes.

"You are mine for eternity." The venom in his voice wasn't as sharp but the threat was still there. "This will work in my favor one way or another. I'm gracing you with the opportunity to choose how in which that happens." He let go of my face and my airways opened. I sucked in the sweet, cold air as he disappeared into the shadows.

I thought I had this handled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

Ooooooh to have Alastor say 'you are mine for eternity' :P

[loquaciousferret]

The Moon and Me

Summary: The team-up between you and tough-guy Joel Miller is causing a rift with his brother and partner, Tommy. Given the choice between losing you to keep the peace or choosing you once and for all, there’s only one decision Joel is going to make.

Pairing: Joel Miller X Female Reader 

Content Warnings: Angst!! mentions of death, alcohol, age-gap!!, SMUT 18+ mdni, kind of somno. Maybe more. Read at own risk. 

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Not written in so long but I’ve been in Pedro Pascal thots for days now and can’t finish my Din Djarin fic so instead I wrote this. Not proof-read in any way.

Not canon timeline or events. Probably not even canon Joel character, just need to satisfy my thots.

NSFW under the cut do not press keep reading if you are a minor pls thx!

“What have you turned into? Huh?” He spat. “Playing house with some little thing half your age.”

“That’s enough. Don’t bring her into this.” Joel responded gruffly, a warning in his tone.

“No, really,” Tommy persisted. “What’s it all about, anyway, Joel? Burying your sorrows in some 25 year olds pussy? It isn’t gonna turn back time.”

“Stop. Don’t you dare talk about her like that.” Joel didn’t raise his voice, calm but forceful.

“I have to. This is all about her. You’ve gone all soft over that girl and she’s probably only here with you because her daddy got himself killed and she needs a replacem-“

“I said, enough.” He practically yelled this time, anger and venom in his tone in response to his brother’s words. “Get out.” He spat.

Angry footsteps approached the door where you had been listening and you slipped down the hall to avoid being seen. You got to the kitchen and opened and closed the back door loudly in front of you, feigning that you had just returned and making enough noise to be sure to alert the men to your presence.

As you turned round you just caught the back of Tommy’s head and the front door slamming.

You breathed a sigh of relief that he was gone, leaving you and Joel alone, but tensed up again at the thought of how Joel might act around you now. Would his brothers words be playing on his mind? Things could change quickly in this world if there was any erosion of the trust that you had been carefully constructing between the two of you.

A door opened and Joel came towards you, you smiled, desperately trying to act natural and avoid any hint that you might have heard his and Tommy’s exchange.

“How has your day been?” You asked cheerfully.

He huffed with his typical response. “Well, I’m alive, so.”

You pursed your lips, but smiled again, turning his words into something positive. “So, good, then.”

He scoffed, and you noted that he still hadn’t met your eye throughout the short exchange.

“What did you get?” He asked, bringing your mind back to the reality of the situation.

“Oh.” You fumbled, reaching over and grabbing the pack you had come back with. “Um, it wasn’t too bad actually. Got the basics and a little more.”

He gave no verbal response but nodded approvingly. He finished what he was doing- topping up a glass of whiskey, and left the room, tending to the front door, locking every bolt and chain.

“What about Tommy?” You asked, even though you knew the answer “Is he here?” 

“No.” Joel replied sharply, “He won’t be coming back tonight.”

His tone made it clear there was to be no more questions about the matter.

This was serious. A possible rift this large between the two brothers and you knew only your presence was to blame.

“You hungry?” You called out to him as he turned the corner away from you.

“Yes.” He responded briefly.

You had been clutching the edge of the counter with all your force and only realised now when you looked down and your knuckles were white from the pressure. You cursed under your breath, and got to working on some kind of dinner with the supplies you had managed to get this morning. Some canned foods that you managed to heat and present in a way that resembled a meal. You made a plate for Joel and a small one for yourself, your appetite depleted with anxiety.

You grabbed the plates and made your way out of the kitchen before turning and gathering the whiskey under your arm for good measure.

Entering what was set up as the living room area, you eyed Joel. He didn’t return the attention, pretending to be busy fiddling with a pocket knife. You set the food in front of him and he grunted in recognition (his idea of giving thanks) and you sat in a chair opposite.

You ate in silence. Usually you chose to fill these gaps and talk at him rather than with him, but you didn’t trust yourself to act natural and hide what you knew about his and Tommy’s confrontation.

“Was good.” He nodded as he finished eating and pushed the plate away from himself. He took the last sip of his whiskey and you offered him the bottle automatically, which he took, still not once having met your eye.

“I was gonna try wash my clothes, tonight.” You said.

He didn’t take the statement as an offer, filling his glass with no response.

“I can do yours, too.” You clarified.

“Don’t have any spares.” He responded gruffly. He was a man of few words at the best of times but 6 words throughout an entire meal was unusual even for him.

“Just your shirt, then.” You said.

He conceded with a nod.

You pushed your plate towards him, less than half eaten. Your stomach churning with uncertainty to the point you couldn’t choke it down.

“You should be eating more.” He said, but took the food anyway.

You watched him intently as he cleared the plate before reaching to take it back along with his previous empty one. You left the room, both failing to acknowledge each other any further.

You got to the kitchen and left the plates in the sink. The water didn’t run in there, but him and Tommy had been working at fixing it.

Tommy. You thought hard again about their conversation and what might have triggered it. What slight had Joel committed that Tommy chose to blame you for. You couldn’t put your finger on a good explanation.

You kept yourself busy for the rest of the day in your room to avoid Joel. Counting, sorting, tidying the small number of possessions you had, then starting again to fill the time. When it got dark out, you started to get ready for bed, stripping off your clothes and putting on some spare socks and underwear and a large oversized shirt. The water did run in the bathroom and you imagined you could wash them somewhat in the bathtub. When you left your room, Joel’s shirt hung on the handrail for the stairs, waiting for you.

You picked it up and walked to the bathroom, as you reached for the door handle it swung open in front of you and you bumped into Joel’s bare chest.

“Oh.” You said, “I’m sorry. Didn’t know you were in here.”

For a split second you got to analyse his body, his broad shoulders and chest, littered with scars that stood out white against tanned skin.

“Gonna let me out?” He said, snapping your gaze towards him, where you found him staring right ahead, dodging your face completely.

You side stepped and he passed you without another word, leaving you with just a hint of the scent of him. Musk, salt, whiskey.

You kneeled in front of the bathtub and ran the tap, the water was clear and clean but nowhere near hot. It would probably work, though. You reached for the rare bar of soap that rested on the edge of the bath, deeming its use a worthwhile sacrifice for the feeling of clean clothes.

You dipped all of yours into the water in a pile, saturating them before removing them one by one, scrubbing the fabric together with a small amount of soap and rinsing. Repeat. Your mind wandered, with the mundane task barely taking up any thinking power.

You imagined how it feel to be close to him. How warm would his chest be if you were pressed up against it. What he would taste like if you were to kiss his skin.

You shook your head and frowned at yourself. It was no use thinking that way. You knew on that one fact that Tommy definitely had the wrong idea. There was no level of intimacy between you and Joel. There never would be. He was right about the fact of you being half his age, a fact you were definitely both astutely aware of. It had to be enough for Joel not to ever think about you in that way. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about him. 

Before you knew it his shirt was in your hands, and your face pressed into the fabric. His scent was comforting, despite being mixed with sweat, dirt, and blood. You inhaled it nonetheless. You imagined how your scents would smell mixed together in some kind of moment of intimacy or passion.

For fuck’s sake. Get it together. You tell yourself, and plunged his shirt into the water.

When the washing was complete you drained the tub, the water grey with filth, and began to wring out each item carefully as much as you could. Hopefully they would dry overnight so you both could dress again in the morning.

You draped his damp blue shirt to dry, where he had left it on the rail for you, and retreated into your room in silence.

As you lay in bed, waiting for sleep to take you, you could ever so slightly glimpse the moon and stars watching over you through a small crack in the boarded up window.

The next few days passed slowly. The tension from Joel didn’t let up once. You co-existed in the space whilst barely acknowledging one another. There was no sign of Tommy’s return.

On the third night, as you and Joel ate another meal in painful silence, your thoughts bubbled to the surface and despite your better judgment, your words of confession spilled out before you could stop them.

“I heard you.” You blurted. “You and Tommy. The other day. I know why he’s gone.”

For the first time in days, he met your eyes, shooting you a look you couldn’t decipher the meaning of.

“That’s none of your concern.” He spoke almost through gritted teeth.

“Well, it is, actually. It was about me. It directly concerns me.” You were usually slow to challenge him but the guilt and anxiety of the past few days had turned into some kind of twisted courage.

“You’ve been acting differently ever since.” You accused. “So I know part of you must believe what he said, or at least you have a suspicion he’s right.”

He scowled.

“Just admit it.” You challenged again.

He downed the last few sips of his whiskey and leaned back, running a hand through his hair. He tilted his head to one side.

“I don’t particularly care why you’re here. He could be right. Why would it matter?”

His admission practically knocked the air out of your lungs. You were angry. His words were cruel, even though you know he didn’t mean them to be. He was always matter of fact, always suspicious. You should have known that that would apply to you as well.

You scoff almost in derision, humiliated and almost offended at the accusation that you could just be using him.

“Look, I get it.” He continues. “We all have to do what we must in this world. I’m not saying I blame you.”

If his words were meant to console you, they did the opposite.

“How dare you.” You responded.

He raised an eyebrow. You had never spoken to him like this, even when he deserved it fairly often. You weren’t a hothead and you usually didn’t let his rudeness get under your skin, you were forgiving and sensitive and you knew his front was all about self-protection, letting him get away with most of what should be considered unacceptable. 

“You really think I’m here because I need you?” You spat, almost disgusted at the accusation. “I’m here because I choose to be. I’m here because I lo-” You stuttered and you knew he noticed, his eyes twitching. “Because I like you. I like your company. Despite how unpleasant you insist on being most of the time. On a good day you are funny. You can almost be kind, and caring- in your own way. But don’t for one second think I’m using you for my own protection. There was a time before you and there could easily be a time after you.”

His eyes widened at your outburst. He was practically smirking and it enraged you even further.

“You’re only in this situation, having these doubts and suspicions because of your own insistence on not talking about the past. You refuse to let yourself know me. If you knew my story you wouldn’t believe Tommy, or doubt my intentions, for even a second.”

He still didn’t respond, just watching you carefully as you got more and more flustered.

“For the record, I lost my father long before this mess started. I’ve been taking care of myself since the beginning and before that. I was 16. He was a cop. He was killed in the line of duty. Before any virus, anything. And I looked after myself from then on. He was a good cop. He was brave and intelligent and he taught me never to rely on anyone else. And I don’t. Least of all you.”

His lack of response kept your emotions heightened.

“You are so arrogant. And so self-important. I don’t need you. I chose you. You think everyone is driven by selfishness and a need to survive. Well I’m not. I choose to still find happiness, joy, laughter, music. That’s what makes us human, if you remember what that means. You and Tommy and anyone else who thinks I’m soft- well, I just don’t care. If everything you do is just driven by self-preservation then how are you any better than those monsters that we are hiding from. You would be a shell of a person if every choice you made was from a need to survive. But you would know all about that.”

Your words came out more hurtful than you had imagined but you meant every one of them. What was the point of struggling through this just to survive. You were here to live. To remember the past and find whatever scraps of it you could to rebuild something worth living for in the world you now inhabited.

His face was blank, betraying no emotion at your words.

“But I’m not going to come between you and Tommy. I know where I’m not wanted.” You spoke calmly now. “And I get it, blood is thicker than water. I won’t be the reason you lose your family. I know how that feels. And I’ll be fine. I was fine before I met you. I will be again.”

You raised from your seat and walked out of the room, speaking your final words without turning to face him. “I’ll be gone by the morning.”

You climbed the stairs and hot tears spilled from your eyes. At least they hadn’t started while you were yelling at him. That would have really undermined your point.

You slammed your door in frustration and looked around the room you had called home for the last 6 months here with Joel. You thought back to when you first met, bartering in the commune. You offering whiskey and him cigarettes. You remembered how it felt when his hand grazed yours the first time you traded with each other, his warm calloused skin and the way you practically squirmed under his intense gaze. You never would have thought then that you would become somewhat of a team. That you would grow to care for him and to-

You interrupted your own train of thought to consider what you had almost said to him in the heat of the moment. That you had grown to love him.

Part of you wasn’t sure it was true. You were only 20 when the outbreak happened, you had barely dated, barely slept with other people, never developed feelings that you thought might be love.

But you had decided that had to be what you felt towards Joel. A sense of home in wherever he was. The last thought on your mind before falling asleep and the first when you woke up. Knowing you would go hungry so he could be full, thirsty so that he might be satiated. Hurt so that he might be safe.

The tears spilled again, uncontrollable. You had picked the worst possible person to fall for, in the worst possible circumstances.

You gathered what few things you had into your pack and lay down, exhausted. Peeling off your clothes that were stuck to your flushed and tired body, discarding them on the floor and crawling into bed in your underwear. The sheets were cool and provided relief.

You tossed and turned, the house remained silent. You never heard Joel come to bed and guessed he was downstairs finishing the last of his whiskey that you had managed to save for him.

You thought about what you would have to do in the morning. You had to go far from here, somewhere you would never have to come across him again. You couldn’t stay within any proximity that would allow the potential for chance meetings. It would hurt too much to be so close but so far from the man you wanted.

You didn’t know how long you had surrendered to sleep for when you were awoken by the creaking of the floorboards on the landing outside your door and the scratch of your door as it opened. Confused by half-sleep and emotions you were still in your own world until weight on the mattress disturbed you and, next, warm hands on your neck.

“Joel?” You whispered in a groan. You were still confused and unsure, stuck in a space between dream and reality, the only clarity provided to your senses was his distinct scent as you breathed in.

He was rolling you from your side onto your back, one strong hand still on your neck and the other on your waist. As you woke up properly you were startled.

“Joel? Wha-“ Your protests were met by him shushing you.

He had never been in your room before, not even when you were awake. And you had never been in his space. Whilst the rest of the house was shared, you were both very private in your separate bedroom sanctuaries.

“Joel-“ You tried again but were interrupted by words this time.

“Can’t you just be quiet?” He said, but there was no annoyance in his tone. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought he only sounded nervous. “You’ve said your piece tonight. It’s my turn now.”

As your eyes adjusted to the light you took him in, the shadows on his beard, his forehead. He looked as handsome as ever, and where his strong hands touched you, fire radiated.

“What you said about blood. About family. You’re wrong. You’re my family now. I do choose you. Choose you every day. Would neve- Could never choose anyone else.” His words were barely more than a whisper, and you almost couldn’t believe your ears. Tough, hard, cold Joel muttering words of pure adoration.

“I don’t underst-“ Your words were cut off with a gasp as he began to run his hands up and down your body.

“You’re not leavin’ tomorrow.” He breathed, his lips tickling the crook of your neck where he was leaning his head. “Won’t let you.”

You let out almost a laugh at the insinuation. Could it be true? That he wanted you as much as you wanted him? That he would really be willing to keep you practically against your will, just out of a desperate need to be with you?

“What you said, got me realisin’ what a fool I’ve been. Not havin’ the balls to show you what you mean to me. To prove myself to you. ‘n I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

You were barely convinced it was reality, these confessions just too shocking to register as true.

You were only convinced by the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of whiskey and tobacco strong but not unpleasant. Everything about him was exactly what you had imagined, strong but gentle, forceful but cautious.

“I’ve been a fool, baby. Really I have. Never should have let you think you were anything less than the most amazing, beautiful thing that, hell, I don’t know what I’ve ever done right to deserve.” His words were punctuated with kisses, on your lips, neck, and onto your sternum.

You suddenly realised how naked you were compared to him, just your bra and underwear to cover yourself and you became self-conscious, lifting your arms to his chest to push him off slightly. The action made him tense up and you witnessed an expression of fear or embarrassment in his eyes, maybe he thought he had the wrong idea.

You silenced his worry by once again connecting your mouths in a kiss, and you’re not sure what gave you the confidence to reach down and toy with his belt, struggling with the buckle to undo it. It was then you took notice of the erection in his jeans. It almost made your jaw drop, palming it gently and finding it’s size. It was big. Definitely bigger than anything you had had in the past.

His mouth twitched into his signature smirk, breaking the kiss to taunt “You like what you see, baby?”

You felt a blush creep into your cheeks, which he must have seen or felt somehow as he chuckled. He leaned back, his own hands unbuckling his belt and unzipping his jeans with ease. He pulled them down and his boxers, his hard cock springing out, already leaking from its tip.

You took it into your hand and stroked gently, and he sighed in relief.

“Your hands- so small- so warm. ” He stuttered, his hands wandering once again, this time round your back where he unclipped your bra and pulled it from your body.

“God-“ He muttered, before taking a handful of your breast, kneading it gently and continuing to breathe deeply as you quickened the pace of your hand around his hard cock.

You were pliant and submissive beneath him as his hands roamed your body, he grabbed both your hands with one of his and pinned them above your head before starting to touch your inner thighs with the other.

“Are you sure about this?” You asked, anxiety returning when you thought about your relationship up to this point. You couldn’t think of a time he’d ever indicated he was attracted to you, and a terrible thought was trying to convince you he was only doing this as a way to comfort you or convince you to stay.

“Am I sure?” He responded, incredulous. “I’ve wanted this since the first day I laid eyes on you baby. Never thought in a million years you’d want the same.”

He whispered the words into your skin, his beard tickling you as his mouth moved.

His free hand drifted from your inner thigh to your clothed sex, palming it gently. You squeezed your legs together involuntarily and became aware of how wet you already were. He did too, smirking again as he hooked a finger under the fabric and felt your slick entrance. He slipped one finger in immediately and you gasped, hips keening up towards his touch, your body unable to resist the overwhelming arousal and desire. It had been so long since someone else touched you like this. The fact that it was him, now, was unbelievable. He curled his fingers slowly, eliciting moans from you that must have seemed almost exaggerated.

“You like that, baby?”

You whined in response as he continued, his pace slow, teasing.

“Please,” You whined, no shame and no attempt to hide just how much you were already at his mercy.

He complied, releasing the grip he still maintained on your hands above your head and removing the other from inside you, using both hands to pull down your underwear, leaving you both exposed. He was still wearing his shirt, and you reached up, clumsily attempting to undo each button, simultaneously pulling him towards you for another desperate kiss.

“Wanted this for so long-“ You confessed in a whine as he touched you again, this time circling your clit gently.

“Yeah?” He responded.

“Please Joel-“ Your words were almost begging.

Sooner than you could finish speaking your thoughts, he was guiding his dick towards your entrance, nudging it gently before pushing all the way in. You both gasped simultaneously at the sensation, a perfect fit, stretching you so pleasurably.

You continued without the need for words, the room filled with the sounds of skin, the squeak of the bed, and the passionate, satisfied, desperate moans of two people who did not know how much they both needed each other until they finally took the chance.

His thrusts which had started off slow and gentle had been consistently gathering in pace and force, his hands unable to settle, roaming every inch of your body as if he was mapping you out under his touch. He squeezed your breasts, your hips, your thighs, whilst your hands explored his wide back, shoulders, chest.

You thought your pleasure couldn’t be enhanced any more until he reached one hand down to play with your clit, his thrusts still relentless. Your moans became a string of unintelligible pleading, his name rolling of your tongue like a desperate prayer.

“Yeah, that’s it baby. Say my name baby, god- fuck.” 

You thought it was impossible but his thrusts increased in force, and as they did so you felt a knot of heat gathering as an orgasm approached.

“Joel- ah- fuck- I” You couldn’t get a warning out before you came hard, clenching and writhing under him. His pace still didn’t let up, he didn’t stop playing with your sensitive clit, and his volume increased, grunts and moans of elation as you tightened and contracted around him repeatedly.

“Yeah baby, cum on my cock baby. Too good- fuck.” His thrusts grew sloppy as he reached his own climax, “I’m gonna cum.” He groaned.

He pulled out and a few strokes of his fist later, white hot spurts littered your upper thighs and stomach.

He collapsed next to you briefly, pressing wet kisses to your neck and collarbones, his cock twitching, sensitive from the first sex he has had in months.

When he stood, you were still so overwhelmed from your own orgasm that you failed to open your eyes to investigate his movements. As quickly as he had left, he returned, and you felt the cool wet edge of a towel cleaning you off. He tossed it on the floor before resuming his position next to you.

You opened your eyes and took in what you could of his face in the dark. You reached up and wiped sweat from his brow, pressing a kiss to his throat. In a swift motion he grabbed both your arms and turned you to face him fully.

“You still leaving in the morning?” He asked gruffly.

“Not a chance.” You whispered.

That night you slept with the light of the moon and the man you loved, watching you, protecting you.

[goosewriting]

I'd like to request smt for the event! Imagine Donnie coming to visit a still recovering reader after they got kidnapped by the foot clan/big mama. After having gone to bed, they wake up to a Donnie getting ready to put a tracking device in them just like he did with the others. The reader rolls their eyes and goes "wake me up when it's over" pink 46 and blue 6 please!

Finding you (rottmnt Donnie x reader)

prompt 46: “What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see if you were okay.” prompt 6: “Wake me up when it’s over.”

summary: Donnie visits reader after they get rescued from being kidnapped. 

relationship: Rise!Donnie x GN reader

warnings: ptsd sort of ??, mentions of kidnapping, angst & comfort

word count: ~690

A/N: this got a bit angstier than intended whoopsie

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

– – – 

It had only been two days since the turtles rescued you from being kidnapped by Big Mama’s henchmen. The whole experience had been pretty traumatic for you, since it had been your first time in the Hidden City. You were excited to explore the place, after hearing so much about it from the turtle brothers. 

You had been enjoying your day on a little date with Donnie. It all happened so fast; he looked away for literally 3 seconds and when he turned around, you were gone. It had taken him several days to even discover where you were, and two more to rescue you. 

Now that you were finally in the safety of your own 4 walls, you understandably weren’t keen on going outside, even less so back to the Hidden City. You were still a bit in shock, trying to relax your body from its constant state of attention and getting a fight or flight response and adrenaline spikes from the littlest things. 

Donnie had a spare key to your place for emergencies, and while he wasn’t happy that he had to use it, he still was glad that he had one at all, so he could check on you. Since you weren’t leaving your apartment at the moment, he was the one to bring you groceries and food.

As he softly shut the door behind him after entering your living room, he swiftly made his way to your room, leaving the food he brought on the counter at the kitchen on his way. The turtle leaned on your doorframe, and it almost broke him in half to see you bundled up under your blankets in your bed; he felt guilty for what happened because he hadn’t been able to save you faster. In fact, he should have been able to protect you so that you weren’t taken in the first place. 

His hands clenched into fists, anger and frustration bubbling up in him again thinking back to the restless days he spent searching for you. He almost blew up Big Mama’s hotel from the ground up looking for you, once he knew she had you. 

The shift in his weight from one leg to the other made the wooden floorboard creak under his feet, and you shot up from your position, holding a metallic ladle menacingly towards the intruder.

“Who’s there?!” you asked, quickly coming out of your sleepy stupor. Donnie raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s me, Donnie” he replied and approached you to sit on the edge of your bed, seeing that you put down the ladle and rubbed your face. “Sorry for startling you.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask, shaking. 

 “I wanted to see if you were okay” Donnie gently rubs your arms. You merely mumbled a response.

“I also left some food in the kitchen” he added and started rummaging in his bag, taking out a kit of some sort, and placing it on the nightstand. You asked him what that is but he didn’t respond. You eyed him suspiciously, involuntarily tightening your hold on the ladle when you saw him take out something that looked like a syringe. 

“What. Is. That.” you asked again, this time more demanding.

“... A subcutaneous tracker” he stated matter-of-factly, then sighed. “I mean, if you’re okay with it. I just… I think I’d lose it if you were gone again and I didn’t have any means to find you. I promise I won’t let it happen again. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you ever again. This is just… a security measure.”

Now it was Donnie that was shaking. You could tell he didn’t want to have this conversation but the memory of not being able to find you was really eating away at him.

“Hey, it’s okay” you said softly and held his face. “I trust you.”

You let go of the blankets and ladle, rolling over so that you were on your side, with your arm or back exposed for him to do whatever he had to do, and he leaned down to give your temple a quick kiss.

“Wake me up when it’s over.”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @lovelylovelydreams, @o0-starboy-0o

[pradaxstyles]

congratulations! you got your own lemon drop nonnie!!! reader (or OC) is traveling with/is friends with/is in a relationship with Ellie, and after a particularly rough night, reader basically asks ellie about her nightmares and says "You mumble in your sleep." idk how you would want to write this but i'd like to see it!! (i might send an idea for joel your way) -🍋

Oh my gosh hi my little lemon drop nonnie 😭 I've never had an emoji anon I'm so excited. Im sososo glad you requested something! Seeing this made my entire day!! It's been a few years since I've written anything, so I really hope you enjoy it!

As always, please come chat or leave some feedback!! I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts!! 💐🫶🏻✨

No Words Left Unsaid

Pairing --> Ellie Williams x Fem reader

Warnings --> Anxiety symptoms, Joel is dead (I'm sorry 😭) no explicit details of death, just mentioned. Ellie is a fragile mess. How I imagine Ellie to be if she had someone to go to (besides Dina) ab what happened to Joel. Briefly proofread, if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word count --> 1.6k

Alexa's notes✨ --> I hope this was okay!! I had an idea and quite literally ran with it. I'm always open for constructive criticism (please be nice about it)!! Love yall xoxo

You knew Ellie well enough that when she put her mind to something, it was going to get done. Regardless if she got herself killed while doing it, it would be the last thing she did.

What you didn't know, is where you stood with the short haired girl. Stolen glances, hands brushing against each other, soft smiles from across the room, the force that was Ellie made your cheeks burn like nothing else.

A heavy, repeated pounding came from your door late one night. Jolting awake, you rubbed the grogginess from your eyes and glanced at the clock, 3:47am. A chill ran down your spine, the winter air nipping at your skin.

The pounding came again, this time a little more urgent. Reaching for a blanket from the couch, you headed to the door.

Curiosity pricked at your fingertips, pulling the handle and revealing a crack of the person who woke you up.

Eyes widening, you whispered, "Ellie?"

You opened the door wider to get a better look at her. She was pacing, the prints of her boots having muddled together in the once pristine snow. Her hair wasn't in its usual bun, but rather messily laid around her head. You could tell she had been running her fingers through it as one hand remained nestled in her hair, pulling at the roots. She was mumbling things under her breath that you couldn't quite catch.

Releasing the handle, you walked down the small steps of your porch to where Ellie was still pacing. Laying a soft hand on her sweater clad shoulder, you said her name again.

She jumped and pulled herself out of your grasp. Finally able to get a good look at her face, you frowned.

Her eyes were puffy and red, cheeks a deep scarlet that concealed her freckles, her lips dry and cracked from picking at the skin there. A haunted look had made a home on her once cheeky demeanor.

She opened her mouth, willing words to form, but nothing came.

Taking a small step forward, you reached a hand out for her. "Ellie?" you questioned again, "What's going on? Are you okay?"

She met your hand and grasped it tightly. Her clammy hands a deep contrast from the cold air that surrounded the both of you. Ellie's eyes glossy eyes met yours and she squeezed your hand again. Ragged breaths clawed themselves from her lungs, her other hand landing on her chest.

Panic crept its way through your veins at the sight of the girl in front of you. Reaching for her other hand, you led her inside.

"Els, I need you to sit down okay? I'm gonna get you some water."

Ellie gave a weak nod before sitting on the edge of the couch. She took a deep inhale, the soft scents of your lavender and chamomile lotion bringing her a sense of comfort. You wrapped the blankets tightly around her shoulders before heading into the small kitchen. Faint sounds of hiccuped breaths and sniffling could be heard over the trickling of the water. A small sigh left your lips as you turned the water off, trying to compose yourself.

She had moved so her back was pressed into the couch and the blanket a cocoon around her body. Wanting to give Ellie some space, you sat on the opposite side.

Extending the glass towards her, "Here El, drink some of this, small sips. It'll make you feel better," you gently coaxed.

She accepted the water gingerly and took a sip before setting it on the small table in front of her.

"What happened, Ellie? Talk to me," soft words fell from your lips. A look of concern still etched into your features. You debated moving any closer before Ellie scooted herself so she was facing you.

Ellie took a shaky breath, "Joel-" and squeezed her eyes shut.

Your blood ran cold at the mention of his name. Joel had been a blessing to you and Jackson, someone everyone could count on. As much as you wanted to know what happened, you could tell Ellie was in no shape to discuss the events that occurred. You had an inkling, but didn't want to push it.

Tentatively, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and laid your palm against her cheek. She leaned into your touch before opening her eyes again. "We don't have to talk about it tonight if you don't want to, angel. We can just go to sleep and deal with it in the morning," you offered.

A look of absolute defeat painted her features and it killed you inside. You could see her weigh the options before softly nodding her head. Ellie felt the exhaustion of the day settling heavy in her bones.

You stood and collected Ellie into your arms, holding her there for a moment. A shuddered breath hit your shoulder before you felt Ellie wrap her arms around your waist and hold you tightly. You took a few deep breaths and rubbed small circles into her back.

She pulled back slightly and gave a weak smile. Smiling back, you offered, "Let me get you some warm clothes for tonight, hm? And then we'll go to bed."

You took Ellie's hand and led her to the bathroom and left her to change. The door clicked shut behind her and you let a deep breath fall from your lips.

Sliding back under the warm blankets, you sat against the headboard and closed your eyes, waiting for Ellie. The sound of the door opening and Ellie's soft footsteps had you perking up.

"It'll be okay, Els. We'll take care of it, I promise." You held your arms open for her and she all but collapsed into your warm embrace. Laying her head against your chest, she entangled her legs with yours as you pulled the blanket up to cover her back.

Pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, you mumbled "I'm here, bug and I'm not going anywhere."

Ellie gave a small nod, "Thank you."

You hummed in response and held her tightly against your body as if to shield her from every damn thing that had hurt her.

The sun's warm light began peaking in way faster than you wanted.

Ellie was fast asleep, cuddled into your chest. You hadn't moved in fear of waking the girl up, so you stayed in that same position all night. Rubbing random patterns onto her back, brushing your fingers through her hair, and consoling her when she seemed to be having a nightmare.

She's mumbled incoherent sentences since she fell asleep. You weren't sure if you should've woken her up, but as soon as you whispered "You're okay," "You're safe," she stopped.

You wished you could take the pain away. Ellie hadn't told you everything since she and Joel had arrived in Jackson, but she told you enough. They'd been through hell together, and you couldn't imagine what plagued her while she slept.

Ellie began to stir slightly, a groan falling from her lips. She tensed, not remembering where she was. "Wha-"

"You're okay Els, you're with me," you reassured her. Glancing down at her, a confused look melded on her features. "Do you remember coming over here last night?" The question felt sour on your tongue, remembering the broken state Ellie was in mere hours before.

She nodded slowly and began to pull from your arms. "I'm so sorry for showing up like that, I didn't know what else to do," she started. "I got back and Tommy told me to go home but I just couldn't, how could I just-"

You could tell she was getting upset all over again. Her breathing was starting to get erratic and in an effort to calm her racing thoughts, you placed a hand on her cheek.

"Els, it's okay. You're okay, you know you can come over anytime you need to. I'm always here for you," you reassured her. Ellie's eyes frantically searched your face for any doubt, but she found none.

She nodded slightly and laid down next to your sitting frame, eyes glued to the ceiling. Glancing up to see what she was looking at, "You mumble in your sleep," you acknowledged hesitantly.

Ellie winced ever so slightly and looked over at you. Tearing your gaze from the pale ceiling, you met her eyes. "What did I say?"

"It wasn't full sentences or anything, just some mumbled words and sounds," you started. "I'm not upset or anything, I just didn't know if yo-"

"I have nightmares," Ellie whispered softly, keeping her eyes on you, "Sometimes they change, and sometimes it's the same thing every fucking night."

You moved to lay down next to Ellie, willing her to continue. She took your hand and brought it to lay against her chest. Taking a deep breath, she continued, "Most of the time it involves Joel and what we went through a few years ago. There was a few times we both should have died, and we didn't."

Reaching with your intertwined fingers, you thumbed a small tear from her cheek, and pushed some loose hairs back. Ellie watched your roaming eyes and how they looked so full of love. Everything she noticed was calculated yet soft, deliberate showings of affection. Your eyes fell back to hers and Ellie's cheeks warmed slightly. You nodded slightly, urging her to continue if she wished.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm forever thankful we didn't die during those times, but now all I see is him dead. I see it when I'm awake, I see it when I'm asleep. I can't get away from it. I can't lose another person again, I can't lose you. I'm not ready to lose you yet."

Ellie had never laid her cards out like this before, let alone told anyone what plagued her at night. You held her gaze the entire time, hanging on to every word she said. Ellie was so thankful for you in that moment. She was always thankful for you, but in this moment, maybe just a little more.

"You're not going to lose me, Els. It's us against the goddamn world. That I promise you."

[itsphoenix0724]

Tonight, you sing for me (Azriel x reader)

Warnings: Smut, slightly sub!Az

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: you and your mate enjoy unexpected fun in your new home when you borrow Az's shadows for the night

A/N: this is my first fic, and the smut and ending definitely could use some work. Constructive criticism is welcome!

You met Az working as a priestess in the library of the House of Wind, and everything spiraled from there. When you and Azriel first mated it was like a whirlwind of events and emotions. Once you met his family Rhys extended the invitation to work with him and the inner circle when he learned of your ability to “borrow” others’ powers for a short period of time. After the war and the fighting you had a mating ceremony, and now you were finally ready to upgrade out of your small apartment in Velaris.

The house was perfect, large windows with an amazing view of the Sidra and perfectly built for Illyrian wings. Not too far from Velaris-close enough so you and Az could still be close to his family and you both could continue your work for the inner circle and as a priestess in the library. Moving had been a slow process; between picking out new furniture, painting, and completing the last few remodels that made your house perfect for the two of you, you were finally ready to spend the first night in your new home.

So, here the two of you were, standing in front of the door with a key in your hand. 

“Go on my love,” Az sighed into your shoulder–wrapping his arms around your waist, “unlock the door.” you sigh and lean back into him, slipping the key into the lock and swinging the door open.

Strong arms loop around the bend in your knees as you feel yourself being hoisted into the air as Azriel carries you both into the house, and you let out a shriek before letting out a laugh looking up at your mate seeing one of the rare unguarded smiles on his face.

“Welcome home my love.” Az purrs into your neck before letting you on your feet and pulling you into a soft kiss. The house truly was beautiful–everything having been hand–picked by you and your mate. Your library sitting up the stairs and Azriel’s piece sitting tucked into a small alcove off of the living room.

A beautiful black grand piano, something you were glad he finally allowed himself to indulge in. You remember when Az first told you he played the piano, the quiet admission against your pillows that he loved music and the way it made him feel.

Like he could create something instead of destroying it.

When you first heard him play it was a drunken night at a tavern in autumn. Azriel had been drunk enough to let himself loose, and having known no one else in the tavern he sat at the piano and played as everyone in the bar danced and cheered. It was one of your favorite memories of your mate, so the first thing you did was make sure Azriel picked out a piano to put in your house.

It had been hard to convince him at first, but when you mentioned him eventually teaching your children one day he became elated at the idea. 

“So my darling,” You press another kiss onto Azriel’s lips before continuing, “shall we christen the new house?” You can feel his whole body tense like a live wire, his scent darkening immediately to something smokier. 

“What did you have in mind?” he mumbles into your lips-his hazel eyes turning into a vibrant molten gold and it feels like he’s setting your body on fire. His lips are addicting, you’ve decided, as you draw him in for another kiss. 

“We can start in the kitchen,” another kiss on his lips, “or in front of the fireplace,” one for his cheek, “or in the bath,” one for his neck, “or we could go to the bedroom.” You stare into his eyes allowing him to swallow you whole, and you can feel his pants tightening as you mention places in your new house where he can ravish you.

“I think it’s only fair,” he hooks his fingers under your chin leaning in to draw you into another kiss, “that we start in the bedroom.”

He strikes then. Moving to crush you into a heated kiss, but you’re faster. You are his mate for a reason after all. You winnow out of his arms sending a confused Azriel a wink from the top of the stairs. 

“Well then, come chase me Shadowsinger.”  Azriel sends you a devilish smirk from the bottom of the stairs and you almost fall to your knees right then, but he begins to bound up the steps after you with a determined gleam in his eyes. You don’t let him get too close though, before winnowing to a spot further down the hallway inching closer to your bedroom.

You both stop in the hallway staring at each other. Azriel waiting like a lion to find a vulnerable opening, and you track all of his movements so you can disappear again without warning. He raises his arm and you almost bolt again before you realize that he’s not making a move to chase you. Instead, he leans against the wall, a perfect picture of smug male arrogance. 

“So my love,” he questions you. He seems perfectly at ease, but you know better. He is only waiting for the perfect moment to pounce, “What do I get when I catch you?” He raises an eyebrow, eyeing you up like a meal. You start to inch away from him because you can tell he’s going to move soon by the way he’s slightly shifting his weight onto his right foot, his shadows watching you as well curling around his wings and neck no doubt whispering to him about your own tells. 

“If you catch me, which you won’t, you can be on top. But if I get to the bedroom before you, you lay under me tonight.” A feline smirk of your own stretches across your lips.

“Ah, but that’s not fair,” Azriel tuts, “you could winnow to the bedroom right now and I would lose.” The gleam in your eye tells him that that was exactly your plan in the first place. “I think it’s only fair that we chase on foot from now on,” you consider this for a moment. You’re definitely faster than Az even though he’s stronger, and you have a sizable lead to the bedroom.

You have a straight shot while Az still has to travel down the rest of the hallway and round a corner. 

He makes it very hard to think when he’s looking at you. A shocking youthful almost boyish smirk on his face. His eyes make you feel like your body is melting and it almost makes you want to let him catch you.

But your mate had been amazing during the stressful time of house hunting, and he pleases you so often.

Your mind is made up as you mutter “Deal.” and bolt down the hall. Immediately Az shoots after you, his footsteps chasing you as you reach the door. Your hand touches the door knob and you have one foot in the door when you feel his fingertips start to coast over your waist. Twisting out of his hold, you dart the rest of the way into the bedroom. You turn to smile at him, victorious and wicked.

“It seems you’re getting slow in your old age, Shadowsinger,” you taunt. Azriel’s defeated form throwing the door the rest of the way open. 

“I am not slow–,” Azriel stalks towards you. You can tell his competitive side is hating the fact that he lost. His shadows swirl around the room like they’re waiting for something, “--you just like to play dirty.” He hauls your entire body against him in one quick movement shooting out like a snake. He crushes his lips to yours as he backs you onto the brand-new bed. 

“Az,” you mumble against his lips, “we had a deal.” He concedes to you, releasing the bruising grip his hands had on your jaw. “On your back, my love,” you purr against him, and his whole body shivers as he can feel your hands undoing the clasps that keep his shirt secured around his wings. You let your hands wander upwards and graze the spot underneath the joint where his wings connect to his shoulder blades.

His hips cant upwards and if he wasn’t kneeling against the bed already his knees would’ve buckled beneath him.

He seems to relent now, switching you around so that you’re standing in the spot between his legs instead of vice versa. You kiss him again, pulling his shirt off quickly before climbing onto his lap. You move your hips against Azriel and start to build up the right rhythm, both of your bodies moving together as one until you can feel the hardness through his pants. 

“Do you trust me?” His pupils are blown wide, black almost entirely blotting out the gold-green in his eyes, shadows flowing gently over the two of you like a cold caress, no doubt whispering to Azriel about each and every one of your subtle movements. He nods and you back him up the bed until his back is flat against the pillows.

You kiss for a minute longer and then Azriel feels it.

A sudden warmth, and then cold, the back of his tongue burning like he just took a shot of whiskey, and all of the sudden his world goes quiet.

It takes him a minute, between the way your lips are biting at his neck and your hips moving together, to realize that his shadows have stopped whispering to him.

He had felt your wave of power, and he opened his eyes to see you above him with a mischievous smile and a determined gleam in your eye. Black shadows now curling around you like obedient dogs.

He can’t help but huff a little, his shadows behave much better for you than they ever do for him.

You lean down and kiss him again, fingers running through his hair and somehow the lack of stimulation he normally receives from his shadows is making him all the more sensitive to your advances.

He feels like his entire body has been dialed up to 100, every little touch leaving a trail of burning lust behind it. He’s realizing now he can’t predict you either, there are no shadows to tell him the movements of your hands before you touch him and the finger you run down his abs feels like an electric shock. 

He doesn’t think he’s ever been harder in his entire life. 

He’s flat on his back now, and you guide both of his hands so they run up your body slowly, feeling the last bit of touch before you execute your most important step in this plan.

His shadows are whispering to you about every subtle change in his breathing and his situation in his pants, and it makes your eyes slide to a seductive half-lid when you look at him.

You eventually guide his hands above his head and give his shadows a silent order. Immediately they obey and bind his hands to the headboard. Azriel realizes he no longer has movement in his hands and his eyes widen before he tests his bonds. He tries to order them to release him but they don’t budge. You pause for a second running your hands along Azriel’s jaw.

“Is this okay?” you ask, “We can stop if you don’t like it,” you reassure him looking into his eyes and calmly stroking his jaw while he deliberated.

Az took a moment to consider, he wasn’t used to being submissive, and it was hard for him to make himself vulnerable sometimes, even to you. But, he knows that you would never do anything he didn’t want you to do and he’s tied you up plenty of times so he figures he wants to see what it’s like when you have your fun.

He nods at you, and you continue on with a gleam in your eye that makes Azriel feel like he's weightless.

You take your time to appreciate everything about the gorgeous male laid out in front of you. You lick every single cord of strong tan muscle and whirl of tattoo. You can’t help but enjoy the way Az shivers under your touch. He feels like every stroke of your tongue is leaving a trail of golden fire. You lick, kiss, and bite until you reach his hip bones when you pause to look up at Azriel.

He looks straight out of painting. Black hair tousled and thrown back, a pink blush high up on his strong cheekbones, and muscles straining against your touch and his shadows trapping him against the headboard.

You want him to beg, so you wait looking up at him through your eyelashes. Azriel realizes you’ve stopped touching and he has to pry his eyes open. The sight of you like that almost makes him cum in his pants. You pull his underwear down slowly, kissing the new skin you reveal, and you wait again. “Beg Az.” you say gently pumping up and down his shaft as his eyes roll back into his head. His shadows whispering to you about the straining muscles in his neck, and the fluttering of his eyelashes.

Still he refuses to beg, so you have to turn up the heat a little. You place gentle kisses along the base of him before sticking the tip in your mouth, and running your tongue over him lightly. He’s clenching his jaw so hard you think the bones might crack, and you continue on with your teasing and he eventually can’t hold back any longer. 

Eventually he grinds out a dark, “please,” with a hiss between his teeth, but it’s not good enough for you. You’re greedy and you want more from him, so you keep teasing him–touching him just enough to send his whole body pulling taught like a string. He pulls against the shadows to run a hand through your hair. They hold strong, like bonds of steel against the headboard.

All it takes is you running your tongue along a vein on the side of his dick before his resolve crumbles. 

“Please, my love.” he pants it out, his tip leaking. “I want you so bad, please.” You relent, already wet enough as you move to straddle Az’s hips. You sink down on him slowly and you both let out a moan in tandem. Azriel’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he wants nothing more than to grab your hips, and bounce you up and down until you’re a babbling mess. You start to move and Azriel lets out a moan as you ride him. “Please let me touch you,” he grunts out between moans, and you relent. As you rise shadows slither away from Azriel’s wrists, and strong hands slam you back down onto his length. You let out a loud moan and Azriel reaches his hand down to rub against the apex of your thighs. You both climax together and you roll onto your back on the sheets beside Az. His shadows are back to their master, slowly slinking around the two of you like they don’t have any energy left themselves. You’re almost asleep. Your mate’s hand trailing slow circles up and down your spine when he murmurs into your ear. 

“So darling, what do you think about moving to the bathroom next?”

[munamania]

not to sit here and weave a story out of nothing like a little protagonist via my quirky online storytelling but i rekindled my friendship with sam who is such an interesting person there are just a lot of stories of all sorts and this is funny timing but truly we just fell into such an easy banter this past class so we were like omg lets hang right so. his roommate really is just like stupid hot right. i could get corny with it but i wont. a face sculpted by the hands of god though. all this prefaced i will now tell u an absolutely nothing story and i really mean that read at your own discretion ((A/N: trust and believe i yapped. putting under keep reading to be somewhat forgivable) (i am not in my best of states rn. okay.)

anyway so we're chillin in sams room im getting caught up on the latest construction projects and shit.. one thing abt sam hes always up to something. they've got an entire work desk #butchrealness. then i hear some singing out in the hallway but from where im sitting cant actually see anyone so convo just goes sam and roommate 'hey' 'hey' and then i peeked my little head out and waved and said hey and they stopped and set down their basket and said 'Hey' and then i did not introduce myself (flop) (combo of cramped room and sam talking and me being wildly awkward) (also keep in mind i dont know if this person has swiped left on me or not been on tinder or if theyd even recognize me anyway and hating that that's even a situation bc i hate that stupid app but just hoping worst case scenario i dont come off as an insane stalker but rather a victim of circumstance) but they just chatted for a sec abt whatever shelf sam needs to fix and that was that. and then they went back to humming which was cute or whatever

to set the next scene we're down in the kitchen and sams cooking and this is a while after we took his homemade gummies so im not rlly high per se but chillin and something about the noise and setup in their kitchen is so overstimulating for me lol when shes cooking im just like frozen. i always offer to help but he always just gets in a groove it's best i dont intervene. one time he had to tell me to go sit down in the other room bc i was freakin out a little lol

so im perched on this single high chair they have in the kitchen right next to their washer and dryer as sams whipping up some food and im kind of obnoxiously saying Unfortch in response to a story he was telling me and he gives me a look so im like UnfortunateLy. and then hes like 'psh i know unfortch i live with this guy' cue roommate strollin in with laundry and theyre just like Whaat and sam explains and theyre like Oh ofc you gotta know unfortch or whatever. forgot to mention that earlier in sams room they said three similar abbreviated words in a row just during a normal sentence and it caught me so off guard i wanted to giggle. so naturally my brain is going through Immediate social response of a semi awk laugh or quippy remark about that but also theyre literally like a foot away from me and im largely nonverbal atm lmfaoo so i just mumble smth to try and go along w the bit but then trailed off cause i was like wtf am i even saying. brain was overloaded

and then i was like um. i literally was just staring around doing fuck all like a perched bird or something but i was fighting a war in my mind of like ok do i introduce myself or look to sam to do so or do we not do that or is that rude idk but also they have headphones on one ear and are doing all their laundry shit and i once again dont want to be like overbearing but also well come on now we gotta feel out the vibe (and i do a great job here.) idk so im like Ok dont just look at them but dont Not look at them just behave like a normal person. you know. the usual. sam comes over to give me a bit of bread with balsamic vinegar and oil and i spilled it on my sweater fuck this stupid baka life (didnt really show. but still they were right there..)

and so after a min of this they were kinda like awkward laugh 'dont mind me' and i once again was very self conscious and had several things that wanted to come out 'not at all' 'dont mind me' 'it's your house' 'these all sound awful abby' then i got anxious that i was in the way the whole time but they were almost done and if i got into a weird apology thing well i would have had to kill myself so i just once again kind of uttered something that would have sounded like 'youresogoodicanmovetoo' and also 'sorry if i just keep like looking over at you' WTF IS THAT SHIT. FUMBLE BOOOOO and my follow up was essentially nothing cause i couldnt decide if i should say 'im just a bit out of it/high' 'im easily distracted (kys)' 'idk what to do w myself haha' 'im useless in the kitchen' (not entirely true) i mean just a few minutes before sam and i had talked about how ill just wander around peoples rooms and observe things to avoid feeling awkward and it's just how i am and so i was kinda just doing that due to the nerves of the sitch but there was only so much to look at. and i just sat there. offputting realness. whatever. so. straight face emoji. and that was mostly the extent of that i dont remember what they said in response just like a lil laugh or w/e. probably couldnt hear my stupid ass mumbling. so im thinking my chances of charming them at all are really stellar

if you read all this i want you to just take note that the events depicted here could not have been more than 3-4 minutes collectively. and yet the yap goes on..

for future reference, what did we learn? probably best to just continue convo with sam, excuse urself to br, or perhaps even attempt a conversation w them if ever in a similar situation again and they talk to you first again. also stop inventing complicated situations in ur head chill the hell out. idiot. says the bitch with the anxiety disorder. feel free to egg me on or tell me to fuck off ok xoxoxoxxo love u

[to-the-stars8]

Love and Neighbors

Clark Kent x Reader 1-Small Talk In Elevators 2-Thin Walls 3-Humming In Elevators 4-Coffee Breaks 5- Cherry Pies 6-Dead Vibrators 7-Entitled Old Ladies 8-Friendly Neighborhood Reporter 9-The Five Stages of Grief 10-Nervous First Meetings

WARNING; This chapter does mention a big disaster and death, so if that bothers you at all please just skip this chapter. Take care of yourself, my love! xoxo

11- Broken Glasses

There had been a lot of things you hated; Wet socks, the sound of styrofoam rubbing together, sudden loud noise--All the things a normal person would hate. And now there was something new to your list of things you hated, which was seeing Clark cry.

You had been just getting home from work, tired and desperately needing a bath with some snacks, when you saw him. He was in the middle of unlocking his door when you noticed the tears slipping under his glasses down his cheeks. 

Confusion followed by worry ran through your chest, and you wasted no time slowly approaching him to see what was wrong. He jumped when you touched his arm like he didn’t hear you walk up, before letting a sob break from him. 

“Clark, is everything okay?” You said softly between trying to comfort him and unlocking your door. He shook his head but didn’t say anything. When he didn’t, you went on. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Finally, then, he spoke up. It was a quiet “Yes.”

“Come inside.”

Sluggishly, he followed you. You hadn’t seen him like this before. Clark was happy-go-lucky, the life of the party--The optimistic one out of the two. Now, he just seemed tired and defeated. His eyes were red from crying, blue even brighter than before, and bags were dark under them. 

While Clark took a seat on the couch, you went to the kitchen for a glass of water for him, returning as quickly as you could before he broke down again. Before he spoke, he chugged the water down, tears still streaming down his face as he did. 

You comfortingly rubbed circles on his shoulder as you told him to take his time and not choke on the water. Clark chuckled half-heartedly, eyes laser-focused on the glass he gripped in his hands. 

“What happened, Clark?” You asked softly. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, squeezing out more tears, before taking a deep breath to answer. “You know the collapse on the new north bridge?”

“Of course. It was just a day or two ago.”

Clark sucked in a breath, nodding. “Tuesday night. Um, uh, a lot of people died.”

He was right, a lot of people did die. The north bridge had collapsed because of pure neglect of its original construction the year prior, a non-alien or evil genius cause that was surprisingly rare. Everyone from Metropolis to Gotham had heard the news, and many had been at the memorial service earlier that morning. Even Batman and a few of his Robins had gotten involved in the recovering of bodies. 

“Yeah, they did. Is…is that why you’re upset?” 

Clark nodded before sobbing so heavily that you were worried he would pop something. He hung his head, mumbling that he should have done something more, that all of was his fault in some way. In his explanation of his grief, his grip on the water glass had tightened so hard that it shattered. The two of you jumped at the sounds. Luckily, there was no damage to anyone, just the glass. 

“I’m sorry,” Clark sobbed, starting to pick the pieces from the floor. 

“Stop,” You ordered, grabbing his hands just so his attention was on you. The last thing on your mind was the damned cup. “Clark, listen to me. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” He whispered, looking right into your eyes. 

You moved one of your hands to wipe away the tears on his cheeks. “None of this is your fault.”

“But--”

“No! No buts. That bridge collapsed because some asshole took a cheap, easy route to build it. There was no way you could have known--”

Clark groaned in frustration as pushed your hands away from him before moving to the other side of the room. “I could have done something! Done more--Save more lives!”

“How? You’re one person, Clark!” You spoke, truthfully. “You can’t be everyone or everywhere at once. You can only save so many people. That’s not your fault!”

He went silent before moving back over to the couch, and you took him into an embrace. Clark sobbed and wailed into your shoulder, and it killed you to hear it. 

You wondered if this was the first time he felt like the one person who was supposed to save the world, or if it had been a feeling that persisted for years. It hurt to even imagine the concept. How alone he must have felt. 

Clark said your name in a sob, bringing you from the depths of your mind. “I saw this little girl…She--she…in the water…”

“I’m sorry you had to experience that, Clark. See it, too.” You mumbled into his shoulder, using one of your hands to scratch the hair on the back of his neck. “It’s not your fault.”

“I…I know,” He said. “But I can’t help but feel like it is. I can’t stop feeling like it is. I have all this power, but can’t help everyone. I want to, but I know that I can’t. Still, I can’t help feeling that it’s all on me.”

Your heart broke. The things he must have seen. “It takes time, Clark, to unlearn things that you use to hurt yourself. You’re just one person, remind yourself of that. You’re not gonna just shrug off this in one go, take your time.”

He sniffled, hands still gripping your shirt like it was the last thing he would ever hold onto, before pulling away. You let him, although reluctantly. “I don’t know how to unlearn it.”

“No one does. Not by themselves, at least,” You lightly laughed for a second. “And you don’t have to do it by yourself. I think fate put me next door for a reason!”

Clark laughed a little, tears on his face slowly going away with each second. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Clark,” You said, a bit too eagerly for your taste. “And you don’t need to thank me. I’m your friend. I’m here to help.”

He smiled before taking off his glasses to wipe away any more tears left on his face, mumbling how he must have looked silly as he did. You shook your head, reassuring him of the opposite. 

“I’m sorry about the glass,” He said. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Forget about the fucking glass, Sweetpea. I’m one person, so I don’t need many glasses.”

Clark only started to pick up the pieces that he broke as you watched. Still, he felt guilty. You wished you could shake the fact that none of it was his fault into his head, but knew that would never happen. The only thing you could do was be there for him as much as you could, and for that, you hoped was enough. 

When he had cleaned up everything, he stood up, rubbing his palms down the front of his pants. “I need to go back to my apartment.”

You stood with him. “Let me walk you home?”

Clark smiled, and at that moment you realized how much you missed it. His tears made you want to cry, but his smile could make you feel like where you were was the happiest place to be. Like you had said, you walked him home--or rather, to his front door. 

“Go visit your parents tonight,” You said, which caught him off guard. Seeing the confusion on his face, you elaborated. “To get your mind off of what happened Tuesday. Take a day or two to yourself.”

“Yeah,” Clark admitted. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“I’m full of ‘em, Mr. Kent.” You reached out for a hug again before he disappeared into his apartment. “Take care of yourself, Clark.”

“I will,” He said. “You’re the best.”

You pushed his arm playfully when you two broke away. “I know.”

[miss-beep-beep]

Messenger

Pairing: Carmen Berzatto x bookstore!(Viet)reader

Notes: Fluff and some cursing. This will be told in the (somewhat) perspective of Marin, the reader’s friend. There will be mentions of the reader being Vietnamese, hence the parenthesis. I actually wanted to include this for a while as I am also Vietnamese but I was worried I would alienate you all. Please enjoy!

Hi everyone, it’s 2023 and I’m back to post something as I was gone for months. Apologies for the long wait. Lots of stuff were going on IRL so I had to focus my energy and some of my creative brainwaves to that. If I make any mistakes, please let me know.

✅ Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Part 4 -> Part 5 TBA

P.S. Hi @wittyno​ ! When you commented “Any chance for a tag?”, do you mean a taglist? Or do you mean something else? Like tagging “Carmen Berzatto x bookstore!(Viet)reader”? Or a different type of tag? I really want to know. 👀

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Marin gleams with twinkling eyes and a Cheshire smile.

Her co-worker continues to stare at the back of the receipt in disbelief. Their left thumb brushing the words “To Ditto” above the message.

“I- I don't know how this happened.” Marin’s co-worker said warily.

“Oh come on, I’m sure stuff like this is normal for you.” Marin retorts.

“I wasn’t popular back in Vietnam and it’s still the same here in the states.” The co-worker retorts back with rolling side eyes. They slapped the receipt down on the counter before the two loom over it. 

“How did this happen?” Marin asks.

“Why are you asking me?”

“You two are on nickname basis!”

“No we’re not! I only met the guy once and that was on your Spaghetti Day.”

“Well there has to be a reason.” Marin states as she takes out the styrofoam boxes from the plastic bag. 

“Maybe you got to retrace your steps.” 

Marin closes her eyes as she flashbacks to minutes ago.

“Okay, I’ll be right back, you grumbling monster!” Marin said as she closed the bookstore door behind her. 

The grumbling monster that is their co-worker stuck their tongue but smiled and waved good-bye. 

A few skipping steps later, Marin swiftly entered The Bear which is still under construction. A tall man with a scruffy beard was watching over the counter. 

“Hi, I’m here for a pick-up.”

“Name?” 

“Marin.”

He swiftly walked to the kitchen before walking back to the counter in a brisk stroll with the sagging plastic bag.

A short wavy-ish haired guy from the kitchen then approaches the tall one from behind. “Hey, Richie, cousin.” 

“Yeah, one second.” The tall one, presumably Richie, mumbles before looking over at Marin. “Two spaghettis?” 

“Yep.”

“Wait, you’re Marin?” Richie asks.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Uh...Your name just looks familiar, that’s all.”

Marin slowly reaches for the bag.

“I mean, I’ve seen your name in the receipts.” Richie blurts out.

Marin doesn’t let that simmer in her brain for a moment. Her stomach let out a mid-growl.

“So, you work somewhere?” Richie said as he slowly placed the food on the counter.

“Cousin, just give her the food.”

“What, Carmy? Can’t make some rapport with our frequent customers?”

Carmy glances at the clock before looking back at his cousin.

“Wait, didn’t your break ended like a minute go?”

“Yeah, but I’m watching the counter for Fak while he’s taking his break at the back. You know why? Because I’m a great boss.”

A girl with a bandana peeks her head out of the doorway, holding a tray of steamy delectables under tinfoil. 

“Dude, Fak’s not even here.” She said before disappearing further into the kitchen.

“What?!” Richie shouts.

Realizing a customer A.K.A Marin was still standing there. He immediately apologizes. “My apologies, ma’m, for my tone! Please excuse me.” Richie storms around the counter and out the door. 

Carmy pushes the bag towards Marin. “Hey, sorry about that.”

“No worries, thanks for the food.”

Carmen notices the logo, Let it Rip, on Marin’s shirt. “Your shirt...” He trailed off.

Marin looks down at it. “What? Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. Your shirt... reminded me of someone.” He smiles meekly.

“Oh, were you two close?”

He paused for a minute before replying back bittersweetly. “Yeah, he was family to me.”

“Oh, that’s sweet.” Marin said with a wide smile back before looking at the clock. “I got to go. Thanks again for the food!”

As Marin exited, she glanced swiftly to the window where she noticed Carmen with his arms crossed but not too tight to his chest. The same meek smile brushed on his face as he walks back to the kitchen.

“Wait,” the co-worker interjects while waving the receipt, “we still don’t know when he wrote the message on the receipt.”

Marin smacks her forehead with the side of a plastic fork.“God damn, I knew I forgot something. I got distracted again.” Marin said at disdain to herself. 

Marin then ponders as she opened her Styrofoam container. She was staring at the plastic bag and noticed the clear tape residue created a X-shaped mark. She then stared at the receipt. Only one short piece of tape was sticking up straight.

“Interesting,” Marin whispered into a sly grin. 

[strawberrysurecake]

NEKO PARADISO (=^._.^=)∫ ♡♡

Chapter 2. Sweet Dreaming

▶ Nya Soleil - Nekopara OVA OST

[CHAPTER INDEX] | [NEXT ➞]

Note: Crack at it again—I mean back—with chapter 2.

As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! I may not be able to reply to them but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate them!

The words ‘café mastar’ rang in your mind.

It sounded silly—like something a child came up with—yet with Giorno’s soothing voice and gentle touch, there was a warm air of elusive nostalgia. What was so familiar about him and his dumbass pun?

You cocked your head to the side. “Have we met before?”

Golden ears flicked forward as he flashed you a smug grin and shrug. “You’ll figure it out, Mistress.”

He smoothly released your hands and withdrew to his companions. Narancia and Fugo had ceased squabbling by the time Giorno settled himself beside the confused pair.

‘You’ll figure it out, Mistress.’

You gaped your mouth like an offended goldfish. Why couldn’t Giorno tell you straight? Now it really bugged you, but as much as you’d like to press that matter, there was a bigger question that needed answering.

“So, back to the catboy thing...” You sceptically pointed to their peculiar feline features. “Those ears and tails can’t be real, right?”

“Of course they’re real,” Narancia scoffed, arms crossed. He demonstrated said realness by wiggling his folded ears and tail. “See?”

“But...” What did you miss in biology class?

“We’re catpeople—or ‘catboys’ as you put it.” Mista shrugged. “If you still don’t believe it, you can feel my tail up for proof.”

You raised a hand but awkwardly hesitated. Was there correct etiquette for feeling up the tail of a guy you just met?

Fuck it.

You graciously accepted his offer and lifted a wary arm to his stripy appendage. The tail moved with a mind of its own. Muffled body heat under the velvety coat faintly emanated against your fingers and palm.

It was the real deal.

“Oh my God. You really are real-life catboys,” you breathed, intently running your fingertips up and down his tail’s length. 

Mista mewled when you grazed an inconspicuous spot. His voice climbed an impressive octave. “Nyaaah, Mistress! Not there! It’s sensitive!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” you squeaked and promptly let go.

However embarrassing, you still couldn’t believe it. There were real-life catboys in your kitchen! Did some weeaboo genetically engineer them?

“We normally don’t share this aspect of ourselves with humans,” explained Bucellati, “but because you’re our new owner, it’s only natural you should know.”

You gritted your teeth upon hearing ‘new owner’ again. Could you really afford to house six catboys you just met on such short notice? The fluffy one even mentioned the mafia.

Could you really house six ex-mafia catboys?

You frowned. With business so slow, you barely housed yourself.

“Should I really be your new owner? It’s just”—you sucked in a breath to piece together the internal chaos swarming in your head—“I’m not exactly ‘ owner’ material. I don’t have much money or living space...and I work in retail.” You envisioned the myriad of luxuries a gangster would have. Their eccentric fashion painted a picture of delicious, seven-course meals and huge, plush beds to sleep in after a hard day of curb stomping civilians. “It might be different from what you’re used to...”

A firm clasp on the shoulder snapped you out of your worried stupor. Buccellati’s intense gaze softened as you peeped up at him. “Whatever you can provide is enough for us. I believe Polpo saw something in you. You earned his trust so we’ll honour his decision to leave us with you.” Plump lips curved upwards. The glint in his deep sea eyes had optimism powerful enough to faintly lift your dimmed spirit. “Don’t worry, Mistress. We’ll work for you as compensation for you taking us in. Serving you will be our last duty as the capo’s former soldatos.”

You deflated under Buccellati’s generous affirmations. Perhaps it was fate to become a crazy catboy lady. Buccellati was insistent you were the right woman for the job and to your surprise, it seemed Polpo genuinely was a mafioso like you jokingly mused. He wasn’t some ordinary gangster, either; the title of capo was significant. His judgement to select you held more weight than ever before.

God, you hoped Polpo’s judgement was right.

“If we’re to work here, we should get started,” Fugo suggested.

You gawked at the hole-cladded boy. “Huh? Like right now?” Didn't they only burst out of your oven a moment ago?

“Sure. Why not,” he replied, a hand on his hip. “So where are we exactly? I assume this is the café’s kitchen?”

You nodded. “Yeah, and over there is the front,” you gestured to a wide doorway situated adjacent to a narrow flight of stairs, “and upstairs is where I live. I guess it’s also where you’re going to live, too...”

“You mean we don’t have to travel for work? Sweet!” Narancia cheered with a fist pump mid-air.

You chuckled. Honestly, that was your reaction upon finding this place available for rent, too.

“Alright then. Show me around the café. I’d like to inspect it.”

You quirked a brow at Fugo. “What about the others?”

From your peripheral vision, Mista sneakily wrapped his arms around Narancia and Abbacchio. “Let’s explore upstairs while Fugo and Mistress are busy.”

“Mistress better have a TV up there,” Abbacchio grumbled and let Mista escort him up the stairs.

“And a gaming console,” Narancia chirped as he followed closely behind. He stopped on the second step and leaned out. “Giorno, you coming or what?”

Giorno opened his mouth to respond but Buccellati quickly intervened. “I need to talk to Giorno first.”

Narancia squinted, shrugged, then hastily disappeared up the stairs, much to your dismay.

“Don’t you dare look in my bedroom!” you yelled with a stomp. Fugo grasped the back of your collar before you could give chase.

“Come on, Mistress. There’s a lot we need to cover,” Fugo urged and tugged you towards the wide doorway.

You whimpered as you were led away. Your stomach churned at the dreadful prospect of your new roommates rummaging through your private belongings unsupervised.

It was one long, anxiety-inducing half-hour. You leaned over the counter, drumming an uneven tempo onto its hard surface, while Fugo scrutinised every machine, menu and utensil in the café. Blond locks shielded his expression but that didn’t stop you from attempting to telepathically read his mind.

Why wasn’t he talking? Were those grunts of joy or disappointment? Was his tail flicking side-to-side because he’s impressed? Did he even know what he was doing?

“It’s a good place although a bit plain.”

You snapped back to reality upon hearing Fugo finally share his thoughts. His eyes flickered around the scenery behind him as he stood opposite you from the counter, hand resting on the edge. 

“Huh? What do you mean?” you asked.

In your own humble opinion, Milky Maid Paradise was aesthetic as it was inviting. It was the kind of place you dreamed of spending your mornings and afternoons in. It was the idealistic facility of respite you desired to share with your childhood community. Now it was a reality you passionately worked and lived in.

“I’ve been to many cafés before. They’re a lot like this one,” he expanded. He turned to face you, eyeing the frills adorning your outfit. “Besides your maid outfit, what else does this café have to offer?”

“Well, uh…”

Good cake? Quick coffee? Pretty layout? But those were the bare minimum for any decent café…

“Yeah, maybe it is a little generic,” you admitted tentatively. “But isn’t that enough? Good food and service is plenty for most customers.”

“For many, yes, but what’s more important now is drawing in customers.”

“ Oh ,” you replied lamely. “It’s true I haven’t been doing much advertising lately.”

“I’ll work something out,” Fugo assured with a half-hearted glance. “The front of the café appears solid. Shall we move on to the kitchen now?”

You rose off the counter with a stretch. It was about time he finished deciphering sandwich menus and the barely-used logbook. “Yeah, let's go. I want to improve what we can. After all, Polpo’s put a lot of faith in this café.”

“Yeah,” Fugo responded quietly. His brows knitted together as he frowned. “Master Polpo…”

You and Fugo quickly occupied the kitchen once more. Evidence of the explosion that happened early afternoon still remained scattered on the kitchen bench as you walked in. Presumably, Buccellati and Giorno must have finished talking and joined the others upstairs, leaving you alone with the curly-furred catboy. Whatever those two talked about, you hadn’t the faintest clue.

Fugo resumed inspecting while you busied yourself with packing away leftover cake ingredients and loading dirty equipment into the dishwasher. As Fugo neared the bench, deep purple eyes trailed from the mess to the incriminating recipe.

“Mistress, did Polpo say anything to you before he left?” he asked.

You turned your head away from the clutter of the pantry. If you could somehow cram the muffin tray in there, everything would be packed away. “Not much besides how this café needs extra people staffing it. Why?”

He chewed his lip, seemingly unconvinced. “Just suspicious.”

You pouted as you shoved the tray inside and slammed the pantry door. You leaned against it as a precaution. “What are you suspicious of?”

Fugo dropped the recipe he was holding and crossed his arms. “Polpo’s intentions. Buccellati was a longtime valuable asset to the capo for years. I can’t fathom how Polpo could forfeit his best subordinate and team over to some random owner of a niche café no one in this city has ever heard of.”

That was certainly a harsh way of describing things . Though, Fugo’s concerns were valid. Why you , indeed. You had never met Polpo before today so why did he trust you enough to take ownership of valued members of his organisation?

You merely shrugged. “I don’t know how or why he chose me but I’m grateful all the same. And I’m very grateful that you’re taking the time to critique this café.” You strenuously performed a small curtsy, as best you could with your ass scraping against the pantry.  “Thanks, Fugo.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. Instead, his attention diverted to the leftover orange on the bench. He picked the zested citrus up and examined its marred peel with slitted pupils.

“Is something the matter?” you asked after a moment.

Fugo dropped his stern gaze from the orange to you by the pantry. “Mistress, I need to make one thing clear.”

Your apron was wrinkled clump between your digits. “Oh?”

“I don’t trust you.”

“...Oh.”

“Buccellati and Giorno may, but I don’t.” He folded his semi-clothed arms, orange still in hand. “I won’t lower my guard around you just because you're my owner.”

“I can understand,” you replied. “Trust is something that takes time, right? We can get to know each other as we live together. Then maybe we'll become friends or something.”

Fugo grimaced. “Like I’d ever befriend a human.”

“What ? What did humans ever do to you?” You manoeuvred your hands to your hips. “What have I ever done to you?”

His curly tail frizzed twice its typical fluffiness behind his back—a biological sign that this conversation was getting real serious. “It doesn’t matter if I tell you. I’ll never trust humans, and I don’t trust you to not dump us into the streets once we stop becoming useful to you.”

You winced at the thought. Some people would kill to have their own catboy. Were there really morons out there who would abandon them? “Fugo, I’d never abandon you or your friends. Not even Abbacchio who probably hates me.”

He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’m—” you gestured jauntily to yourself, “—not a monster? I don’t know what kinds of people you’ve met but I promise I’m not like that. I’ll do my best to take care of you, Buccellati, Narancia and the others with the little income I have.”

He huffed then relaxed his posture a tiny fraction, tail almost deflating to its default volume. Ears twitched as he rested a hand on his hip. “Very well. I apologise for losing my temper.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, having somehow tamed this catboy. “No, it’s okay. It’s not like you had much choice getting stuck with me.”

Fugo grunted in agreement. “However, if you try anything to harm me or my team, this—” he mercilessly crushed the orange in his bare fist, juice dripping over the tiles and splattering onto your chin and cheek, “—will be your head. Understood, Mistress?”

You swiped the sticky droplets off your face. The absolute audacity of this kitty. You knew he was a gangster but not an asshole.

“Understood, Fugo,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Now I have to clean this mess up, too...”

There was orange juice sprayed everywhere. You scooted your ass off the pantry for a moist rag but without your back to support the doors, the doors of the pantry flew open. Trays and pans clattered as they loudly poured out of their compartment like a metallic landslide.

“And that…” you groaned. You looked to Fugo. “Mind helping me?”

At last, you made it out of the kitchen alive—with your skull intact, mercifully. 

To summarise Fugo’s critiques, he suggested minor organisational changes for efficiency’s sake, all to benefit a team of seven; advertisements on social media to bolster the café’s presence across the city; and unique, trendy menu items to coax new patrons—all of which he insisted he undertake designing himself. It had been less than a day and Fugo was already climbing the ranks.

He also suggested you rename Milky Maid Paradise.

You pouted indignantly. What was wrong with ‘Milky Maid Paradise’!?

The pair of you trudged into your humble living room where empty cardboard boxes littered the hardwood flooring and fuzzy pastel rug. The setting sun filtered through sheer curtains, forming a warm glow on your family’s old plush sofa that Buccellati, Giorno and Abbacchio sank comfortably on.

You acknowledged them with a smile. “Sorry for the mess. I just moved here so I haven’t yet finished unpacki—”

You shrieked as a black and orange blur lunged from the side. It gripped your shoulders with intense fervour.

“Why is there no TV or Play Station!? Are you that poor, Mistress!?”

“I—”

To your much needed rescue, a knight in shining leather pants barged Narancia off of you. Unfortunately, his stronger pair of hands gripped you tighter and more fervently.

“Mistress! Mistress! Why are there four cushions on the sofa!? Do you want us to die !?” Mista wailed as he savagely shook you.

You struggled to respond. You let the world sway around you.

“We don’t have anywhere to sleep, either,” Abbacchio added, unimpressed.

You lightly shoved Mista off you who flopped with a thump and a questionable clatter of bullets raining from his hat. Vertigo crept but you fought it down for dignity’s sake.

“I know and I’m sorry. This all happened on short notice so I’m not prepared. Maybe one of you can use my bed and another can use the sofa? I can lay blankets and pillows on the rug too.”

“We can sleep in these boxes,” Giorno suggested, foot playfully nudging one of the many empty boxes on the floor.

“Like strays?” Abbacchio’s disdain etched a wrinkle on his nose. “I don’t know about you but I’m not some dirty stray.”

“ You can sleep on the sofa and the rest of us will sleep in boxes,” Buccellati finalised. “Mistress, you keep the bed. You deserve your own space.”

You eyed him funnily. You've had sleeping arrangement arguments with friends before but none of your friends ever volunteered to sleep inside literal cardboard. “Are you sure? That doesn’t sound too comfy.”

To prove you wrong, Fugo slunk into a box and reemerged his head from the top. “It’s fine. It might not be comfortable for humans but it’s comfortable for catpeople.”

You acquiesced with a shrug. “If you say so...”

You battled to endure a poker face. For someone with an explosive temper, Fugo looked too precious peeking out of a box.

But the battle wouldn't last long. A growl from Mista’s stomach disturbed the tranquillity. He rubbed his neck with a strained laugh. “Heh, what’s for dinner, Mistress?”

Good question.

You mulled over your options, finger tapping your chin. It was a little late to whip up dinner for seven and who knows if you had the quantity of ingredients for it. Though there was one other option...

“We can order delivery,” you announced, hands clasped. “What do catpeople eat?”

The catboys glanced at each other until Narancia piped up for the team.

“Margherita pizza!”

You sat around the low, living room coffee table, your bums cushioned by the soft pastel rug. On your left sat Narancia, guzzling down slice after slice of margherita pizza while on your right sat Giorno, elegantly poised and savouring the rich flavours of fresh mozzarella and soft porcini mushrooms. Mista and Fugo joined you on the floor while Abbacchio and Buccellati dined on the sofa like kings overseeing a banquet even though you paid for everything.

“This is the good shit, Mistress. Glad we convinced ya to order authentic Italiana and not the crappy American kind,” Mista commented across the table. “We haven’t had proper lunch before we got zapped here.”

You paused mid-bite, intrigued. “What happened before I summoned you?”

Mista waved his half-eaten pizza. “Well, we were chilling in our dining room,” he began.

Mista picked at his food and grimaced. “What flavour is this cake? Shit flavour?”

“It’s not vanilla or even lemon... It’s just bland,” Abbacchio mumbled, inspecting the blond crumbs on his fork.

“It’s like they baked the bare essentials to make what technically counts as cake,” Fugo added.

“Just finish your plates. Master Polpo gifted this to us and to refuse his generosity would be a sign of disrespect.” Buccellati's ears flexed back as he frowned. “You know how he feels about respect.”

Silence overcame the table afterwards then Narancia resurfaced an old conversation topic.

“After eating this cake, would I still taste good?”

Giorno stared at his empty plate, not a single crumb left behind. “Probably.”

Then a burning light flashed.

Without warning, the room warped around their modest dining table. Light and shadow inverted and their tiny room span rapidly, toyed by time and space bending anomalously.

The world was pitch-black until a pop in their triangular ears and sensation of cool, solid ground signalled it was over. Slitted pupils strained in the bright overhead lights to adjust to chocolate brown tiles and polished stainless steel surfaces. Above them stood you in a frilly maid outfit, waving an unthreatening toothpick.

“I don’t get how he does it, either. Polpo’s an enigma,” Mista spoke with a shrug, mouth full of pizza.

You hummed and pondered the story over. He mentioned they ate bland cake. Could there be a correlation between the cake they consumed and the cakes you baked, thus summoning them to you? How the hell would that be possible?

“He’s an enigma indeed,” you dryly concluded. He was a man who could vanish in a flash and willingly gave catboys away to small business owners.

Still hungry, you knelt for another slice of pizza. You sifted through empty boxes until your hand brushed a remaining slice—the last slice of pizza.

You were careful to observe anyone else’s interest in snatching it before moving it to your plate. It seemed everyone was still eating what remained on their plates but before you could indulge in your prize, you caught a clearer glimpse of Narancia.

He stared longingly at the empty boxes resting upon the coffee table, not unlike a sad puppy. With him close by your side, his scrawny physique was more apparent. He lacked the same bulk around his arms and torso the other catboys possessed. The only evidence of fat on his lean body was in his boyish cheeks. It was a wonder what his previous owner usually fed him.

Your eyes shifted guiltily between your plate and his. The poor kitty hadn’t had proper food since breakfast. He could use the extra slice more than you.

“Hey, Narancia,” you quietly called. You presented the golden slice of margherita pizza to him. “Here. You can have the last one.”

Black, folded ears twitched tentatively at your offer. “Are you sure? You grabbed it first. You paid for it.”

You waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, I’m sure. That only means I get to decide who to give it to.” With that, you unceremoniously plopped the pizza onto his plate; there would be no room for arguments.

Violet eyes shimmered in disbelief and his tail followed suit. Narancia muttered his gratitude to you and bit into the pizza gratefully.

You smiled at how adorable he was. A simple gesture like this was the least you could do as his owner.

Though from his back pocket, the silver of his switchblade glinted. Of course, Narancia could slit your throat anytime he wanted, but you tucked away that ridiculous thought. How could he murder the hands that fed him free pizza?

With dinner done, you brushed off crumbs and shuffled towards the corner of the living room where you unpacked a loaded box of fabrics.

“When you’re all finished, I have some uniforms for you all to pick from.”

Abbacchio leaned past Buccellati’s broad frame to see. “They’re not maid costumes, are they?”

Your mouth tightened to a thin line. You had bad news to deliver.

Abbacchio read your silence. “Fuck’s sake.”

You contemplatively stroked one of the frilly articles on your lap. While you believed men could rock dresses, frills and bows, it wouldn’t be right to force it upon them. Comfort was more important than appearances, after all.

“You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want to,” you said. Your grasp on the article slackened slightly. If it made them more comfortable, you would happily compromise running a gimmicky maid café for a plain old conventional café.

From behind, Giorno snuck up and delicately plucked a pink dress amongst the heap piled beside you. “I’ll wear one, Mistress. It’s a maid café so it’s not a big deal,” he assured with a smile.

“Me too,” Mista spoke, smirking behind the coffee table. “I’ll wear one ironically.”

Narancia twisted around to participate. “If there’s one that isn’t too girly, I’ll wear it...”

“I’ll wear one too,” Buccellati said. A prideful smile crinkled his eyes. “It’ll be good for business.”

A palm impacted the table. A red-faced, flat-eared Fugo tremored where he sat. “Give me whatever’s there.”

Your hands rose to your chest. Your heart pattered against your ribs like rain on a tin roof but really, you were filled with beaming rays of sunshine. “Everyone...” you breathed.

Wait, not everyone . You glanced at Abbacchio who glowered back with sharply furrowed eyebrows.

“Fine! I’ll wear one!” He stormed over and yanked the garment off your lap. The smoky-hued fabric draped over his toned arm and cascaded down to his knees. “Happy, Mistress?”

A giggle bubbled from your chest. “I’m very happy, Abbacchio.” Perhaps the big, grumpy catman was as soft inside as he was with his fluffy tail.

None of them had to but they chose to. They were willing to wear cute maid outfits for you and the café. Nothing could contain your enthusiasm.

Together, the seven of you sorted through maid outfits to wear as a team. You bought them online for any future employees to wear and you couldn’t wait to see what they’d look like on everyone tomorrow.

Was this Polpo's intention? To have these catboys join you as valued staff in your maid café? Maybe now, the café would finally succeed.

“You’re sure you’re all good there? It’s not too cold or cramped?” you asked.

“We told you, we’re fine. Please get some rest, Mistress,” Giorno assured from his stuffed cardboard box. “Tomorrow will be our first day working together.”

Everyone but Abbacchio, who haughtily hogged the sofa, curled up in a box of their own, insulated by whatever pillows and thick linen you had spare in your closet. You made a mental note to go shopping later in the week.

“Okay then. I’m turning the lights off now.” You traced the nub of the light switch by the hallway. “Goodnight, everyone. Wake me up if you need anything. You know where my room is.”

“Buonanotte,” they chimed back.

You flicked the lights off. The living room dimmed to blackness instantly. Only through the cool moonlight and flickering street lamps could you make out the fuzzy silhouettes of ears, boxes and furniture.

You tiptoed past the hallway and into the much-needed privacy of your quaint little bedroom. You slipped out of your frilly work clothes and donned the first set of pyjamas you could find before flumping onto your rugged single bed. The mattress dipped with your dead weight and you let the bed covers surround you before exhaling. Stress escaped your lungs and dissipated into the cool night air.

It was warm and peaceful in bed. For the first time since this morning, you had time to yourself again. Time to think. Time to slow down and comprehend.

So, catboys apparently existed and six of them were sleeping in your living room. They were a rowdy bunch and with a criminal background to boot. How would they handle the transition from crime to café?

You stifled a yawn. Though your body was sluggish, your mind refused to slumber. It jumped from one thought to the other. Like, what if your café continued to roll downhill? How would you feed and house the catboys and yourself then? What about your friends and family? Would they believe your situation is real and not think you’re trying to concoct a wet dream? 

You clumsily pulled your smartphone from under your pillow, careful not to unplug it from its charger. The dazzling screen burned your retinas as you strained to read a text message sent from your best friend a few hours ago.

How’s the café going!!? :3 :D I might have to visit and find out soon!

Shit. How could you explain to them? You dropped your phone and muffled an incoherent scream into your pillow. Now you really couldn’t sleep.

You tossed and turned under the covers in vain until a knock on your bedroom door put an end to your funny horizontal dance. You held back a sigh before whipping the heavenly covers off your torso and shuffling over your freezing floorboards to the door.

“Coming,” you announced before quietly peeling the door open to reveal a messy head of black hair. “Narancia? How can I help you?”

The catboy in question rubbed his eye. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight? Mista meows in his sleep.”

Suddenly, the floorboards felt like eggshells.

“S-sure…” you answered carefully. “My bed can probably fit two people…”

Narancia grinned at your response. “Grazie, Mistress!”

You silently let Narancia inside and shut the door behind him. A vertical tail followed the catboy as he unabashedly made a beeline towards your bed and dove under the covers, ignoring all the kitschy posters framed on your walls and your sizable collection of quirky trinkets and manga on your shelf.

He’s going to see that shit in the morning, you realised.

But there was no time for worry or embarrassment now. You robotically joined Narancia in bed and awkwardly slipped into the blankets beside him, cosying up as best you could with the limited space available.

“Good night, Mistress,” he whispered, his warm breath tickling your nose.

“Good night, Narancia,” you whispered back.

Your room was too dark to make out his features but if the soft vibrations of his purrs rumbling from his chest meant anything, he was already dozing off.

They say a cat’s purr is the most soothing sound in the world to humans. Perhaps they’re right. You were drifting off to sleep, too.