#even though I’ve not heard her mentioned in the books yet

[nixnereus]

Further proof my entire family is chaos.

My dad dumped acid into the pool to level the ph. Our idea to mix it up was to run on a circle and get a whirlpool going. The entire family did so immediately. Even my dog jumped in and helped. It was really fun.

[2kmps]

BED-REST IS BEST

howl pendragon x sick!reader | 2.1k

synopsis; while sophie and michael are away fetching you bone broth for your illness, howl decides to pay you a visit.

story warnings; sick!reader, howl is a pompous turd, book!howl-coded, interrupted kiss, roughly proofread, posted 2021.

Sophie supposed the malady came on the winds of spring, carrying with it all manner of sickness, unpleasantness, and turbid air just the thinnest tinge of green from particles of pollen. She herself felt the effects of the great thaw, the budding tulips of richest hue, and the haze that drew over head like a personal cloud of suffering all her own.

Of course, Old Sophie had a way of dramatizing, meanwhile simultaneously catastrophizing stuff, so you knew to listen to her words loosely, with a solemn nod that you also shared similarly in those feelings. To a lesser degree than her, you were already aware your forced bed-rest could be attributed to allergies.

Or, something else you considered, it could have been the number of sputtering children who yet not knew to duck their faces in a tissue or their arms; it could have been the last embrace you shared with your sickly aunt. It could have been so many things that you had to press the pads of your fingers into your temples to subdue the stab of a headache building beneath them.

“Michael and I are going to Market Square to get supplies and bone broth. That’ll whip you into shape in no time.” Sophie anchored her fists against the bulky layers of her skirt, nearly losing them from how deeply they sunk. “Don’t you dare think about moving until we get back, hear me?”

“What about customers?” you couldn’t say you were disappointed by her firm demand, though all the same it made you restless. Even in times where illness or injury got you down, rest eluded you like fine sand slithering through crevices in your fingers. “Howl went off and blew half our income on that- that, damn, what was it? Some kind of enchanted flute? The more customers we serve, the more we can stash away.”

Sophie’s nostrils widened while her shoulders sagged forward with her breath. Her eyes lost their hardness, ebbing into something far warmer, motherly, almost. As you shifted anxiously beneath the covers, she came back around and began tucking them under your body once again, sure to secure you tighter than before. In fact, you were so caught, so much in your cocoon that you only saw the gray ball of wadded hair pinned atop her head bounce as she rounded you.

“Just stay down you worrywart,” she sighed, heels tapping the floorboards in a collected gait. At your head, she was careful to fluff the feathers in your pillow. “Between us, I’ve been putting a bit aside here and there. Just enough so he can't go buy another one of those enchanted suits. I’d like to know the dealer he’s getting them from and have a word with them myself.”

Your lips curled up at the mention and, honestly, you believed she actually would. “Where is Howl, anyway? I thought he was around.”

“Good grief, I almost wish he wasn’t. He’s been banging around in his room for hours now.” Old Sophie threw her hand towards the adjacent wall, upper lip curling as she continued, “says a lot that you haven’t heard a lick of it.”

That was enough to get you to concede to her obstinacy, letting the weight of your head- suddenly a strain on your neck- fully rest atop of the pillow she had fixed. The more she talked about you needing to stay in bed, drink bone broth and saltines, the more you felt the lead in your limbs rooting you to the mattress and the world floating around you when you closed your eyes.

It was any guess to you when it was the moment Sophie slipped out of your room with that hobbled gait of hers. You had been vaguely aware of her giving your cushion a bit more lusciousness, and then warmth of her palm covering the space of your forehead, giving a fretful tongue click. Behind your heavy eyelids, your eyes floated after her tiny footfalls, but that at once made your bed feel like a boat crashing through cresting waves.

So, you finally resigned to your fate of her and Michael’s care, finally let the stone in your bones meld you into the bed like beige boulders sinking further into the earth and undergrowth with coming centuries.

The silence that surrounded you was enthralling, probably the only true amount of peace you had had in a long time, considering your days were often brimmed with mediating Sophie and Howl’s explosiveness, meanwhile, still cooking up meager spells and manning the business with Michael.

In your weariness and delirium, a thought crossed your mind in a drawl: what about Calcifer, did he need more wood? You anticipated his voice bursting out soon, imploring attention in any number of ways. What of the front door? You expected a knock to come soon, and then another, and another, and perhaps a dozen more. That was money well needed.

What of Sophie? Your thoughts continued. Would she need you to help with scrubbing the floors? Maybe she wanted to give you a knitting lesson later, or expand on her tutelage of weaving hats.

Oh, and Howl—

God, how could you forget Howl? The man felt like a job all on its own. 

Surely he intended to go out again and woo many of the loveliest in Market Chipping, or hell, maybe he’d move the castle somewhere else for the night to do that. You expected him to hunt you down, throw open your door, barge through the threshold with his hair aflutter and eagerness in his eyes—where did you and Miss Nose stash his suits? His guitar wasn’t where he left it, where was it? Neither of you meddled with the charm over his door, right?

As it turned out, you mumbled in your sleep, or at least in your discombobulated state. Your head rustled the feather pillow, lolling to one side and then the other as sweat prickled your forehead in cold beads. Behind your eyelids, Sophie’s nimble and darkly spotted hands worked on a suit, meanwhile Michael was ran ragged around the castle to try to fulfill orders, Calcifer bellowed for attention and eggs and bacon, and Howl’s hair whipped up in the breeze as he spun round and round with another lovely.

Your entire face twitched when a large hand smoothed across the top of your head, a damp weight of something laid spread across your forward, unpleasant and clammy unlike Sophie’s warm hand. “Hey. Don’t take the newt from the shelf, it’ll get on the floor.”

Howl gave a bemused smile that took a while to dissipate. You continued to babble incoherently here and there about things that didn't matter while the peaks of his knuckles simply rocked across your temple and cheek.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I pray that Sophie has made herself useful instead of sticking her nose in on us again.” He said with lightness in voice, peering across his shoulder towards the bolted doorway to be sure. “Good. She seems to think I only make you worse in these states. I would never.”

You were sure you were hearing his voice at this point, rousing you from the cluster in your head until your eyes fixed with his, wonderful and marble-like. They were softer than usual, glittering like the sea when the sun hung highest, making the water like a trove of dazzling treasure.

“Your eyes are amazing, Howell.” You whispered hoarsely, swallowing through the desert in your throat. “I don’t notice them enough.”

His smile took on something brighter, almost as though delighted you took notice of something that menial. “I would agree with you there! You can look as long as you’d like. Tell me more about it.”

“I think about us sometimes, Howell.” It was a strange feeling right now, the words you spoke were the first to float forward in your mind. You knew you were speaking garbled silliness, still you didn’t think better of it. “I remember college together, before we came to Ingary. I remember how you used to look before you… started doing the enchantment stuff. I feel like I’ve forgotten you.”

The lines in his lips were significantly deeper as they pulled down, his hand halted against your skin. It was either the thought that you felt such a disconnect from him, or the reminiscence of who he once was that brought the sullen look of his on. No longer was there a glitter of childish joy, but rather of anxiety, of concern.

“Nonsense. You’re talking nonsense just like Sophie and Calcifer.” He moved closer to you on the bed, rolling your arm from its spot as the mattress bent. Next, the pillow cradling your head flattened, his hands cuffed into the thick fabric as he leaned across you, your eyes only able to see him. “I… I’m still here. I have not left you, I wouldn’t entertain the thought. Didn’t I tell you that wherever I’d go from here on out, you would have to be right with me?”

You only wished he’d tell you such things in every other state of being, instead of during the peak of being bedridden. “I want to believe you, but in this world I am as ordinary as the hat makers and bakers. I’m replaceable. I wonder if that will happen one day.”

Noticeably distraught from the creases deepening around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flitting wildly around your face as though in panic. He came down onto his elbows, caging you below him as his fear neared, his hot breath inches away.

“What makes you think I could ever replace you? Has someone put that bull into your head? Was it Calcifer—the pest? Was it a panderer we met the other day?” Now that he was so close to you, his voice had lowered and it rumbled. “Or, are you so sleep deprived, so loopy that you’re finally now telling me your heart?”

“Does it matter what I confess to you now?” you asked, pushing your head deeper into the feathers and farther from him. As you turned your face away, he shifted to gently coax your chin forward with the daintiest touch of his fingertips. “I would be alone in that venture. In a matter of five, six, ten years—I’ll have all the age and lines you hate. I’m sure I’ll shrink even more.”

“You do realize we have someone in our house who already looks like that.” He said this jokingly, of course, but even in your fever, your hand shot up to pinch his arm. “H–Hey, stop! Furthermore, you’re making up stuff, who would be to say you’d be alone with your heart?”

The explanation to that was obvious, considering the whole business with Calcifer and the Witch, but you didn’t want to think about it. In fact, at any opportunity to steer your mind away from that debacle, you found it.

Once again, you tried to look away from him—both sleep was beginning to weigh on your bones more than what you imagine Howl would if he were to collapse, and away from the furor gleaming in his eyes. And once again, he pulled you back towards him.

“Sick as you are, I’d like to prove it to you.” It was an unusual thing to hear from him considering all his caution with appearance and health. You wondered if he was desperate to alleviate your distrust. “Why are you looking at me like that? Close your eyes—yeah, I would rather not risk your germs, but some things can’t be helped.”

You weren’t sure if your eyes slid shut from gravity, or from some sort of internal desire for him to do this. Either way, his hand returned adjacent to the other near your hair, tugging slightly at the strands and his breath came so close you felt it tremble against your lips.

And then, all at once, his breath snagged in his throat as the door was thrown open, bouncing off the wall with such force it vibrated. In waddled Old Sophie, arms conveniently free of anything other than an old wood broom with long, spidery bristles that she held aloft across her shoulder, eyes blazing and the most malicious you had ever seen them.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with this dog! This cretin, vile imbecile! This complete, utterly hopeless dolt!” She screeched, the layers of her dress billowed behind her as she started into the room as fast as her creaky old limbs could. “Get out, get out, get out! Away with you, you absolute user! Away! Away! Away! Begone!”

Howl yelped in surprise as the tiny old lady swung the broom with enough ferocity for you to feel the air gush and whoosh around you.

“You demented old coot! Swinging brooms and the like around, are you completely classless?!” he propelled himself upright, expertly ducking her onslaught until he was well out the door into the hall. “I won't forget this!”

As luck would have it, their bickering continued on even once they were out of the room, even fifteen minutes later when Michael weaseled through the threshold with your bone broth and bolted the door behind him.

divider by @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog officiallytheduchess/cardeneiv

[headkiss]

single thread

part 1, part 2, part 3

pairing: spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve has a big secret and convinces himself he needs to stay away from you to keep you safe. that’s tough to do when you’re his neighbour.

word count: 8.2k

warnings: spider-man!steve au, some violence (r is attacked and a pocket knife is mentioned but nothing major happens), blood/injuries, strangers/sort of friends to lovers (ish?)

a/n: i really liked writing this one and i hope u guys like it too!!! spidey!steve is something i’ve wanted to try for a while and here it is!!!! he’s my baby <3

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

When Steve moved to Indianapolis, not once did he think he’d get bit by some radioactive spider and gain super powers. Yet, here he is, swinging through the city like something out of some comic book. Sometimes he doesn’t even believe it’s real, and it’s his life.

On his way home, he spots his building easily, the route embedded in his head. The corners to turn, the spots to shoot his webs.

Stuck to the wall beside his window, he tries to open it and realizes he left it locked. “Idiot,” he grumbles to himself.

With a groan he jumps down, landing in the alley. He throws his clothes over his suit and makes sure nobody’s around before slipping the mask off and into his bag. For once, he uses the actual door to enter the building.

He opts for the stairs and when he makes it to his floor he sees you in the hallway. He resists the urge to go back down and wait a couple of minutes.

His door is across from yours, and when he walks over, you’re quick to send him a smile and a ‘hello.’ He nods at you and faces his door, unlocking it quickly and going inside.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you, it’s that he doesn’t want to involve people in his life when it’s gotten so complicated. He has Robin in the city and that’s about it. And he already worries enough about her. If he’d met you pre-bite, things would be much different.

He’d return your kind smiles and greetings, he’d tell you when he likes your outfit or thinks your hair looks really nice (which is pretty much every time he sees you, even when you think it’s awful).

He’d rather not put you in any danger, though, so he doesn’t. He just thinks you’re pretty and keeps it to himself.

You don’t know any of that, however, so you’re convinced that Steve doesn’t like you and you have no idea why. Every time his only response is a nod or a limp wave, you wait until he’s out of sight to frown, to scrunch your eyebrows.

You try to think about what you might’ve done.

You first met Steve when you moved into the building, your hair held away from your face with a clip, baby hairs sticking to your damp forehead, and your sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder. Not your best look.

He must’ve heard the thump of boxes hitting the ground, the mumbled curses you kept uttering. Knuckling at his tired eyes, he opened his door and peeked his head into the hallway.

“What the-”

He shut right up when you turned around, smiling (almost wincing) at him.

“Hi,” you introduced yourself, and he repeated your name so quietly you didn’t even hear it. “Sorry about the noise. I have a lot of stuff.”

He nodded, looking at the few boxes in the hall, “you’re moving in?”

“Yeah.”

“You need some help?”

“Seriously?” He half nodded, half shrugged. “That would be great. Thank you so much.”

“Sure. ‘M Steve, by the way.”

Steve. He’s pretty, you thought. Brown, fluffy hair and soft eyes, a mouth you think must look even better when he smiles.

He carried the heavier boxes without complaint or breaking a sweat. His arms flexed with the actions, but his face was completely unaffected. You were amazed. And probably stared at him too much.

When every box was inside your apartment, you’d thanked him, and he’d brushed it off saying it was no problem and went back inside his own place.

No problem, like he didn’t carry box after box for you because you couldn’t afford movers.

Now, with your back against the inside of your door after seeing him in the hallway, you replay that meeting once again. You can’t figure out what you did. Worse, you think, maybe you didn’t do anything at all and you’re just someone who’s easy to dislike.

Maybe it wouldn’t matter so much if he wasn’t so good looking. If he didn’t make you nervous whenever his eyes glanced over you, if you had actual friends to occupy your time, if you didn’t want him to like you so bad.

If, if, if.

You try to stop thinking about it and pick up the book you’d left on your coffee table. You have to reread passages, distracted and unfocused.

-

The bookstore’s been slow today.

You’ve been keeping yourself as busy as possible, even with an empty store. Dusting shelves, re-organizing sections that looked fine before, switching displays around. Eventually you gave in and sat behind the counter with a book, watching people pass by the front windows.

The sun set at some point, sinking behind buildings and leaving the city lit by streetlights and warm glows seeping through windows.

As boring as it can be, you wouldn’t be doing much different if you were at home. Finding things to do to pass time, sitting around aimlessly. At least here, you get paid for doing it.

When it’s time to close up you’re not sure if your sigh is from relief or disappointment. You’re lonely often, but it’s harder to ignore it when you’re all alone at home, no people around at all, even if they’re mostly just passing by on the sidewalk.

You go through the list, sweeping, setting the alarm, shutting off the lights, and locking the door.

The night air is cool, light wind blowing at your cheeks, ruffling your hair. The usual sounds surround you. Honking horns and tires rolling against pavement, indistinguishable voices and the click of the bookstore door locking.

You keep your keys in your hand while you walk home, one of them sticking up between your knuckles. Just in case.

One foot in front of the other, again and again, you walk along the sidewalk. Your footsteps a steady rhythm, hands tucked in your pockets to keep them warm, head bent to avoid making eye contact with any other pedestrians.

Only a couple of minutes from your place, you can hear someone walking along behind you. You shake your head, telling yourself they’re probably just headed in the same direction.

That reassurance disappears when the stranger whistles at you.

You don’t look up, you don’t turn around, you just keep your head down and walk faster, your heartbeat speeding in your chest. You’ve seen stories of what can happen to someone walking home alone. You never thought you’d have one of your own.

“Hey, cupcake! Where you going?” His voice is scratchy and scary. You pick up your pace even more.

At your ignorance, the man speaks again, “I’m talking to you.” His hand grabs your sleeve when he says it.

More afraid than you’ve ever been, you jerk your arm from his grasp and stupidly turn down an alleyway as a shortcut. It’s a horrible decision, but when you’re scared like that, it’s really hard to think straight.

You feel bad for being annoyed with people in horror movies. You get it now.

You’re almost jogging now, but it doesn’t deter the man. No, he catches up and grabs your wrist, twisting you around and pushing your back roughly into the brick wall of the building behind you.

Your wrist is slammed against it where he grabbed you, no doubt scratching your skin and making you flinch, your keys falling from your grasp.

This is it, you think. I’m gonna die here. Alone.

Your eyes water, a tear drips down your cheek and the man laughs in your face. You try to break away from his hold but he doesn’t let up. The only thing you manage is to knee him in the thigh, but it doesn’t do much.

“Nice try, cupcake. I’ve got you now.” he says. That’s when you notice the glint of a pocket knife in his hand.

“Please. Don’t,” is all you can say, trying and trying to get your arms out of the man’s tight hold. Tight enough to bruise.

Steve’s hair stands at the back of his neck, on his arms. Until now, his patrolling had been quiet. Easy fixes like an elderly woman not crossing the street quick enough or a man who’d locked his keys in his car.

Now, his instincts tell him this thing isn’t so small.

Without a second thought, he jumps from where he’d been perched at the ledge of a building and swings in the direction his senses take him. In your direction.

One second, you’re squeezing your eyes shut, thinking it’s the end, and the next, there’s the sound of someone landing in the alley and the thwip of a web.

The man is pulled off of you so fast you can barely keep up. There’s a flash of blue and red, hints of webbing being shot, and just like that, your attacker is knocked out and stuck to the opposite wall.

Your chest heaves and your back slides down the wall, landing on your bum on the pavement.

Steve turns around now that the man’s been dealt with and he thinks his heart stops for a second. He hadn’t realized it’d been you. You and your sweet smile, now turned to tears streaking your cheeks.

He thought, without him, you’d be better off. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he should’ve been keeping an eye on you. For now, he’s sort of glad he hasn’t spoken to you much, only because there’s a better chance you won’t recognize his voice.

Steve moves to crouch in front of you, “are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His hands hover by the sides of your face, like he’s holding himself back from touching you. Restraining himself.

Spider-man is in front of you. Spider-man with his suit and white-eyed mask who just saved your life is right there in front of you. So much for a slow day.

You shake your head and wipe your cheeks with your palms, “no. No, just- um, just my wrist, I think.”

“Can I look?”

You hold out your arm for him to see, and he moves his hands down, one tugging back your sleeve and the other holding your wrist gently. The fabric of his gloves brushes against your skin lightly, careful not to touch you where you’re hurt.

“Doesn’t look sprained. Just scraped,” he says. He looks up from your arm to your face, the eyes on his mask narrowing ever so slightly. “You’re sure you aren’t hurt anywhere else?”

He sounds genuinely worried. Like, you can hear it in his voice. It makes you want to cry all over again. You’d always thought that when Spider-man dealt with the bad guys, he’d just move on. Now, you can see that he cares a lot more than that.

You shake your head, “I’m fine.”

As fine as you can be after what just happened.

He nods and stands, offering you his hands to help you up. You pick up your keys and accept, slipping your hands into his. He pulls you up and squeezes your fingers before letting go.

“Will you let me take you home?” He asks.

You’re sort of in shock, and you’d rather not walk anymore. So, you agree.

He opens his arms for you, picking you up easily with a single arm wrapped around your waist. Your own arms go around his neck, legs tentatively wrapping around his waist.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you almost whisper.

He hears you loud and clear, your mouth close to his ear, his senses seemingly even more heightened than usual with you around.

“Hold on,” he says.

Then, you hear the whip of his webs and you’re in the air. Your limbs tighten around him.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The wind rushes all around you. In your ears, your hair, your jacket. The city does, too, lights flickering by and buildings growing distant over his shoulder. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“You okay?” He asks over the wind.

“Maybe!”

You can feel his chest rumble with a chuckle. You wish you could’ve heard it, too.

He swings you towards your building when he remembers he’s not supposed to know where you live, “where to?”

You tell him, yelling over the noise not realizing he can hear you just fine normally. You don’t know about those superpowers, focused on the ones that have him transporting you home.

He gets you there quickly, landing just outside the front entrance. You stay wrapped around him for a second before you realize you’ve stopped moving. You remove yourself from him so quickly he has to steady you with hands on your upper arms so you don’t fall.

“You okay from here?” He checks, his head lowering to catch your gaze.

“Yeah. Thank you for…” Saving my life, making sure I’m okay, taking me home. Everything since you landed in the alley.

“Just doing my job.”

“Right. Thanks again,” you turn to head inside.

“Goodnight. And take care of your wrist!”

“Goodnight, Spider-man.”

-

Steve sees you more often after that night. He thinks the universe might be punishing him. Making him see you more, making him work harder to keep his distance.

He tossed and turned the entire night after bringing you home. He wondered if you were actually okay, trying to listen in case you were crying or having a nightmare. He worried so much more than he would have if it had been any other person and he hated it.

He saw you the next morning. You were checking your mail at the same time as him. Your sleeve had ridden up, exposing the scratches on your wrist from the brick wall, the faint bruises of fingerprints, your eyes tired.

“Are you okay?” He couldn’t help but ask, gesturing limply at your hand. Maybe if you give him a convincing yes, he can finally stop thinking about you so much.

You look down at your arm when he asks, quickly tugging your sleeve back down to cover it up. “Oh. It’s nothing.”

It’s not nothing. He knows it isn’t because he was there and he saw at least a part of what happened to you. He can’t let you know that, so he just nods and turns to his mailbox, listening to your footsteps as you walk out of the mailroom and back up to your apartment. His fingers twitch by his side.

Steve’s used to feeling protective over people, that’s not new, but to feel so protective over someone he barely knows hasn’t happened before. That night haunts him. Your tear-streaked face, the blooming bruises on your arm. He never wants to see you hurting again.

Maybe that’s why he starts returning your greetings in the halls, actually pausing to ask how you are, to smile back at you (they’re tight-lipped smiles, but it’s something).

He’s trying to be kind without getting any closer. No matter how much he wants to know you.

One day, as Steve’s heading out for the late shift, you’re just getting home from your own job, it seems. The clip in your hair has loosened since you put it in, strands falling freely around your face. For a second, Steve has the urge to tuck them behind your ears.

He pushes that down.

“Hi,” he says, his door shut behind him.

“Hi, Steve.”

“How are you?”

“Okay, thanks. Tired,” you fiddle with the frayed hem of your knitted sweater. “Had the opening shift today.”

“Ah. Any plans?”

“Probably just gonna take a nap.”

He nods. For a second you think he might’ve asked because he wanted to do something with you. It’s a stupid thought and you push it away.

“Have a good nap, then,” he gives you the close-mouthed smile that’s become more common between you, and heads towards the stairs.

The shift in his behavior towards you hasn’t been huge, but it’s been enough for you to notice it. He talks to you sometimes—always briefly, but still—he doesn’t turn away from you as soon as he gets the chance like he used to.

It’s confusing, but you’re happy about it anyway. Maybe he just needed some time to warm up to you a bit. Maybe he doesn’t hate you after all.

Inside your apartment, you change into sweats and practically collapse onto your couch, playing something mindless on the TV and pulling a blanket over yourself.

You really are tired, but it’s not only from working early. Lately, your dreams have been haunted by rough hands, dark alleys, and flashes of blue and red. You constantly feel like there are eyes on you, and when you walk home from closing shifts, you always search for a certain superhero at the tops of buildings.

You fall asleep at some point, and by the time you wake up, it’s dark outside.

-

Days seem to blur together. Repetitive and tiring all the same. The only thing you have to look forward to lately is your short conversations with Steve in the halls.

You’re not sure how many days later it is when you fall asleep on your couch again. This time, you’re woken up by noises coming from the hallway, right by your door. You get up slowly, feet hitting the cool floors as you walk over to your door.

You don’t know what time it is, but from the darkness of your apartment and the random game show that plays on your TV, you know it’s late.

Peeking through your peephole, you see Steve, fumbling with his keys and almost limping. You open the door.

“Steve?”

He shuts his eyes when he hears your voice, all sleepy and worried.

Like an idiot, he’d left his window locked again and had to use the door after a night of patrolling. A worse night than usual.

You gasp when he spins to face you, one of his eyes swollen shut, a cut on his eyebrow, his nose bleeding, and another cut on his lip.

“Oh my god,” you step forward a little, leaving your door open. “What happened?”

“I’m fine. Sorry for waking you.”

“You’re bleeding,” you say. “Come on. Let me help you.”

You grasp his arm lightly in both of your hands, and when he doesn’t protest, lead him into your apartment.

Steve’s suit feels tighter now, scratching his skin where it sits because he worries you’ll see it despite his layers on top of it. Still, he could use some help. And he can’t bring himself to be upset that you’re the one helping him.

“You don’t have to,” his voice is scratchy.

“I want to help you, okay?”

You bring him into your bathroom, making him sit on the toilet lid. You leave him there for a bit, coming back with some ice in a dish cloth.

“Here, for your eye.” He takes it from you and sucks in a breath when he presses it against his swollen skin.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“‘Course.”

You pull out your first-aid kit from under your sink, setting it on the counter and taking out what you need. You grab another cloth, wetting it in the sink.

“Here,” you stand between his legs, using a bent finger to tilt his chin up towards you. You wipe the dried blood from his skin in silence, Steve’s eyes shut, yours running all over his face.

You’re surprised he trusts you enough to let you do this. You wonder if this is why he’s so closed-off. If maybe he’s involved in something that gets him hurt. Often.

An underground boxing ring, debt with bad people, so many possibilities cross your mind, not a single one being the truth.

Once his face is as clean as it can be, you move on to disinfecting the cuts by his eyebrow and lip. “This might sting a little.”

“S’okay.”

His face pinches a little bit when you dab away at his cuts, but he doesn’t make any noise. All you can hear is his deep breaths and the small sound of his leg bouncing.

His nose hasn’t bled anymore since you cleaned it, and he keeps the ice over his eye the entire time. The cut by his lip looks much smaller when there’s no blood surrounding it.

Only his eyebrow needs a small bandage, which you grab and unwrap. “Last step.”

He feels you press the bandage on, your fingers lightly pushing the sides onto his skin to make sure it’s stuck. The process, he finds, hurts much less when you do it.

He misses your warmth when you step away from him. “Thank you.”

“Are you in trouble, or something? What happened to you?”

“It’s not a big deal. I swear.”

He hates lying to you, but he convinces himself it’s better this way. For your own good.

You don’t look convinced but you drop it. “Okay.”

“I should go,” he stands from where he’d been sitting and waivers a little, leaning on the counter.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I’m fine, just got dizzy.”

“You can take the couch, if you want. It’s not a problem, really.”

“I live across the hall, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He steps towards the doorway and has to pause again. “Or maybe I’ll stay. If you’re sure.”

“I wouldn't have offered if I wasn’t.”

You walk him to the couch, letting him lean on you whenever he needs to along the way. He sits down, and you go to get him a pillow and blankets.

This is the longest amount of time you’ve ever spent with Steve, and it pinches at your heart that he’s hurt during it. That he only needed help, not company. Even so, you fight a smile when you come back to the living room and find him laying down, already half asleep.

You spread the blankets over him. You take the pillow you’d brought him and guide him to lift his head. You’re convinced he’s asleep, so you let yourself push the hair off his forehead just once.

When you turn to go to your room, he catches your hand in his.

“Thank you, honey.”

Honey. That’s new.

-

Steve was already gone when you got up the next day. The only evidence of his visit the blankets he’d left folded up on your couch and the washcloth stained with his blood you used to clean him up.

Every time you pass his door you think about knocking and checking on him. About making sure he’s okay.

You’ve been worrying a lot more ever since the night you were attacked and saved by Spider-man, and that goes for more than just yourself. You worry about every person you see walking alone, about Steve being hurt again, about noises you might be imagining at night.

You probably look over your shoulder fifty times on your way home from the grocery store, your hands too full with your bags to be able to defend yourself if anything happens.

You breathe out when you make it in front of your door. You’re safe, you’re fine, you have to tell yourself.

In your rush to get your keys from your pocket, you drop two of your bags. “Shit.” Boxes and cans thump against the floor.

Steve hears everything, all of the time. He hears you curse and the sound of your stuff hitting the ground. He blames the fact that he heads to the door on boredom and nothing more.

“Need some help?” His voice startles you.

“Oh! Hey, Steve. It’s fine, just dropped some stuff.”

You set the rest of your bags down, kneeling to pick up things that fell out of the ones you dropped. Embarrassed, you keep your head ducked.

Steve can sense it, the way your pulse jumps a little around him. He doesn’t know whether to be glad or worried that he makes you nervous. Either way, he bends down beside you, helping you pick things up.

A bag of apples, a can of soup.

You both reach for the bags at the same time, fingers brushing before pulling away. Like there was a shock, a little spark where your skin met for the briefest second.

Before you can, Steve picks up the bags. “I got ‘em. You get the door.”

“I- Okay.”

You turn around and fumble with the lock, opening your door and walking inside. Steve follows you and puts your bags on your kitchen counter.

“Good?” He checks.

“Yeah. Thank you, Steve.”

“No problem, honey. Think of it as payback for you patching me up.”

Honey. Last time he said it, you chalked it up to his tired state. That excuse can’t be used this time, and the term warms you.

“Right,” you look him over. His injuries are almost gone and it’s only been a couple of days. At least, you think it has. “You’re feeling better?”

“You did a good job,” he says.

“I’m glad.”

He nods, rocks back onto his heels once, “so, um, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

He nods again and heads out, shutting your door behind him. With every conversation you have, Steve seems to warm up around you just a bit more. You don’t want to hope too much, so you push your hair from your face and turn to put your groceries away.

That evening, when you’re getting ready to cook dinner—a simple spaghetti and meatballs—you realize you’ve never seen Steve bring groceries into his apartment. Not once.

He must eat, you know that, but you wonder if he eats well, or enough. You cook for two without realizing until it’s finished. There’s extra of everything.

It’s probably stupid, maybe weird, but you make a bowl and head out into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door, three little taps of your knuckles against the wood.

He hears the knocks right away, listens closer to hear your voice mumbling to yourself. He knows your voice well. Sometimes, he can hear you humming to yourself in your apartment. He doesn’t try to listen in on you, but it’s like his ears subconsciously seek you out.

Steve opens the door and sees you in the same clothes as earlier, a shy smile on your face, and a bowl of spaghetti in your hands.

“Hey. What are you…?”

“I accidentally made too much food, and I thought maybe you’d want some?”

Actually, you made too much food for him, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Oh,” his heart does a stupid jump in his chest. You’re so kind and you don’t even seem to be trying. If anything, you seem to be embarrassed about it, like it’s a fault. “That’s really nice.”

“It’s just pasta. You want it?”

“Sure,” he takes the bowl from you. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And I promise it’s not, like, poisoned or anything.” You wince at yourself, “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s not poisoned.”

You laugh awkwardly. “Okay. Um, enjoy.”

He stands in his doorway while you go back inside, his smile spreading as soon as your back is turned to him. He heads inside after you do, kicking his door shut.

He’s never smiled at a fucking bowl of pasta the way he does. It’s getting harder and harder to make himself avoid you, avoid that light in his chest that seems to brighten when he sees you.

He’s in trouble.

-

You bring him dinner often. At least twice a week, on days you don’t work or when you’re pretty sure he’s home.

He thanks you every time with a close-mouthed smile and brings back your dishes the next day, perfectly clean.

It feels like, over time, with every dish you bring him, a chip falls away from the walls he’s built up around himself. You can tell there’s a lot of them, and that they’re tall, but you don’t mind waiting for them to lower piece by piece. He’s worth that wait, you think.

You’re happy to cook for him—you’re cooking for yourself already anyway—and you’ve grown closer because of it. Something like friends, almost. The conversations seem to grow longer each time you see him.

Sometimes, on good days, he even invites you inside to eat with him.

You aren’t very close, but right now, he’s the only friend you have (besides your coworkers, who really only hang out with you because they have to). You’d think the way you get excited to see him would be sad if it weren’t for how nice he is, for how he makes you feel.

He listens to you when you speak, his eyes don’t stray, either. He always tells you he likes your cooking when you know it isn’t all that great. He even hugged you before you left his place once, his arms around your waist, hands running over your skin delicately before he pulled away.

“Thank you for dinner,” he’d said. “Again.”

“I like making it for you. Makes me feel useful.”

“Still. Thank you, honey,” he’d surprised you with it, moving close before you could really process it.

“Oh,” you’d stupidly let your arms hang limp for a second before wrapping them shyly around his neck. “I don’t think my cooking is this good.”

“It’s not just your cooking,” he’d told you.

He pulled away after that, leaving your body warm and your smile difficult to suppress.

You’re well aware you have a crush on him, but you don’t want to let it ruin the beginnings of the friendship you’ve built.

Steve’s not sure what the pull he feels towards you is, like one of his webs is tethered to you even though he can’t see it. It’s something his senses can’t tell him, no matter how much he focuses on them.

He thinks you’re the sweetest person and you don’t even try, all shy smiles and soft gestures. He likes how when you talk, he can really hear how you feel about something in your voice. He trusts you, despite not knowing you too well.

He also thinks you’re really pretty, but that’s not important.

Steve had another rough night patrolling. Some guy decided to play Wolverine—he’d made gloves with blades and everything—and scratched Steve pretty good on his upper arm. It hurts like a bitch, even though it’ll heal quickly. And he’ll have to sew up his suit.

He got the guy, which is something, at least.

Luckily, he actually remembered to unlock the window this time, so he’s able to sneak into his place with ease. He stripped out of his suit and took a shower before anything. Maybe not the smartest decision while actively bleeding, but he felt gross.

Afterwards, clad in plaid pajama pants and a plain cotton t-shirt, he searches his bathroom for his first-aid kit while keeping a towel pressed to his arm. A dark stain blooms on the fabric the longer he keeps it against his wound.

“Yes,” he cheers to himself when he finds the small white box.

He sits on the tile floors, back against his sink cabinets, and the kit in his lap. He opens it with one hand, the other too busy trying to slow the bleeding. When he gets it open, he’s disappointed with what he finds.

“Fuck,” he says. There’s barely anything left. A roll of gauze, a box of bandaids, and one tiny alcohol wipe. That’s it. He really needs to remember to refill this stuff.

He pushes himself to stand, winces when he has to use his injured arm.

There’s only one person close by that he knows for sure has a first-aid kit that has what he needs, because he’s seen it pretty recently. That person is you.

He hates that he’s dragging you into this again, that he’s gonna ask a favor of you that he really shouldn’t. One he doesn’t even think he deserves. He needs the help, though, so he walks to his door, into the hallway, and a few steps to your place across from his.

He knocks, his towel more red than its original color by now.

The sound doesn’t exactly wake you up. It’s late, and you’d been in bed, but you’d been having a hard time falling asleep. You were tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling.

You sit up, push your hair out of your face, and head to the door. You should, but you don’t even look to see who it is before opening it, keeping your body behind the door and peeking your head around. You certainly weren’t expecting this.

Steve stands in front of you, his hair damp and a mess, falling over his forehead. His face is pale and, when your eyes flicker down, you find that his arm is bleeding. A lot.

“Holy shit. What happened to you?”

He ignores your question. “Can you help me?”

You move away from the door. The cold air from the hallway combined with the way Steve’s eyes look down before quickly looking back at your face remind you of your attire. A sleep shirt and underwear.

“Fuck! Sorry,” you go to shut the door but remember that he’s literally bleeding. “Come in, you know where the bathroom is. I’ll just- um. Let me put some pants on.”

He’d laugh at the way you pretty much sprint into your room if he wasn’t so focused on the pain of his arm. He’d also be thinking a lot about the way your legs looked just then.

You meet him in the bathroom, legs now covered in a baggy pair of sweatpants. Steve’s sitting on the shut toilet just like he did the first time you helped him. You haven’t touched your first-aid kit since then, finding it exactly where you left it then.

“Sorry about that,” you tuck your hair behind your ears quickly before opening up the box, turning to him afterward. “Can I see?”

“Yeah.”

You take the towel from Steve’s hand, slowly moving it away from his wound to see how bad it is. Steve’s hands twitch where they sit atop his thighs. He’s holding himself back from touching you.

Three gashes break his skin. The outside of his arm, just below his shoulder.

“Do these need stitches?” You ask, the concern is clear in your voice, in how it shakes a bit. “Maybe you should go to the hospital-”

“No. Please. No hospital.”

“I don’t know how to do stitches, Steve. I don’t know if I can help you.”

“I don’t need stitches, I swear,” the look on your face makes him feel awful. The sadness in your eyes, the small frown you try to hide. “I ran out of bandages. That’s all I need.”

“Are you sure?”

He can’t tell you that his skin will mend on its own, that he’ll be fine in just a couple of days. “Positive.”

You nod and grab a different towel than the one he’d been using, pressing it against his arm to make sure the bleeding stops. He groans quietly when you do. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m alright.”

When you’re almost 100% sure that the bleeding is done, you pull the towel away. You hold it under the sink, wetting a part of it that didn’t soak up his blood. You use it to clean away the dried blood on his arm, apologizing every time he sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing at the pull on his cuts.

One of your hands holds his arm up, the other occupied with the towel. You’re bent close, stood between his legs, your loose hair tickling his skin.

“Steve?” You whisper, still focused on his gashed arm.

“Mm?” He hums, watching you help him with the most careful touch he’s ever felt.

“Who’s hurting you?”

“It’s nothing.” He says it in a way that tells you it really isn’t nothing. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Maybe you don’t need to worry about him, but you do. You worry constantly. Anytime there’s a bandaid or scrape on his skin you wonder if it’s the same people that gave him that black eye and split lip weeks ago.

You worry because he’s so good. He’s a soft person under the invisible armor he protects himself with and he doesn’t deserve to be hurt. His skin is too delicate for it, his face too pretty.

You pull away and grab the roll of bandages you have in your kit. When you look at him again, his eyes are set on you, scanning your face.

“Please don’t worry about me,” his voice is quiet, and you hate the way it breaks on the first word.

He hates it, too.

“I’ll try my best,” you force a small smile at him, trying to lighten things as much as you can given the situation. You look back at his arm, wrapping it slowly. “Is that good?”

He looks at his arm, his wounds now covered with white wrappings. He looks back at you, “thank you, honey.”

“It’s not too tight?”

He shakes his head, standing when you step back to give him the space. You stand toe-to-toe, his head bent down to look at you, yours titled up.

“It’s perfect.”

Your breaths mingle in the air between you, growing thicker. Before you let yourself hope for something you shouldn’t, you move to the counter and grab the rest of the bandages you have.

“Here,” you hold them out to him, “for when you need to switch it.”

“You won’t need it?” He asks instead of telling you that by the time it needs switching, it won't be an open wound anymore.

“The most I use from that kit is the regular bandaids. I’ll survive without it.”

He takes the bandages from you, his hand brushing yours.

“I’m sorry for showing up the way I did.”

“I’d rather that than have you bleeding out in your apartment,” your eyes flick over to the bloody towels on your floor, your heart pinching in your chest. “If you need to talk to someone, or anything, I’m here.”

He leans closer, pushes a gentle peck into your cheek, and speaks with his lips still brushing your skin. “I don’t deserve your sweetness.”

He drops his head into your shoulder, just for a second, before moving away from you.

“Wha-”

“Bye, honey. Thank you,” he says, walking out of your bathroom.

You stand there, a hand lifting to press against your cheek in the spot his lips did. You pull it away and look at your fingertips, like you’d been expecting to see a physical residue of the kiss. Flecks of glitter, or the soft pink of the sky at sunrise.

You just see your skin, painfully normal.

-

After thinking and thinking and thinking, you determine that maybe Steve likes you more than you thought he did.

The way he calls you ‘honey’ in that voice of his, the softness of his eyes that he can’t hide no matter how cold he tries to keep his exterior, the way he kissed your cheek and let his lips linger when he spoke.

All of those things make you hope that maybe he likes you at least a little bit in the way that you like him, but if not, at the very least, he likes you more than you thought.

You think he tries to hold himself back from getting close to you at all, and you really don’t know why. All you know is that his shoulders were slightly slumped when he forced himself to leave after you'd bandaged his arm, after he told you he doesn’t deserve you.

There’s something in his life that makes him think that way and as much as you wanna know what it is, you hope that the best you can do is prove him wrong.

That’s one of the reasons you’re cooking dinner for two once again tonight. You also feel like, since this is sort of what brought you closer, the dinners are a tradition for you and Steve. Something completely yours.

It’s nice to have something like that with another person. You knew you were lonely, but you never noticed how much until you started talking to him more. With each meeting, the string between you both shortens.

You’ve never cooked this meal before. You’re extra attentive with it, tasting it to make sure it’s right, keeping your eyes on things closely to avoid burning it at all.

When everything’s done, Steve’s meal packed up nicely and your ponytail now a loose mess, you head to the bathroom to look at yourself in the mirror. The most you do is fix your hair before feeling silly for caring so much about your appearance.

He’s seen you tired-eyed and pantless. This is better than that, at least.

You haven’t brought Steve a meal since you patched him up and he thanked you with a kiss on the cheek and possibly, maybe, loaded words. You’ve seen him, yes, but this is different than a two minute conversation in a hallway or the mailroom.

It’s your way of checking on him.

Your door shuts with a click behind you, his meal in your hand as you step into the hall. You knock on Steve’s door in quick, small taps. You’re not sure why you’re nervous to be doing it this time.

The doorknob twists and you’re met with Steve’s smiling face. Like actually, fully smiling. You don’t think you’ve ever seen that from him before. Not like this. It’s like a beaming ray of sunshine, warm and beautiful.

You’d like to be the one to make him smile like that.

“Hi, honey,” he says. It’s then you notice his cheeks are slightly flushed, little pink blooms on his skin.

“Hey. I made you dinner again,” you hold the container up awkwardly to show him.

“You don’t have to keep making me dinner.”

“I like doing it.”

He nods. Steve knows that you do it as an excuse to see him, and if he were braver, or less concerned about involving you in his impossible life, he’d tell you that you don’t need to have food to knock on his door.

He’d tell you that you could knock whenever you wanted, that he’d happily open the door for you.

“Steve!” A voice—a female voice—calls from inside the apartment. “Who’s at the door?”

Fuck. Okay, he has a girlfriend. You probably interrupted something, you think, looking at his flushed cheeks, thinking about the smile he wore that most definitely was not for you.

You’re embarrassed for even thinking that he could like you, embarrassed for having read everything wrong, for hoping too much.

“Oh. You have company. I’ll just-” you pivot on your heel to leave and realize you’re still holding his dinner. You turn back around and hand it to him, awkwardly turning towards your door again and heading inside.

Steve stares at your door for a couple of seconds before going back inside. He sets his food on the counter and sits back on the couch.

“So, who was that?” Robin asks.

Robin, his best friend and the only person in the world who knows pretty much everything about him. Spider-man and all.

“My neighbor. She was bringing me dinner.”

“It was her? And you didn’t let me say hi!”

Yeah, Robin knows all about you. She knows that you make Steve dinner, that you’ve taken care of him without digging too deep for answers, that Steve thinks you’re the ‘prettiest girl ever.’ His words.

“She left pretty fast after you yelled.”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“Nooo. I scared her off!” Steve is clearly very confused, so Robin huffs and continues, “she heard a girl’s voice in your apartment.”

“And?”

“God, you’re such a boy sometimes, it’s insane. She thought I was your girlfriend!”

“Why would that scare her off?”

“I know you don’t get out much, dingus, but seriously?” She literally facepalms. “She likes you! Why else would she be making you dinner and shit? She likes you and thinks you’re dating someone.”

“Oh. Oh. No, she doesn’t like me. Not like that.”

“You’re an actual dingus.”

Steve doesn’t want to think about that possibility because it’ll make it much, much harder to keep you at arms length. Though, even now, that arm is mostly bent, losing resistance.

“So what if she does like me? I can’t do anything with her.”

“Why not.”

“Because I’m Spider-”

“Spider-man, yes, I know. Who cares? You can't live your whole life ignoring every single romantic feeling you have because of that.”

“I don’t wanna drag her into this.”

“Did you ever consider that maybe she would want to be dragged into this?”

“I guess not.”

He goes quiet after that, and Robin, knowing him so well, drops the subject.

-

Steve thinks about what Robin said even after she leaves.

It’s hard for him to believe that you’d like him enough to worry that Robin was his girlfriend. You, a dream girl, liking him, with his unexplained injuries and past grumpiness towards you. There was no way.

But, on the slightest chance that it did matter to you, Steve decided he wanted to explain.

His crush on you isn’t something he should explore, isn’t something he wants to let grow because, despite what Robin says, his life is dangerous and you already worry about him enough without knowing that.

Still, the thought of you being upset because you think he isn’t single is enough to make him head across the hall.

While Steve wondered what he’d say, you stewed in your embarrassment. You’d sat on your couch in your sweats and tried to forget the girl's voice or the smile on Steve’s face. You were unsuccessful.

The knocks on your door have become a familiar sound—there’s only one person who actually comes to your apartment.

You walk over and muster up a smile that you hope looks genuine, “Steve, hey.”

He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you, “can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You move aside as he walks in, shutting the door behind him. The apartment feels smaller with him in it, you think. His presence takes up space for you, it draws your focus.

“Thanks again for dinner,” he says.

“You’re welcome-”

“That wasn’t my girlfriend, by the way. The voice you heard,” he cuts you off because he worries that if he doesn’t say it now, he never will. “I mean, she’s my friend, and a girl, but we’re not dating. Her name’s Robin, she’s my best friend, that’s it. Promise.”

You’re not sure whether to be even more embarrassed at how obvious you were with your concern, or to be relieved that he’s not taken like you thought. You settle for a bit of both.

“You don’t have to- I know I was weird earlier but you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you tell him, tugging at the ends of your sleeves with your fingers.

“I wanted to make sure you knew.”

There could be a lot of weight in that sentence, if you let yourself look hard enough.

Rather than reply you confess, “you know, I used to think you hated me. Or, didn’t like me. Before we talked and stuff.”

Steve’s standing really close to you. Has he always been this close? You can smell his soap and feel the light puffs of air leaving his lips. It’s almost dizzying—like, if someone poked your shoulder, you might fall over.

You notice a lot about him from this close, especially when there’s no blood on his face. He has the lightest dusting of freckles over his nose, his eyelashes are dark, framing his brown eyes.

Steve reaches out with a hand to link his fingers with yours, loosely and slowly, like he doesn’t want to startle you. They fit together easily. His other hand brushes his knuckles against your cheek before cupping it gently in his palm.

His touch is so gentle, so much less guarded than his usual actions. You blink up at him and without even thinking, you push yourself into his touch, just a little.

“I never hated you,” he says. A murmur between your mouths.

“Oh,” is all you can say.

Steve’s strong, inhumanely so, but he isn’t strong enough to stop himself from kissing you.

The first brush of his lips on yours is so light that you think you might be dreaming. When you don’t pull away, he kisses you more firmly, his lips a little bit chapped but still soft as they land on yours.

You haven’t kissed a lot of people but you’ve never felt one like this. One that you’ve been dancing around for longer than you ever realized.

Steve’s hand squeezes yours, his thumb running back and forth against your cheek, his mouth moving with yours like a dance. He probably shouldn’t have let himself kiss you, because there’s no way he can fight whatever this is after feeling your lips on his.

He pecks you once, and twice, before pulling away. If he kept kissing you, the single thread left holding him back from you would’ve snapped. A clean break.

He leans his forehead against yours, and whispers so quietly you would’ve missed it had he not been so close to you. You could almost feel the words being spoken, lips still a breath apart.

“Never hated you.”

/ᐠ(๏‸๏)ᐟ\

if you enjoyed, please reblog and/or let me know what you thought!!! it would mean a whole bunch <3

[softspiderling]

get like me | j.h.s.

summary: “What’s a pretty boy like him going to do for you hm?” You clenched your teeth at his words. The way he talked about Jake like he wasn’t there just didn’t sit right with you. Jake wrapped his arm around your waist, calming you down slightly. or, the one where you defend Jake's honor

pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and a bloody nose

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: this idea came to me in a dream also inspired by that one tik tok trend "talk to me, I talk back", hope you like it and feel free to leave so many comments, or reblog with a simple AHHH! I also wanted to add, that I think it's so funny, that I called it a chaotic hangman fic and everyone and their mother decided it's hangman who's chaotic in this, but instead it's the reader and hangman is just, a very very good boyfriend lmao. BUT I don't want to spoil you in anyway, so happy reading!!

The sun has set quite a while ago and your housewarming party has dwindled to an end. Most of your guests had already left at an appropriate time, and the only people left were the usual ragtag group, seated around the coffee table. Everyone was having their own conversation, but you paused when you heard Callie speak.

“What did you just say?”

“I was talking about my birthday party in two weeks. I’ll probably just do like, a small get together,” Callie said with a shrug and you protested, shaking your head so vehemently that the others grew concerned for you. 

“No. Nope, no way. I am not letting you celebrate your 30th birthday party with a “small get together”,” you argued, quoting the air. “We are going out!”

“Sweets, maybe you should let Halo decide for herself what she wants to do, it is her birthday after all,” Jake interjected and you only clamp his mouth shut with your hand. 

“Callie, Callie, hey Callie, listen to me,” you called her, snapping your fingers at her. 

You realized that you were being a tad obnoxious, but they were used to it. You tended to act like a five year old on a sugar high when you got excited. Jake merely watched in exasperation, with a smile on his face.

“I am listening,” Callie snorted, pushing your hand down gently. 

“What if I told you I could get us in FLUXX?”

Callie’s eyes widened and even some of the guys suddenly seemed interested. You knew this was going to be a cake walk.

“My birthday is in two weeks. If we get on the list, and that’s a big if, their tables have been booked out for at least a month,” Callie pointed out, but you only shrugged with your shoulders. 

“But I am tight with the owner.”

That set of a stream of shouts by everyone.

“Are you serious?”

“I am going to get so drunk.”

“Their DJ always plays dope music, I’ve been wanting to go there for ages!”

“Isn’t that where DiCaprio always goes?”

“I heard that they play their music so loud you can feel it in your chest.”

“Okay, okay, so I guess it’s settled? We’re going to FLUXX for Callie’s birthday?” you asked, before everyone got carried away and the answer was a resounding yes. 

“I do have one condition though,” Callie interjected, and everyone looked at her. “I want to set the dress-code. No jeans,” she said, pointing at Natasha, who only rolled her eyes. “No Hawaiian shirts,” Callie looked pointedly at Rooster, “And no tooth-picks.”

“Aw, come on!” Jake complained, leaning his arms on your shoulders gently. “Tooth-picks are what make my outfits.”

“Birthday girl said no tooth-picks babe, you’ll survive one night,” you needled him, patting his hand consolingly.

“It’s not even her birthday yet,” Jake grumbled under his breath.

///

Two weeks later, you were standing in front of the doors of FLUXX, and when the bouncer undid the velvet rope to let you inside, it felt like stepping into another universe: the music was loud, the lights were bouncing everywhere and there were so many people on the dance floor, it looked like it was just one big mass. The hostess led you to your table and everyone fell into the booth. 

“Alright, let’s go dance,” you said, clapping into your hands but Jake whined, looking up at you. 

“We just sat down,” he pouted, leaning back on the leather couch. “How about we order some drinks first?”

“Oooh, yes, I want one of those sparkly vodka buckets,” Javy said, his eyes glowing as he eyed the table across from you. 

“We literally just pregamed at Rooster’s place,” Natasha pointed out, bouncing on her heels and you linked your arm with hers.

“Fine, you boys can order more drinks, we’re going to dance,” you said, grabbing Callie as well. 

“Be careful!” Jake called after you and you merely threw a love you over your shoulder, dragging Natasha and Callie to the dancefloor. 

It took you a while to weasel your way into the middle of the dance floor, but when you finally managed to find a good spot, you pulled Natasha and Callie close, jumping up and down. It was packed and really really hot, but the smile you all were wearing made it worth it. You knew how exhausting their jobs were and a good night filled with dancing and music was really all they needed to let loose a bit. They all deserved it, especially Callie.

The three of you spent the next half hour or so just dancing around with no exhibitions, trying to get the DJ to play your favorite songs and just acting like complete fools. 

“I think it’s time to do some more shots!” you yelled as the DJ started playing another remix of Despacito.

“I am not doing anymore shots,” Callie said vehemently, but you only shook your head, grabbing her by the shoulders, shaking her.

“You are so doing more shots,” you yelled at her. “It’s your birthday, you can’t be anything less than happy drunk.”

“Yeah, I can definitely remember you promising me to do a tequila shot!” Natasha added and Callie groaned, tipping her head back. 

“Then I definitely need to pee before.”

“I’ll come with.”

“I’ll get the shots!”

Callie and Natasha disappeared into the crowd, while you made your way to the bar, which proved to be way harder than it seemed, but you weren’t surprised. 

“Hey, can I get 12 tequila shots?” 

The bartender gave you a wide eyed look and you waved her off. “Just get me a bottle of tequila with some salt and lime, I am at table 14.”

She gave you a thumbs up and disappeared around back to prepare your order. You stood by the bar, bouncing your head to the music, your fingertips tapping against the counter. When someone came up on the bar next to you, dangerously close, you assumed it was to get the bartender’s attention, however when they suddenly leaned their face into your personal space, you started to get uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?”

“An entire bottle of Tequila, hm? What’s the occasion?” A man asked you and you gave him a tight smile, taking a few steps back. 

“My friend is celebrating her birthday.”

He pursed lips in a smile. “Birthday, huh? Sounds fun. I’m Ethan. Any way I could join you?”

“Sorry,” you said, smiling gratefully at the bartender who returned, accepting the Tequila bottle with the bucket of lime slices with the salt shaker and some shot glasses. “It’s friends only.”

With that, you turned your back to him and headed back to your table, shuddering at the encounter. As you arrived at the table, the others cheered at the sight of you, Jake however immediately caught the pinch in your brow. 

“You okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around you as you dropped in his lap, pushing the Tequila bottle on the table, lining up the shot glasses. 

“Yeah, there was just a creep at the bar. I’m fine, though.”

“Alright, Tequila shots!” Natasha cheered when she returned from the bathroom with Callie in tow, who only looked at the bottle of Tequila with a look of regret. As everyone prepared their salt lines and lime slices, Bradley raised his glass. 

“To Halo. And Y/N for planning this insane birthday party.”

“To Callie!” you whooped and licked the salt, before downing the tequila shot, sucking on the lime afterwards. 

“Still not a fan of tequila shots,” Callie choked, setting the glass down on the table, the birthday crown crooked on her head. “Let’s get back to the dance floor! We didn’t come here to shmooze. And I want everyone shaking their butts!”

With that, the ones who went willingly, dragged the unwilling ones to the dance floor. Even though Jake was digging his heels into the floor, you knew that he was hiding all of his sweet dance moves, not wanting to make a fool out of himself in front of his teammates. At first, Callie walked around in circles, trying to get everyone to dance, but eventually everyone started dancing, even Neil and Brigham.

You didn’t see the team letting loose nearly enough, and watching Jake with his friends dancing like there was no tomorrow, really proved how FLUXX was the best idea for Callie’s birthday. Soon, everyone was cheering Callie on while she completely went insane in your dance circle. 

“That tequila shot really gave her the last push over the edge!” you yelled over to Natasha and she doubled down in laughter before joining Callie in the circle. 

“Hey, you wanna get some air?” Jake whispered in your ear and you nodded, tapping Javy on the shoulder to let him know you’d be outside, before the two of you headed to the outdoor area of FLUXX. 

While it was still warm outside, the air was much clearer and fresh, and you hadn’t even realized how stuffy it was inside. Inhaling deeply, you leaned against the wall, Jake’s hands finding your waist. You looked up at him, grinning. 

“I know you don’t really like to go out clubbing, but it looks like you’ve been enjoying yourself so far.”

“I am. We don’t really go out clubbing as a squadron, it’s nice. It also helps that you’re not the most chaotic one in there.” 

“Oh shut up,” you laughed, swatting his chestly lightly and he only smirked at you, before he leaned down to give you a kiss. He usually didn’t like kissing in public, with him working in the Navy and all and wanting to keep his private life as private as possible, but with all the drinks he’s had, it seemed like he didn’t care. You kissed him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, his arms splayed across your lower back. After a while, you pulled away, knowing if you continued, you’d do a lot more than kiss. 

“How about we end this party a bit earlier and catch a ride home?” Jake asked lowly and you snorted, shaking your head at him. 

“I am not ditching Callie’s birthday party so we can have sex,” you said with a roll of your eyes, amused. 

“It was worth a try,” Jake sighed, winking at you before lacing his hand with yours. “Come on, let’s head back inside.”

The two of you walked back inside, snaking your way through the crowd, when you caught sight of Javy and Logan at the bar, trying to wave down the bartender unsuccessfully. Seeing you and Jake, Javy flailed his hands, trying to get Jake to come over.

“I’ll-,”Jake said, and you nodded. “Do you need anything?”

“A water would be nice at this point.”

“Smart girl.”

With a peck on your lips, he made his way over to the bar while you returned to your table, where Natasha and Callie were already pouring a new line of Tequila shots,  Bob, Billy and Neil only watching in horror.

“Oh hey, you’re back! We’re doing another round of Tequila shots, you in?”

Bob shook his head at you behind Natasha’s back, but you only sighed, shrugging with your shoulders. 

“Fine, count me in.”

Natasha poured another shot of Tequila, and you handed the lime slices around, when someone walked up to the table and you grimaced. 

“I see you’re doing Tequila shots, any chance I can do a body shot off of you?”

God, men really didn’t know how to take a hint, did they? The guy from the bar, Ethan, stood at your table with two other guys behind him. Everyone exchanged glances and Natasha only pulled a face at the guy, as he obliviously leered at you. 

“No way in hell.”

“Aw, come on baby,” Ethan laughed, stepping closer and you only frowned at him. 

“Back off man, she has a boyfriend.”

“Oh do you?” he said, completely ignoring Natasha. “Well then, I guess I wouldn’t mind some girl on girl action.

What the hell?

You gave Natasha and Callie a look, who looked seconds away from punching the jerk in the face, as the guys only watched, not knowing if or when they should cut in. The tension ebbed slightly when Jake returned with Javy and Logan in tow, looking around with furrowed brows.

“Everything okay?” Jake asked, handing you the water bottle. 

“Yeah, these guys were just leaving,” you said with a smile, leaning into him.

“That your boyfriend?” Ethan asked, looking Jake up and down, Jake merely raised a brow at him. 

“You got a problem with that?”

“What’s a pretty boy like him going to do for you hm?”

You clenched your teeth at his words. The way Ethan talked about Jake like he wasn’t there just didn’t sit right with you. He wrapped his arm around your waist, calming you down slightly.

“I think you should leave, buddy,” Javy said, stepping in as well but Ethan only raised his hands, laughing slightly. 

“I think the lady should maybe spend some time with me, she’ll see that’d give her a much better time than blondie over there.”

It was obvious that the guy was itching for a fight, trying goad Jake into punching him, but Jake never was that kind of man who’d get physical, he’d rather taunt people with words. You, on the other hand, liked to punch people, especially assholes. 

So that was what you did.

Jake was just a second too late to hold you back, and your fist connected with Ethan’s nose, it crunched satisfyingly and he stumbled back into his friends, not having expected the punch. Callie’s jaw dropped and Natasha only snorted, while Jake grabbed you by the waist before you could swing out another time, holding you in place.

“Holy shit!” Reuben exclaimed, and you hadn’t even seen him come back to the table with the others.

“Bitch!” Ethan cursed, holding onto his bloody nose. He lunged forward, but his friends pulled him back, knowing that they couldn’t win a fight against so many people. They muttered between themselves, throwing dirty glances in your direction, before dragging Ethan away, while you only yelled after them. 

“Come back for another taste if you dare!”

Everyone was stunned and Jake bit back a laugh, his grip still tight on you as if he expected you to go after them.

“I think it’s time to go.”

///

It was around noon when you woke up, someone repeatedly slapping your face. Groaning, your eyes fluttered open. Callie was pressed into your side, her hand on your cheek while Natasha was snoring on the other side. You couldn’t quite remember how you got into… Bradley’s bedroom? But you did remember punching that dick in the face, rubbing your sore hand with a grin. 

“Hey guys, wake up. We should make sure that the others are still alive,” you muttered, shoving the other women, only getting whines in response. Dragging them both out of bed, you headed to the living room where the guys had camped out last night, barely awake. 

“Thanks for giving us the bed, Bradley,” you mumbled, squeezing in between him and Jake on the pull-out couch, while Natasha and Callie rolled onto the air mattress, squishing Neil and Brigham.

“As long as you guys didn’t desecrate it with vomit, no problem,” he muttered, burying his face into the pillow. Jake wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss on your head. 

“You sleep okay?”

Nodding, you closed your eyes, laying your head on his chest. “Thanks for tucking me in.”

“Did I imagine things or did Y/N really deck a guy at FLUXX last night?” Billy asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. As everyone started recalling last night's memory, you only rolled your eyes.

"I completely forgot."

“That was awesome.”

“He deserved it,” you muttered and Callie grunted in response. 

“He did. God, what a vile pig.”

Jake rolled his eyes, rubbing your back. “I really can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

“Well, someone had to defend your honor. It wasn’t like you were going to do anything. And I know for a fact that Javy was seconds away from punching him, too.”

“She’s right.”

“You shouldn’t have held her back, Hangman,” Bradley piped in, his face still in the cushions, before turning to look at you. “I wasn’t even there from the beginning, but you definitely should’ve gotten more punches in.”

“Stop enabling her!”

“Please stop yelling,” Logan groaned, pulling the blanket over his head. That seemed to be waking Bradley up, as he pushed his own blankets off, throwing his legs off the couch. 

“Alright, let’s get up, time for breakfast!”

That started a round of scuffle, trying to get everyone to get up while Jake pulled you close once more, kissing your cheek. 

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like violence, but that guy really pissed me off,” you said quietly and Jake only hummed, combing through your hair with his fingers.

“It’s okay. I like that you’re able to stand up for yourself. And for me, for that matter.”

“It was nice, to be honest. He was so out of line, I hate it when people talk badly about me or you, it just makes me so angry,” you muttered.

“Well, thank you for defending my honor,” Jake chuckled. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”

author's note: 10 points to everyone who can guess who says what when everyone starts talking at once when reader reveals she knows the owner of FLUXX

🏷️list: @luckyladycreator2 // @littlebadariell

people who I think might like this: @obiwankenobiskenobis-lap // @novagreen04

[whoisshel]

Stuck on You

Honey was given the nickname for a reason; she’s sweet and sticky like honey. Memories of her will stick with you forever, and after meeting her, you’ll want to stick by her side. Most people know her by Honey more than they do her own name. The whole town of Hawkins was surprised when they learned who she allowed to stick by her at all times.

If there was ever a person to be considered an opposite of Honey, it was Eddie “The Freak” Munson. Eddie wore black and leather while Honey wore white and soft cotton. Eddie lived in a one-bedroom trailer with his Uncle, Honey grew up with both her parents and was surrounded by siblings in the house neighboring the Harrington’s. Eddie couldn't care less about the number of eyes that fell on him for being loud and different than everyone else in town, and Honey tried to shield herself from the eyes that peered at her being the town's sweetheart.

Yet, besides those differences, and more, the two found each other and haven’t left that feeling behind. Eddie and Honey started dating during Eddie’s second senior year and Honey’s first. They both knew of each other, of course, from being Hawkins’ freak and sweetheart. They officially met in their English class when Honey noticed Eddie looking confused while reading Catcher in the Rye, so she went over to see if she could be of any help.

“Hi,” Hones shyly said standing over the desk he sat at, “I saw that you seemed confused by the book, and was wondering if you’d like some help. Catcher in the Rye is one of my favorite books, I’ve read it like a million times.”

Eddie just stared at Honey as she rambled on. He took in her shy appearance as she swayed nervously with her hands linked behind her back. Eddie was mostly surprised that a girl who was dressed in a white sweater and short plaid skirt would willingly want to help him, not to mention this girl was loved by everyone in town.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie finally sputtered out, “I would love your help.”

Not long after that, the two began to date, and the town erupted. Everyone talked about how surprised they were about the two teens dating. No one’s opinion was split though, it was probably the first the town could agree on something, Honey was too good for that “Freak.”

The town didn’t care to get to know Honey, because if they did they’d see that she’s not that different from Eddie.

Honey loves Rock music, what else is going to tune her parents’ shouting. She also enjoyed reading The Hobbit, she and Eddie loved reading The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings series over and over again together. While Honey didn’t know anything about Dungeons and Dragons before Eddie, she loved to listen to him talk about it and watch him play. Maybe she loved it because he loved it and would enthusiastically talk about it, or maybe because the game was actually fun.

The Dungeons and Dragons club members were very surprised when Honey showed up to one of the meetings. They heard the rumors but didn't believe them until the day they showed up to what was supposed to be a regular meeting but there Honey was all smiles and sitting comfortably on Eddie’s lap. The members were also surprised by how much patience Eddie had when teaching Honey the game. Usually, Eddie hated newbies that knew nothing, trying to play but when it came to Honey he was calm and collected, helping her every step of the way.

“Hey Eddie,” Honey unknowingly interrupted Eddie in the middle of telling another member his damage.

While everyone else froze, Eddie turned to Honey with the gentle list smile, “Yeah, babe?”

“Can you explain her powers to me again?”

Everyone assumed Eddie and Honey wouldn’t last longer than two months, but they were so wrong.

They’ve been together for three years now, Honey has graduated and is now a Junior in college while Eddie took another year to graduate High School where he met all their new friends. Eddie now works as a mechanic at a shop near Honey’s school. The two had even saved up enough money to move into an apartment and seemed like they weren’t going to be breaking up any time soon.

Honey and Eddie were happy that their place would give them space from the talk in their town but not too much that they couldn’t see friends or family. They would make the trip to visit Wayne and Honey’s siblings when they had time and would occasionally visit friends but most of the time they prioritized family. Their friends would visit them so much that they never needed to worry; especially when it came to Dustin, Steve, and Robin. Dustin practically lived with them from how often he would visit, and now that it’s his Junior year of High School all he can talk about is that once he graduated, he wants to go to the same college as Honey so they always be together.

“And then, I can get an apartment in the same building as yours so we can visit each other every day!” Dustin enthusiastically ranted.

Eddie looked over at Honey with wide eyes, while she just continued smiling. Eddie turned back to give Dustin a strained smile along with a nod, “That sounds great.”

The sarcasm was dripping off of Eddie’s extended “great” but that just went past Dustin as he continued with his plan.

“Oh, oh, even better idea. We should all move in together.”

It actually wasn’t too long after this conversation that three familiar faces became their neighbor six doors down.

Robin did attend the same college as Honey, and at first, she was just commuting but she wanted to live a shorter distance away. Robin and Vickie started looking for close apartments when Honey told her about a place that opened up in her building. One problem was that the place was a bit out of their price range and a two-bedroom. The place was really nice though and in walking distance to school so they wouldn’t have to pay for the parking pass. That’s when the third familiar face named Steve Harrington joined and now Honey and Eddie lived next to their friends.

Maybe living next to Dustin wouldn’t be so bad. Wrong!

In the morning, everyone stayed in their own apartments, giving Eddie and Honey time to enjoy each other's company. Every morning was pretty much the same for them. Honey was a big morning person, she loved to sit on the couch, placed perfectly near a window so she could watch the sun change from dark blue to orange to pink while she sipped on her Earl Grey Tea in her favorite Golden Girls mug. This gave Eddie time to sleep in because once the sun was shining Honey had nothing else to do but get Eddie up.

Eddie was not a morning person like his girlfriend but he couldn’t afford staying in bed; literally. Eddie had to be at work by nine a.m. which was luckier than the opener. Getting up at seven was made easier by the beautiful sight he saw every morning and the coffee that came with it.

Eddie stirred at the light caress he felt on his cheek, and what sounded to be an angel calling his name, “Eddie, it’s time to get up.”

When he realized what he was hearing, he scrunched his face in protest keeping his eyes shut tight trying to bring his sleep back.

“Come on, Eddie,” Honey chuckled at the cute face he made, “I’ve already let you sleep in. You’ve got to get ready for work.”

Eddie ended his protest, opening his eyes. As soon as he saw his beautiful girlfriend, a soft smile made its way on his face and to his eyes, “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, handsome.” Honey still had a hand on his cheek, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone, “I brought your coffee.”

Eddie sat up, leaning against the wall their bed was against. He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the mug filled with coffee, taking a small sip, His face filled with disgust, pushing the mug towards Honey, “Bleh, not sweet enough.”

Honey just rolled her eyes, trying to hide the smile creeping its way onto her face. Eddie made this joke every morning; and yet, Honey never grew tired of it. Neither did Eddie, seeing the same reluctant smile turn into one of joy. So Honey did what she does every morning, and stuck her finger into his coffee.

Taking the mug back, Eddie took another sip, “That’s better.”

The two have heard everything there could be said about how they would never make it and they were too different from each other. Even though Honey continued to dress in white sweaters and Eddie in his black leather vest, the two could never be more alike or in love.

Eddie knew that, and so did the small felt box he kept stashed away.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Chronicle of Emotions (Fluff)

FastForward!Raphael x reader

Gif credit: isitdonproof

A/N: This would very much create a paradox in space and time, but fuck it. Let have some fun!❤️ Also, I know that BTTS aired in 2008, but April mentions that they have been gone for around a year, so I’ve set their return to their own timeline in 2007.

-----------------

Being punished with cleaning off Cody’s collection after an incident with Mikey, Raphael stumbles upon your diary from the past.

Warnings: Other than invasion of privacy, one that I can think of❤️

----------------

Raphael grumbled and cursed to himself as he dusted off the boxes around him, mumbling about how much he hated the future. He couldn’t believe he was the one that had to take the fall for this! It was Mikey that started it! Continuously poking that Helix game into his face, until Raph finally jumped on him to give him a beating. But Master Splinter wasn't having it, especially not in Cody’s penthouse. So Raph was the one that got punished with cleaning Cody’s collection.

Raphael wandered through Cody's collection of artifacts, recognizing quite a few of them. A samurai suit, some utrom technology and things from their lair. Some of them were more dusty than others, like the many books that once stood in Leonardo’s bedroom. Understandable. He didn’t even read them now in the future. But as he browsed through the items and boxes, one particular object caught his attention - a small, worn notebook. Raph frowned. He had never seen this before. Was it one of Donnie’s notebooks? Or one of his future ones? Raph did not know, so he opened it and looked at the first page.

Property of (Y/N) (L/N).

Raphael's heart skipped a beat. (Y/N). The name resonated with a sense of familiarity and warmth. You. One of his best friends left back home in 2006. Officially his best friend, yet he had dreamed of you to be so much more to him. He admitted it to himself long ago - he loved you. And to be standing there, 99 years in the future with your diary in his hand, he could not help but feel a slight pain in his heart. He missed you.

But to say that Raphael didn’t find himself curious about what the diary in his hand held, would be a lie. So with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Raphael delved into the diary, turning to the first page.

19th of July, 2003. Dear diary You wouldn’t believe what just happened to me today. I’ve met four turtles! Four MUTANT turtles! Talking, walking on two feet, carrying weapons and doing ninja things! And get this, they are my age! How sick is that?! I know, I know, it’s hard to believe. Even I feared I had lost my mind for a moment, but they are as real as the page I’m writing on. And they are nice. They are sweet and funny and I hope I can see them again soon!

Raph felt a smile spread on his lips, remembering the day he and his brothers first met you. It had been a Friday night when you came to surprise your cousin April, not knowing she already had four mutant turtles and their rat father staying in her living room, using it as a hideout for a short time. Raph and his brothers would have stayed hidden away from you in April’s closet, had a bug not been crawling on Raph’s arm, causing him to burst through the door and directly into your face.

Raph felt his face get hot when he remembered that you actually caught the bug, and managed to calm him down, even though you were still shocked by the sudden surprise of a humanoid turtle in your cousin’s home. And that had been the starting point for Raphael’s growing feelings for you.

Raph flipped through the pages, skimming at the words, feeling curiosity growing. There were entries about battles fought and victories celebrated, about friendships forged and broken. Names he knew and names he had never heard of before. Someone from school or work mentioned once, just to never be mentioned again. Raphael's eyes widened as he read about your reflections on their encounters, realizing that his presence had left an impact on you just as you had on him. Raphael's cheeks warmed, and he couldn't deny the fluttering in his chest. You were not just a friend; you were someone he had held close in his heart, even if it was a secret he had kept buried beneath his tough skin. And even though it was wrong of him to be reading the words of your thoughts, he just couldn’t help himself.

In the quiet solitude of Cody's futuristic lair, Raphael found himself drawn not only to your words in your diary but to the feeling of being around you once more. He couldn't deny the impact your diary’s presents had on him, awakening emotions he had long kept guarded. Raph knew he would see you again one day, but he could not stop himself from missing you.

“How is the cleaning going, Raphael?”

Splinter’s voice from the doorway made Raph jump. Even with his graduation to Chunin coming up, Raph’s skills could not match his Master’s sneaking skills… especially not when he stood with his beak deep in your diary.

“Great, Master Splinter!”, Raph said, hiding your diary on the back of his shell. “Absolutely great!”

Splinter was quick to notice the way his son was standing. His smile on his face, along with the way his arms was bent to the back of his shell. Having been the one raising Raphael and his brothers for the past 18 years,  Splinter knew way too well how it looked when they tried to keep something from him. But knowing Raph’s hatred for the future, Splinter found it somewhat comforting that his son had found something he wished to keep hidden. To keep for himself. Maybe it was enough to make him more comfortable with their current situation.

“That sounds good”, Splinter said, taking in the somewhat cleaner state of Cody’s collection. There was only so much you could do with an almost hundred years old collection and an angry turtle. “I believe you’ve been punished enough for today, Raphael”.

Raph breathed a sigh of relief. After his father’s reaction to he and his brothers finding April and Casey's old journal, he feared what he would say, had he known about your diary in his hands. He thanked his Master before waiting for him to leave, so he could run to his room all while keeping the old worn book in his hand a secret.

Once Raph was sure he was alone and that none of his brothers would burst through the door, Raph turned to open your diary once more. With a page open he turned to look at the date.

29th of July 2006

Raph almost slammed your diary shut again. His hands trembled a bit. That was the day he and his brothers traveled to the future. The day they left you, April and Casey in the past, reminding him just how much he hated the future. Yet Raph did not leave your diary.

Raph’s heart broke a bit when he read your words. A whole year you were left in confusion before any of them returned home. You, Casey and April looked everywhere for them. Every place you had known for them to call home. You had searched in Casey’s farmhouse and Leatherhead’s lair. April had even traveled to Japan to ask the Ancient One, while Casey searched out of state, all while you stayed back, just in case they got home. A whole year, and nothing. April and Casey came home empty handed. No one knew where the turtle brothers and their father were.

Raphael continued flipping through the worn pages of your diary, his eyes scanning the entries searching for something he did not know how to describe. As he turned a page, he halted.

13th of September 2007

Raph knew he shouldn’t read it. Donnie has already told him and his brothers the dangers of meddling with their timelines, and how just being in the year 2105 could already have made unknown changes to their own future. But did Raph care about that? No. He already hated the future as it was, so making it worse would feel any different to him.

It happened! They are home! The boys are home! So much happened, and I don’t know where to start, but the most important part is that the boys are home and safe. April and Casey texted me and told me they had found them in the lair. And it was true! They were all there! Leo, Mikey, Donnie, Splinter and Raph. Speaking of Raph, it happened. It fucking happened. Finally it fucking happened!

Raph narrowed his eyes in confusion. What happened? Or… what will happen? - The fucking future thing was going to fry his brain one day.

Raphael kissed me!

Raphael's eyes widened as he absorbed the words on the page. The realization hit him like a tidal wave. He kissed you. He would kiss you! At some time in the future… or in the past… fuck that shit! He kissed you!

He did not say hey nor let his brothers say anything. He just walked straight over to me and kissed me! Just like that! In front of everyone! I will not lie and tell you that I didn’t want it, because in actuality, I did. I really wanted it, probably for way longer than I originally thought. I do really like Raphael, and it’s safe to say that he likes me as well.

His heart thudded in his chest as he read your words. You liked him? Just like he liked you? His hands shook as he tried to calm his breath. It was like an adrenaline bomb had hit him, making his heart raise even further.

Raph was tempted to read further. Turn to the next page and learn what would happen next. What words you would exchange and what actions the two of you would take. But just as he was about to turn the page, he decided against it. He already knew too much. Or maybe just enough. He now knew it was safe to kiss you when he turned home, and that you wouldn’t push him away nor fight against it. Learning more than that would take the excitement out of everything the two of you would do together.

Closing the diary with a mixture of awe and anticipation, Raphael couldn't help but smile. The knowledge that you harbored feelings for him, even if it was in a moment he had not yet experienced himself, filled him with warmth. And as he snuck out of his room to return your diary to Cody’s collection, he hoped that none of his brothers would notice him nor the little skip in his step.

Maybe the future wasn’t as bad as he had made it out to be.

[bitchyycapricorn]

Almost There

Peter Parker x Ghost!Reader

Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.7K

Synopsis: Peter enters his apartment that night expecting to find an empty bed. But instead, he comes face to face with your transparent glowing figure.

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of sex, cheating, masterbation (M), mentions of death, mentions of murder, open wounds/cuts

AN: This part and future parts will contain graphic content! Not edited.

Peter looks at Ned for a moment, still trying to understand how any of this was possible. “We have to figure this out, meet me at my apartment at 4, we can start our research then.” Peter says before turning to leave.

“Wait, but we get out of classes today at 12, I can be there by at least 1, wouldn’t that work better?” Ned asks, not wanting to admit that he was overly excited for possibly cracking the case on what really happened.

Peter shook his head, throwing a glance over his shoulder, “No, you need to see Y/N after school. Don’t leave her alone it’s, it’s important to her. It already bothers her enough that we both decided to join a Saturday class last minute.” Ned watches as Peter starts heading back inside to see MJ. He could tell by his voice and the way he was walking that the separation was taking a real toll on Peter. Peter knew it too, even talking about you made his stomach turn and his mind wander back to your soft lips.

“So this neighbor girl,” MJ says as Peter sits back down next to her. “Is she pretty?”

Peter pauses, meeting MJ’s gaze. “Why do you ask?” He laughs nervously.

MJ hums, looking down at her book. “Well, we’ve been friends since high school, I’m your girlfriend now, and yet I’ve somehow never heard of this Y/N girl. It’s just strange is all.”

The guilty feeling from earlier starts to bubble up in Peter’s stomach again as he realizes that of course MJ would be uncomfortable with him talking to another girl. Wouldn’t he have a problem with her talking to a new guy without telling him? “Yeah, I’m really sorry about that. Honestly she just wasn’t important enough to me, didn’t really think of mentioning her because I’m never thinking about her.” Peter lies, shifting his gaze down to his book as well.

“You seemed pretty interested when Ned had news about her though.” MJ counters.

Peter shrugs, trying his best to seem like he didn’t care about you. “Thought they finally got together.” Another lie.

MJ casts Peter another look before letting it go, “I believe you.” She presses a kiss to his lips, snuggling into his shoulder. Peter can feel his heart drop, he needs to get you taken care of so he can focus on MJ and MJ alone.

+++

“Hey sorry I’m late.” Ned says as he drops his bag on the floor. “Y/N and I were playing video games again, she’s like wicked good.”

Peter frowns, his eyes wandering over to the two controllers left abandoned near his TV. “Yeah she is pretty good..” his voice trails off a moment, thinking about you once again. “Not important though, we have some research to do.” Peter opens up his laptop, quickly searching up the elevator explosion eight years ago.

Ned’s eyes widen as he begins to read some of the headline articles. “Holy smokes dude, look at all of these. Six missing children? All before the elevator collapsed?”

Peter furrows his eyebrows, clicking on one of the links. “Parents of 11 year old Y/N L/N claim elevator collapse was a coverup, their daughter had been missing since 10 that morning….” Peter scrolls down a little more. “Ned..”

“Peter?” Ned asks, trying to find where Peter was in the article before pausing as well. “Oh…”

Peter reread the sentence again, “No bodies were found…police believe they disintegrated…that’s not, not possible.” Peter clicked out of the article, hopping over to another one. “They all say the same thing, children going missing, some almost a week prior to the accident.”

“Wait look,” Ned cut in, pointing to a paragraph on the screen. “Some of the children reported a game of hide and seek occurring when parents began questioning the whereabouts of their missing children. These reports were taken days before the accident.”

Peter sat back in his chair, his head swimming with questions. “The elevator was no accident. But then the question is, where did the children actually go? We know Y/N is, mostly dead. But she never mentioned the other kids being around here, and I haven’t ever seen them either.”

Ned gives a weak shrug, still scanning the information on the computer. “The only one who will have answers is Y/N, but she isn’t exactly too open to talking. She broke down when she started to open up about it last time.”

Peter gave a small sign, “Right.”

Clicking out of the article he continues to browse. Stumbling on dead end after dead end. His head began to hurt as the hours tick by. Ned eventually going to lay on Peter’s bed after about an hour of useless or repeated information. At about the four hour mark Peter stumbles upon a website that contains supposed video footage. “Hey Ned, come look at this.” Peter says, clicking on one of the videos. Ned stumbles over to the desk, leaning down so he can listen with Peter. The video appears to be taken in the lobby at night, the faint sounds of crying can be heard from what appears to be below the building. “This was taken a day before the elevator collapsed. The person recording had reported hearing voices of children coming from below the building.”

Ned looks over to Peter hesitantly “Peter you don’t think-“

“Y/N was murdered.”

+++

You hadn’t spoken to Peter in nearly a week, as far as you knew him and MJ were still a stupid happy couple that you never ever wanted to see again. The issue is, you still needed to move your stuff from under the floorboard into Ned’s room. Which is exactly why you decided now would be the best time to go retrieve your stuff while both Peter and Ned were at their Saturday afternoon class. You made your way through the walls and down to your old apartment, floating through the door and into the living room. You look around for a moment, wishing you could stay here once again.

Your attention was pulled away from the room by the sound of a soft moan followed by your name coming from Peter’s room. You furrow your eyebrows, floating through the wall and into his closet where you peak through the sliver once again. Through the crack you could see Peter, his head was thrown back on the pillows while his mouth was agape, his bedsheet barley covering his lower half.

“Ah fuck Y/N,” Peter groans, his hand slowly moving up and down his shaft, completely oblivious to your presence in the room. His actions had started as an innocent destresser really. He had skipped going to class today and opted to watch a movie in hopes of getting his mind off everything until he built up the confidence to talk to you again. But as his mind began to wander vivid thoughts of you kept reappearing over and over again. Your lips being the main focus, since he knew how they felt on his own. His mind of course only wandered from there. Now as he lay there slowly stroking himself all he can thing about was the way your body felt as he held you, and the way you touched his chest as you helped to sew him back up.

His pace got quicker, another grunt leaving his lips as he thrusted up into his hand slowly. “Peter?” You whisper, slowly stepping out of his closet. Peter’s eyes flew open, his head snapping to the direction of your voice.

“Oh my, fuck Y/N, what are you?” Peter stutters, pulling the covers closer to his body.

Your eyes slowly scan Peters body, “You were saying my name.”

Peter’s eyes met yours, his face turning a bright shade of red realizing there was nothing he could say at this point. “I didn’t, I’m sorry it just happened. I was so, and you’re so, and you’re all I can think about.”

You took a step closer to Peter, allowing your body to go solid. A rush of feelings suddenly washes over you, your stomach doing a small flip while the rest of you felt tingly. “Peter do you like me?” Your voice came out just barley a whisper, but he could hear you perfectly.

“I-“ he stutters.

“If I took my cloths off and joined you…would you object?”

Peter’s mind went blank, suddenly you were the only person there with him. Sitting up a little more he shook his head ‘no.’ “You can, I want you to,”

A small smile spreads across your face as you grab the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up and off your body.

Peter’s eyes widen “Holy shit,” he says, quickly slipping back on his boxers under the bed. He stumbles out from under the covers approaching ing you quickly. His eyes scan your now mostly topless figure. “What, what happened?” His finger slowly traces the cuts on your stomach.

You look down as well, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight. “I-I don’t know.” You say slowly. The cuts weren’t scars, but rather marks that appear to have simply stopped bleeding, but never scabbed up or healed.

“Y/N, what really happened to you?” Peter says slowly, his finger brushing the wounds.

Tears begin to well up in your eyes, “I really don’t know Peter. I don’t remember anything, not really. I remember the people saying that there was an accident with the elevator, I remember there being others, I remember..” you pause, looking behind you at the closet. “Under the floorboard…” you whisper.

Peter follows your gaze to the closet, removing his hand from your abdomen. He moves slowly towards the closet, opening it fully so he can look down at the floorboards clearly.

“Can you see it? Where it does not fit all the way?” You ask quietly. Peter nods, kneeling down to pry the board from the floor. He struggles with it for a moment before you hear it pop open. He looks down, reaching in to pick up a picture laying face down.

Peter slowly turns it over in his hand, his whole body freezing up at the sight. “What did he do to you?” Is all he’s able to say, as he stares at the fading image.

+++

TAGLIST

@dandelionqueen @etaerealboy

[florent1s]

Saccharine Hearts ( ii )

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Summary: To fall in love with Aemond is one thing. But to question if he truly existed is another.

Warnings: angst? mentions of death, questioning of reality

A/N: Hello! For those who have been waiting I’m sorry for such a late update. I have been busy with school, life, work.. agh! I’ve finally been able to write even if it’s just a little bit. I use this as a little creative outlet whenever I can so I don’t feel burnt out (bear with me y’all 😅) . All writing is just for fun and I hope you all enjoy. (Text written in bold are flashbacks) 🫶🏼.

P.S. if there’s any errors I forgot to proofread 😵‍💫

Song inspo:

“To love what is no longer there, that is what pains me the most.”

Perhaps you would have seen the signs had you listened to Septa Arsa. They say you’ve gone mad. That your delusions have clouded your judgement. But no, you know that it is real. He is real. The love that has blossomed in your heart is not a fantasy. To be held in his arms that was no dream. Yet you can’t help but lie awake at night, haunted by the fact that he is no longer here.

It was as if the god’s had prevented you from leaving. The night sky was filled with the shattering sound of thunder. Lightening littered the sky like veins, a blaring sign to stay home. A sign you chose to turn a blind eye to. You loved him and he loved you. Nothing could possibly prevent you from seeing him. Until you rounded the corner and there she was. Another crack of lightening pierced through the shadows and there right in front of you was Septa Arsa. The look on her face was one you could never forget.

“My child you’ve gone absolutely mad! If your mother were to hear of this, imagine the outrage that would occur.”

Septa Arsa clings to you, her face glazed over with an expression of horror.

“He is real! I swear to you he is. He loves me dearly. Come with me, we can see him together.”

The smile that graces your lips never falters. Surely if mother knew of our love she would support it. She must.

“Yes, the man you describe is real, but he is dead. For years he has been dead, my darling girl why won’t you listen to me?”

The last time you saw him was many moons ago. Septa Arsa begged you to stay home. She feared that the countless daydreams have blended in with reality.

“Aemond Targaryen: born in 110 AC, deceased 130 AC”

Septa Arsa practically forced you to read the text yourself. Your blood ran cold that night, for how could the man you love, the man you met as a child, actually be dead for years? Perhaps she was right and you have gone mad. Your cries could be heard throughout the halls. For the first time in years Septa Arsa was scared. Seeing the little girl she practically raised change overnight.

Once your mother and father knew of the situation they were ashamed. They needed their daughter to be perfect, the proper lady. Not one who believes her outlandish fantasies were true. The entirety of the keep was walking on eggshells. No one is to utter a word of what has occurred. Fearing that the lord who asked for your hand would no longer desire you.

You were to be kept in your quarters at all times, though you lost the motivation to ever leave them. You didn’t know what to make of your feelings. That numb feeling that seeps deep into your bones, that makes your heart feel as if it has been ripped apart. Septa Arsa enters your chambers but you pay her no mind.

“Perhaps a walk through the gardens? Your father would never know. Or we could read that book you love?”

She’s met with silence.

In all the years she has cared for you she has never seen you in such a state. The headstrong little girl she took care of is now a shell of what she once used to be.

Arsa sighs and moves to sit on the edge of your bed.

“My child what will it take for you to speak once more? Tell me what it is you desire and I’ll do my best to grant it.”

There was only one thing you wanted at the moment.

Him.

But perhaps he was truly not there at all and merely an escape from the life you yearned to get away from. And yet you refused to believe that notion. Ultimately, both you and Septa Arsa decided a nice walk would ease your mind. Being cooped up within four walls did no good for you, especially in your current state. Unbeknownst to Arsa, you made sure you left at the same time you used to meet him. She was skeptical at first but you reassured her it was because both mother and father would be too occupied to notice their brief disappearance. This would be your chance to discover if the love in your heart was from the delusions of your mind or not.

“We’ve walked far enough. Come now before they discover you are missing.”

Arsa was weary of the consequences of her actions. She knew taking you out here could result in your father tossing her out. But she cared for you dearly. This was the first time in a while she’s seen you this determined. You ignore her comment and continue walking until you see that very tree. Arsa grabs your wrist and tugs you towards her.

“Enough. We must go now before-”

“Put your trust in me as I have with you.”

You swiftly cut her off, you did not want to be ignored. Not this time.

“I have not been the best towards you. Perhaps I have been the most stubborn lady you have ever met. But at this moment I need you to trust me.”

You realize Septa Arsa is clutching her necklace of the seven pointed star tightly. Her grip on your wrist never waivers. Tightening to the point where it hurt. That look in her eyes, that look of fear was one you’ve never seen in her before.

“What is it?”

You spoke in a hushed tone as she brought you to her chest with a protective arm. Slowly, you turn your head and it was as if the air had left your lungs. There he was, sitting beneath the tree. The fog from the ground billowed and swirled around his form. His eye patch was gone and his sapphire eye glowed a vibrant blue from the moonlight. Both you and Arsa stare at him with trepidation. The gaze he held was solely on you as his lips curled into a grin.

“… you’re late.”

[thefallenangelsgang]

As always, only half finished and kinda edited (as most of my bg3 writing is)

This is the Weave Lesson scene. I'm playing with using game dialogue and my own for kinda the first time for this maybe fic. I can't tell how it's going quite yet.

the only context you need for this scene is Gale spends his evenings practicing his spellbook in early levels and he gets frustrated at the pace he's crawling at. I have a fragment of this earlier in this scene where he slams his book onto his alchemy table (cause my game Gale was our potion brewer extraordinaire) and Wynleth hears glass breaking. its a passing mention in this.

(EDIT: there is something else. Wynleth describes being percieved directly by Lathander. This is a reference to her encounter with the god during her Paladin vows. I haven't ironed it out but the gist is she has spoken directly with the god once before)

I'm gonna also try a new way of formatting these posts.

------------------------------

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gale huffs and runs his hands through his hair. I can see the mental battle he’s losing behind his eyes. Eventually he gives in.

“I’ve been in touch with the Weave for as long as I can remember. It’s like music, poetry, physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses. Mastering it felt as natural as breathing air. So losing it now feels like another kick in a series of blows to my ego. I suppose that was half of it.” He brings up that projection again. “She meant to bring low again, to humble me.” 

Absent-mindedly, he begins to play with his earring and exactly who is hovering above his palm dawns on me like a crashing wave. 

“Mystra?” 

He nods an affirmative while gazing wistfully up at the goddess that spurned him. 

I don’t know what to say. 

“Her idols don’t do her justice.” The words leave my lips before I really think about them. It’s true though, they don’t. The ones I’ve seen depict a sensual woman, clothing and hair animated by the very Weave she commands. Sharp features and languid poses that reek of the male gaze and look nothing like how Gale presents her now. It’s almost shocking how simply he paints her. She could be just another beauty walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate. “They truly don’t,” Gale whispers back.

“I’m ashamed to admit, the way you speak of the Weave makes me almost jealous. It seems so infinite.” Poetry and music and beauty. He truly has a way with words if he can make me crave something when my magic feels like the kiss of sunlight after a dark winter. 

The light comes back in his eyes as I shift the conversation. “Divine power must feel almost… limiting in comparison. Being only allowed as much as your deity sees fit.” Mystra’s visage is gone again, momentarily forgotten for the time being. The “More than you know,” dies swiftly on my tongue. He does know and that is the problem.

He gets an idea. I can tell by the look in his eye and the mischievous smile on his face as he pushes up to rest on his elbow. “Would you like to learn?”

What?

“You could teach me?”

He’s actually grinning now which makes me feel better. He’s not hung up on all this bullshit that’s going on. “Oh yes. Here-” He shifts into a seated position and takes my hands. Together we stand and move to the open space in front of his tent. I can't help but laugh softly at how serious he looks as he positions me and motions for me to stay put.

He turns away and makes for the table he has set up for his alchemical pursuits to retrieve his spellbook, snapping away the beaker I heard fall earlier. Prestidigitation. Perhaps that’s what he’ll teach me. I’ve heard it's a very useful spell with many applications, quick clean up being one of them.

He thumbs through the tome until he finds what he’s looking for based on the way his face settles in a self-satisfied expression. “This is a simple spell for channeling the Weave. See here-” He says as he positions himself just behind me and runs his finger over the sigil drawn on the page.

It’s brain-bendingly complex for a “simple spell.” Even the most complex healing sigils or anointments I had to learn were markedly less intricate. But it’s beautiful the way the lines curl and intersect. 

“It is, isn't it?” 

I must have said it out loud. Gale’s eyes are shining, they're so bright. He truly loves this. “Could you explain this to me, what all of this means?” I say, running my finger across the same path he did. There seems to be a start and end to the figure that the movement traces.

He launches into an explanation I only half understand but follow with rapt attention. What I do glean is I was right about the beginning and end and the segments of the glyph refer to different parts of the spell. Somatic, Verbal, and Material. This one only has Somatic and Verbal.

“I hope that wasn’t too hard to follow. I’ll admit, some of this stuff requires prior knowledge of spell composition.” 

He looks sheepish as he pulls the book away and goes to set it down gently off to the side so he can continue to consult it from afar. It’s endearing, his concern.

“Some of it certainly went over my head but I’ve read political treatise and legalese so dense they make your head spin. I’m no stranger to asking questions and learning more.” 

That seems to assuage him. He shakes out his arms and gives a winning smile. “Are you ready?”

“After you master wizard,” I say with a playful bow.

He makes a gesture that is almost like theatrically flipping something over in his hands. I watch astutely as something seems to glow from between them. Then he gestures for me to mimic him. I try my best. It’s a lot less confident than his, but from the wideness of his grin I’ve done it satisfactorily enough. Then a shiver goes up my spine as a feeling begins to overtake me. Warmth and… something I cannot place. It’s different from the sunlight of Lathander, or Shadowheart’s healing, or the electric crackle when Gale casts something. I must rock back at the sensation because Gale’s hand is there to meet me at the small of my back. “That’s the Weave. Don’t be afraid. You get used to it.”

It does feel like poetry. It feels like looking up from prose that touches your soul and letting the words sink into your skin and bury themselves in the very marrow of your being. I close my eyes at the feeling and let it wash over me. “More things on Heaven and Earth…” I say as I open my eyes.

“Indeed,” Gale matches my conspiratorial whisper. “That was the Somatic component. Are you ready for the Verbal?” I nod. “Repeat after me. Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.”

The words are strange on my tongue but then the feeling somehow compounds, doubling, tripling in intensity. Gale’s voice is hushed in my ear as he leans in and whispers, “Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of Harmony. As true as you can.”

My mind wheels through various options. Things I’ve been taught are harmony. People living in peace together. Unwavering Devotion to the Morninglord. People singing different words and notes but bringing together something transcendent and beautiful. 

None of it seems to fit. 

Harmony is this. It’s sitting in a Druid’s Grove full of people who just want to survive, surrounded by nature and beauty and finding a moment of peace despite the hell of our reality. It’s taking precious minutes of our lives for an impromptu magic lesson in a discipline I am wholly unfamiliar with. It's Gale's patience and my eagerness and this feeling rolling over me in waves. 

My hand finds Gale’s as a pulse of energy issues forth. 

An energy field envelops us. It plays with our clothes like a breeze in the absence of any detectable current. Weave. Purple and blue and as fine as spun sugar. It tastes sweet and floral and electric in a good way. 

Poetry and music and beauty all rolled into one. Gale has never been more right.

“It’s beautiful Gale.”

“That doesn’t even begin to describe it.” He muses, his eyes reflecting the beautiful light surrounding us.

“No. No it doesn’t, I choke out around an incredulous laugh. I feel the urge to weep and laugh and dance all at once. This is incredible.

Instead, we stand like this- Gale’s hand pressed against my back and his other clasped in mine- breathing in what feels to me like the cosmos for some time. 

“Do you feel her? Watching over us?” A reverent tone has taken over his voice as Gale breaks our reverie. Calling attention to it suddenly helps me put the feeling into words. We are being perceived by Mystra of all things. It’s a strange feeling, different than it was being perceived by Lathander. This is less direct, more idle than anything. It’s the comfort of knowing she is there. She is watching over us and keeping us safe. Tangible reassurance that your faith is not misplaced. This is a prayer answered.

“Thank you,” I say with a squeeze of my hand. We are making the most direct eye contact we have this entire encounter. No more passing glances that happen to meet or gazing at the other as they experience the majesty unfolding around us. Connection, true connection this time. 

“For what?” Gale breaths, like he truly doesn’t know what a gift this is. 

“For teaching me. For giving me a taste of what you experience everyday. For opening my eyes to this.” My free hand gestures around us and I mean to follow with my eyes but find I cannot tear them away. Gale looks so alive when surrounded by magic, in a way he isn’t when he is pursuing other things. It suits him handsomely. 

It sinks in exactly how intimate this moment is, the two of us connected not only by touch but by the very Weave itself. I could take a thousand nights just like this one and never tire. And what I would do for a lifetime of conversations about subjects like this one! Strolling arm in arm learning from each other. I am half-convinced even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.

As if in the same breath,  I am filled by an almost innate sense of how beautiful I look lit by the Weave. The way my green eyes compliment the hues of purple and blue and the copper of my hair stands out against the ethereal backdrop. It’s a strange and discordant thought. Not mine.

I think we both realize at the same time that they aren’t our thoughts, that perhaps the tadpoles have pulled a fast one on us or even the Weave has something to do with it. We both blush in unison and impressively. 

And then we laugh. 

Gale’s laugh is always loud and rapturous. Barking would be a good way to describe it. But it’s pleasant and jovial. It feels right every time I hear it. I get the sense mine is musical in the way horn instruments are. Not like peeling bells, but brassy and boisterous and unladylike. That makes sense, my grandmother hated my laugh. It was too masculine and unbecoming of a daughter of a noble house, my culturally masculine social position be damned. Which is a damn shame, it is a nice laugh. 

“I- Um- Well.” Gale clears his throat, still blushing. “Unexpected consequences. Not unwelcome ones! But unexpected all the same.” I’m still laughing, gently now. “There is no harm. I’m glad someone likes my laugh.” Gale blushes impossibly harder.

In a swift movement, like a breeze blowing smoke away, the spell dissipates. It’s almost frigid in it’s absence, or maybe it’s the act of Gale stepping away that brings the chill. I refuse to let him release my hand though.

“There it goes. As fleeting as the dawn, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles at me, pleased at his metaphor. 

------------------------------

[the1975attheirverybest]

5 Stars

A/N based on this. I’ve actually had an idea to write something where Matty is in a relationship with a writer. Idk is this me soft-launching this couple? Is this just gonna be a one-off? We’ll see. 

Warnings: mentions of anxiety. 

— —

“Matty! Good to see you! Where is your better half, by the way? I’ve been trying to find her and congratulate her, but I don’t think I’ve seen her anywhere.” Her friend (a term she would use loosely here), the magazine columnist, approached Matty. 

He felt sweat drip down his back and he listened to this woman’s shrill, disingenuous enthusiasm, trying to keep a tight-lipped smile the entire time. Stay calm, stay calm, don’t let anyone know you’re pretending. “Thank you, Maureen. Really. She’s uhh- around here, somewhere. Just busy. She’s the guest of honor, she’s got a million people to see today. You know how it is. I’ll pass along your congratulations, yeah? Excuse me, please.”

With a gentle nod, Matty extracted himself away from that woman and to the other side of the room as soon as he saw his girlfriend’s best friend. “Ashley! Thank god I’ve found you. Have you seen our superstar yet? I can’t seem to find her anywhere and she’s not answering her phone.”

“I was just coming to ask you that!” Ashley clutched his onto his arm. 

“So, what we’re saying, here, is her book goes out into the world in a few minutes and neither one of us knows where she is?” Matty was officially panicking right now. His eyes darted around the room, scanning the crowd’s faces for her, but she was nowhere to be seen. 

“Pretty much. For all we know, she’s not even in the building.” Ashley shrugged. 

Something about that statement finally told Matty exactly where the love of his life was. “Course she’s not in the building!” He mumbled. 

“What?”

“Nothing, never mind. Think I know where she is. I’ll text you if I find her. Just in case I’m wrong, though, maybe take another look around?”

Ashley nodded and walked off in the opposite direction, looking for mutual friends or book editors, anyone who might have seen her friend or knows where she is. 

Matty studied the layout of the room, looking around for the fire exit sign. Once he’d managed to locate it, he opened the emergency door and took the stairs upwards, to the roof. If he had to guess, he would probably find her up there, smoking a pack of cigarettes that she’d stolen from him without his knowledge. 

At the top of the stairs, the door to the roof of the building was open. Yup. He was right. She was up here. He pulled his phone out, texting Ashley that he had found her, and then he checked the time. They had twenty minutes until she needed to be in the room. He could work with that. 

“Coulda at least told me you were going for a smoke break. I’d have joined you.” He called out to her as he walked up, taking his blazer off and wrapping it around her. It was cold out here in the open night sky, and her short dress wasn’t going to keep her warm. 

She turned around, attempting to give him a smile, despite her anxiety. Silently, she offered him his pack of cigarettes back.

“Lighter?” He requested as he placed one in his mouth. “Thanks, my love.”

“How’d you know I was up here?” She asked, blowing the smoke out of her mouth and looking at the skyline. 

“It’s where I would be if I were you.” He needed to approach this subject with complete delicacy. Despite her calm and collected act, Matty knew she was anxious right now, and he didn’t want to make it worse right before she had to go back in there and give a speech. “Oh, heads up. Maureen’s here.” His eyebrows shot up, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he stood next to her. “She’s been looking for you.”

She made a gagging noise. 

“She seemed like she was gonna implode with jealousy.” He added, hoping he’d make her laugh. 

She tossed the end of cigarette to the floor, stepping on it with her heel to put it out. She shook her head, “don’t know what she’s jealous about…” 

Matty heard the strain in her voice and turned around to look at her, her expression breaking his heart. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?” His brows furrowed.

“I- don’t wanna do this. Don’t wanna go down there. In front of all these people.”

“Baby-“

“I know, I know! This should be the happiest day of my life. It’s a dream come true. I’ve wanted this my whole life.” She’d been quietly spiraling all day, now that she’s started speaking, it was like the flood-gates had opened. She wasn’t even registering Matty’s attempts to console or comfort her. He’d tried to remind her that she worked really hard on this for two years. Tried to tell her that she deserves this night, that it’s okay to be nervous, but none of it seemed to make a difference. So, eventually, he gave up. He stopped trying to speak, and decided to just be there and listen. 

“It’s not like I’m ungrateful! I know how big this is and how important this night is for my career. I just- I’m just-“ she fell quiet, frustrated that no word in the English language could possibly capture how she feels right now. 

“Nervous?” Matty offered a suggestion.

“Nervous?” She shook her head. “Matty, I’m fucking terrified! Look.” She stuck her hand out, showing Matty that it was shaking relentlessly. 

The sight made a wave of pain jolt his heart. He couldn’t stand to see her like this. He couldn’t watch as she trembled and do nothing. He grabbed her shaky hand in his, kissing it. 

“Oh, honey. Why didn’t you talk to me sooner?”

“I- I didn’t- I didn’t want it to be true. I wanted the fear to go away. I just wanted to be happy.”

Saying the words out loud finally made them true, she felt tears running down her face. “Oh, fuck, now I’ve ruined my make up, too.”

Matty wrapped his arms around her. “No, no you’ll ruin your white shirt! Matty!” She attempted to push him away, but he wouldn’t let go. 

“It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. I’ve got you. Who cares about the shirt. Just, let me hold you, okay? Let me.”

She took her first deep breath of the day. “I just don’t want this to be a disaster. My parents are here. You. George and Charli. Ashley and her brother-“

“Don’t mean to interrupt but Adam and Carly found someone to watch the baby. So they’re here too.” He tried to make her laugh, it seemed only to make things worse. “Sorry, sorry. Go

On?”

“I’m saying….I don’t want to let them down. Or my editorial team or my publishers! So many people’s livelihoods depend on this book, not just mine. And, everyone who’s loved me and been patient with me, and supported me through this. Everyone who didn’t laugh in my face when I said I wanted to be a writer, everyone who gave me feedback, helped me work out my ideas and make them real…the room is filled with everyone I love-“

“And Maureen.” Matty grinned. This time, she laughed. 

“…and Maureen.” She rolled her eyes at him. “My point is, this is the most important thing I’ve ever done and I have never been more scared to share it with the world. This whole time, it’s been my little dream. And as long as it remained that way, it couldn’t disappoint anyone. But now that it’s becoming a reality, right in front of everyone….oh my god! Book reviews are gonna start coming in soon! What if they’re not good?”

“It’s okay.” Matty’s armed tightened around her, knocking the wind from her lungs. “You’re gonna be okay.”

“How do you do it? Every two years?” She spoke, her moth next to his ear as he continued holding her through the panic. 

“Do what?”

“Release a new album! It’s your innermost thoughts and feelings in audio form and you just release into the world where people will judge it and critique it and tear it apart. How? How’d you do it when ‘Self Titled’ came out?”

he let her sleep out of his arms so he could step away and look her in her glassy eyes. 

“Oh, honey. When we put out self-titled I don’t think anyone cared. Nobody knew who we were back then. Your situation’s slightly different cuz you’ve actually written pieces here and there. People know who you are.” Matty smiled at her but he could tell that his words only served to remind her of the looming expectations of the masses. “Ask me about ‘I Like It When You Sleep,’ though.”

She sniffled, wiping the tears out of the corners of her eyes. “Okay…umm, what was it like when you came out with ‘I Like It When You Sleep’ ?”

Matty, took her hand again, squeezing it and rubbing his thumb over the back of her palm, soothingly. He knew it brought her comfort in situations like this. He looked up at the sky, as if the past were written in the stars. “It was….the most terrier I’d ever been in my entire life. As you know, George’d had this…anxiety during the making of the record. Cuz he felt the pressure of the world watching. He went a bit insane and lost confidence for a long time. For me, that didn’t happen during the making of….it happened after. I was so scared people would hate it.”

“So, how’d you deal?”

“Drugs.” He said without missing a beat. 

She smiled in spite of herself. “Okay, unless you have some cocaine in the pocket of this blazer you’ve given me….”

He kissed her forehead. “That’s not what I mean! I’m not done yet.”

“Sorry, go on.”

“The day before the record came out, I had…a similar nervous breakdown to the one that you’re having.” He winked at her. “I started thinking about the record and what I would go back and change about it if I could, whether I had any regrets or made any creative decisions that I was now questioning….”

“And?” She looked up at him with her big, beautiful eyes, expectation written all over her face. 

“Honestly? Not a single thing. Wouldn’t change a damn thing.” He finally looked away from the starry night and directly in her eyes, making her blush at the intense gaze. 

“Would you go back and change anything?” She considered his question for a moment, thinking about the various drafts she’d gone through, the rewrites, the choices to cut some pages and add others. A feeling of calm enveloped her as she spoke “nope. not a damn thing.”

“Then, you’ve got nothing to fear.” Matty smiled, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her into him. “No matter what the press says, no matter how tonight goes, no matter how booksales go…you’ll know you made the right decisions and did what’s best for the book. Not what’s selling these days, not what’s trendy, not what’s popular. You know what else?” He kissed her cheek, wiping the wet tears that had been drying on her face away. 

“What?”

“ your mind is brilliant. Anything that comes out of it is completely stunning. If the world can’t see that, then the world can go fuck itself.” He spoke with the softest tone, as if singing a lullaby. 

She giggled and shook her head. “Biased!”

“Hey, baby?”

“Yeah, Matty?”

“Put your hand in the inner pocket of my blazer. I got you something.” A bright smile erupted accords his face.

 She took out a sheet of paper, frowning. “What’s this?”

“Your first 5 star review! Go on, read it!”

“The- the New York Review of Books?

Is this real?!!!!” She was stunned. “Matty, I swear if this is a joke, then-“

He chuckled loudly. “It’s not a joke! It’s just not out yet. Comes out next week.”

“How did you? When did you? What-“ she stuttered, her tongue unable to keep up with her racing mind. 

“I have a music journalist friend who knows someone over at the NYR, so….didn’t know what to get you as a publication day present. Figured this would do.”

Matty watched her squeal with joy, dance around the roof, and eventually jump into his arm and hug him tightly, whispering “I love you” repeatedly into his ear and kissing his cheeks and neck. 

“If you’d given it to me earlier…could’ve spared us both the meltdown.” She noted when she’d eventually calmed down and had a moment to think about it.

“I know. But I wanted you to feel better because you’d thought about it and decided to believe in yourself and your book. Not because some guy from a fancy publication thought you were worthy.”

He melted her heart. As if she weren’t already in love with him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him by his side. “That’s the sweetest thing that anyone’s ever done for me.” She kissed him. 

“The fancy publication is quite nice, though, isn’t it?” She grinned, beaming like a ray of sunshine. A remarkable difference from the cowering shadow of herself that had been crying and fearful a few moments ago. 

“You have no idea how proud I am of you.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, giving her a peck. “C’mon. It’s almost time. We gotta fix your runny makeup.”

“Hold my hand until we get there?” She reached her hand out to him. 

“Of course. You’re gonna be alright, my love. If you get scared, think of me. If you feel panicked, look for my face in the crowd. I’ll be the one in the front row, crying tears of joy.”

[astarionfixation]

Chapter 4 - *Fu*k Eternity if Immortality Looks Like Me*

Part of "Am I Fu**ing Insane !?!" A multi chapter adventure in Astarion’s mind

Rating: Mature for Sex and CW Blood & Mentions of Death

Word count count: 3.6k

Pairings: Astarion X OFC Tav

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54356776/chapters/138056932

I have a quite serious praise kink. Which also means compliments in the forms of tags and/or comments might very well spur me to write and post more

** Thoughts "" Dialogue - - Remarks ++ Quotes / Memories

*I will never learn to take the sun for granted, ever*

The warmth on his skin makes almost anything tolerable, even the fact that she looks like an overexcited child on a sugar rush, skipping from one hedge to another, enthusiastic about the simple presence of plants, some of which she seems to have only seen in books. It would be charming really if he also had a chance to break his own -fast -. Not that she had much to eat: he had to force that cookie in her pocket for later though of course, when asked why he wouldn't touch food he only had to turn on the charm, with a delightful series of excuses as to why 

"Breakfast? Oh, my dear, I find the company far more enticing than the food here. Why waste such precious moments with a plate when I can feast my eyes on you?”

And he knows that is way too melodramatic for her to still take on his empty flattery, but she still can’t help a smile and that makes him feel in charge of this… whatever this is… the fact that, for all she knows, they haven’t parted more than minutes since the previous night, and only when he had to keep the pretence that of course! She deserved her privacy whilst sinful droplets of water encompassed her body *and nothing else*.

“Let this finally be it darling, you’ve been dragging me through this greenery for hours now, whilst I can assure you I could have made both our afternoons so much more interesting”

She is too intent on examining the hundreth plant to even consider replying to his suggestive invitation *Pity*, but after a moment she speaks, still with a hint of the eagerness he has seen her show only when it comes to herb gathering so far. 

*And the thought of me when she thinks no one’s watching*

“It’s not Mugwort, it’s Life Everlasting”

The last two words shake that part of his mind which was peeking at the surface, ready to get lost in sinful thoughts about her again

*What the !?!?!?*

Surely he heard wrong, or is she testing him? His puzzled look must give that away because she continues unprompted:

“Helichrysum is also known as Life Everlasting. It will be more than enough to prepare a tonic, there is little it won’t cure”

He swallows to gain composure even if he knows how still he has kept any and every part of his body to avoid giving anything away

“True to its name then…”

“Not quite… believe me I’ve tried.”

She continues to talk about the plant as if this truly is something she cannot help

“Decoctions, Tinctures… I would replace every single drop of blood in my body with it if it served the purpose, but the promise of its name has been greatly exaggerated”

The mention of blood reminds him painfully about his own dry throat at the same moment she sighs, her fingers keep tracing the woody stem of what seems like a pretty insignificant weed to him. Yet this is a conversation he feels concerningly drawn to, much like a moth to the flame, utterly conscious of the risk it poses and yet not remotely able to keep from prodding about it.

“Eternity then, is that what your heart truly desires?”

She nods absentmindedly, still tracing the plant with the tip of her fingers

“There are so many things that I'm set to miss”

A sigh leaves her lips and her tapered fingers halt their work on the stems of the plant.

“So many people, so many connections”

She continues, and he knows he could prod now, it would be easy to poke at her thinning barrier. In a half hearted tone he will testify in courts was meant as a joke he replies

“Is that why you asked me to stay with you last night, darling?”

And she should scoff, she should laugh, she should be led astray by where he meant to drive the conversation now, because this heavy air they have come to is not safe for discussing genuine thoughts and feelings.

When her dark eyes rise from the ground to find him she's almost… smiling? But it's resigned, and it doesn't reach her eyes, which are now fixed on him

“Believe it or not Astarion, I think I see something I know in you, and considering how slowly I'm decaying daily, I can't find it in me to be haughty and spare time I could instead spend with you for a time that neither of us might have in the future”

That is unexpectedly honest coming from the girl that stood in the light of the morning sun rays, clutching a shirt to her naked bosom as if it was the most innocent thing in the world, as if she didn’t mean all of that to be just a game to make both their resolve crumble.

“I would chance everyone shares in your predicament my darling, but you seem decidedly set on this, don't you?”

He is doing his best not to linger on the fact she’s perilously dancing on the edge of confessions way more complex than the desire she harbours for him, especially considering he should know nothing about it.

“I know what it feels like… to be just about to die”

And at that, he has to pull control from every fibre of his being not to flinch. Yet she inexorably continues, as if this had become a bloody confession.

“And ever since, time has been folding over and over in my mind, taking every joy away along with a ticking out I can't unhear. It’s all I’ve been searching, studying, looking for…”

He should be worrying, he should be aware that she might very well be tracing his thoughts just like her fingers traced the nape of his neck last night

*Surely to find a weak spot to plant a dagger!*

But he can sense the trembling in her voice, a mix of anger and fear that, despite coming from a different place than his, resembles his own feelings of complete and utter impotency at the fate imposed on him.

She shakes her head slightly and her eyes close while she inhales for a long moment, and he knows she’s trying to steady herself, confirming once again how crucial to her person this is. His mind scrambles back to the fragments of writings he found in her book that would speak of this, but he already knows his silly vanity let him scan only to find his own name committed to paper once he found the first instance, intoxicatingly tempted by discovering signs of her addiction to himself.  

“But there isn’t anything… I looked” as the words leave her mouth, her gaze rises inquisitively to meet his, just as her tone ends to a slightly higher pitch.

*Is she… asking?*

Her eyes are steadily on his and he doesn’t have the time to let the silence linger on that unasked question, besides, it’s much more interesting to see what else he can persuade her to concede.

“Surely an eternal life would be valuable depending on its quality, don’t you think my darling? Otherwise you might just find yourself waking up to a nightmare that keeps repeating itself”

The moment the words leave his mouth he feels a tinge of anger directed at her because even to try and propel words from her he finds himself giving away much more than he ever planned to.

But she just smiles and shrugs, her eyes back to the little immortal plant

"Maybe I've had a comfortable and sheltered life so far, I wouldn't mind continuing it"

But he knows! He knows that’s far from true, even the little he gathered from her notes revealed unlikely similarities in the ways their choices, their bodies had become the belonging of others to play with, when praise after the beating became the only consolation she focused on, just as -many a night- he had to try and forget himself to keep going.

*Why lie now?*

“But truth is, the only immortality that awaits me is here” 

Her fingers now touch the dirt at the base of the shrub, almost digging into it and a brief flash of his own fingernails bloody and covered in dirt comes to him from the night of his own first death.

“When I die, if I’m lucky, my body will be put at rest in the ground and all that awaits me is for it to decompose, feeding the next generation of plants and trees. I just wish I could accept that…”

“How morbid of you sweetling, even I have heard more legends and myths about longevity than that, surely even potential immortality, you didn’t strike me as the kind of person who would simply accept anything imposed on them”

“That’s the thing Astarion, as an elf you have dozens of my lifetimes awaiting in front of you, and whilst even that would eventually feel scarce to me, you are afforded that time. But I can’t… I can’t change what I am”

"Don't we all want to change? Be something other than ourselves for a time, to explore who we could really be?" 

He will never get a chance as good as this one to poke and prod at the very real possibility that she might not recoil the moment she finds out about his true nature. And that's assuming she doesn't already know.

“What would you give for the chance to become an everlasting creature then?”

And he knows a vampire spawn like himself cannot turn her, but he suddenly sees how far their arrangement could go. Jumping ahead he can see how their interests could align and 

*maybe this isn’t just the last in a series of curses laid upon me*. 

Maybe she’s still so very proficient in controlling the way her emotions reflect on her face, but the traits remain placid as her fingers still absentmindedly roll the stem of the herb back and forth to the same rhythm that gives nothing away. Yet the pause was not long enough to suggest she had just come up with her answer there and then

“It would be shortsighted to give anything that I would still require to keep being the person who first needed eternity, but other than that, there’s little I wouldn’t give”

His head tilts slightly so that their eyes can meet again, because he needs to see every minuscule micro expression his next words will bring on her face

“What if all you could ever drink again was the life essence of creatures, their blood, and nothing else, but for eternity of course…”

He has barely a chance to see her eyes widen just ever so slightly, the rhythm of her breath suggesting that she’s about to answer and the fact that words would come so promptly should be a source of concern because *when would she have had time to think about that?!*...

A rustling coming from the opposite side of the glade reaches his attuned, pointed ears.

*Shit! There’s something coming!*

and before she has fully inhaled he closes the distance between them, as his lips release only one clear command whispered in her ear:

“Hide!”

With that his hand presses the centre of her chest compelling her to retreat. He knows he hasn’t been careful with his movements when in a mere few seconds he’s already at the opposite edge of the clearing and the source of the noise is now evident in the massive wild bear growling at him. There’s a vague possibility the animal might have been deprived of a few cubs when he last fed and it seems evident from the ire of it, but conversely, the delight of a meal coming to him when he usually has to scout and hunt for it almost makes him lunge. 

*how appropriate to kill two birds with just one stone*

Because he will be the hero keeping her safe whilst being the monster sated in his hunger. She’s surely hiding behind a tree by now, there’s absolutely no reason to restrain and with his bite the bear will be down in mere moments. And if need be, his dagger is on him, he can even pretend that’s what dealt the final blow should she want to verify. 

*Yes, those are all very good and valid reasons*

And possibly the saliva now reaching his fangs is the last thing he notices before his entire body dives and the bear does not even have time to react to him sinking his canines unceremoniously, pulling flesh and sinew without a care in the world. When the fountain of blood rhythmically rises from the jugular of the beast, it's already over and the bear has already fallen to the ground. He latches onto the open gash and when it hits his tongue It’s metallic and almost acidic but once down his throat it fills his stomach all the same.  He really should not have gone hungry for days. The satisfaction and exhilaration should suggest he was really at risk of attacking someone and destroying his cover, but the thick dark fluid flows down his throat and that's all that matters now. But alas, he can tell this feast is already close to the end, no matter the pull his mouth exercises on the carcass. 

With a final drag he has drained the animal and his entire upper body arches back, his eyes closing now, savouring the feeling of fullness, if only just short of satisfaction. His head thrown back as his neck extends, exposed, and he begins to feel a slight ticklishness as rivulets of blood are now making their way from his lips to his chin and jaw, past the ridge of his trachea and it’s a moment of peace if not exactly bliss, until some part of him screams preservation and he realises the dishevelment he caused.

He brings his hands to the fabric on his thighs and that’s when he realises the absolute mess he made of himself. His fingers run to his face and he can tell the blood it’s painting his features in a way that will be unequivocal to her. He would be frantically pulling at every pocket on him if the warmth of his full stomach wasn’t so naturally soothing to him, and all he can do now is just bring his fingers to his lips, sucking them and licking them clean so that no drop goes to waste. Eventually he even finds a kerchief, though…

*What a waste of silk!*

He slowly cleans the blood from his mouth with the fabric, and whilst his senses are all coming back more acutely than he could ever be gifted upon an empty stomach, there’s a languor that’s been sedated. He knows the problematics of explaining the red stains displayed on a much larger area than a blow dealt with a dagger would justify

*But I can’t give a bloody fuck right now*

His movements are dawdling and after wiping what certainly must be all the bloodshed upon him, his head lolls back, his eyes slowly open again looking upon the bear’s remains. With a measured movement he’s back on his feet and he might be feeling just a little bit more elegant, a tad bit more regal and self assured in his graceful form, standing tall.

He turns around with a delicate gracefulness to find she did follow his order: her figure almost perfectly sheltered behind a tree. The thought makes something twitch inside him

*what an obedient little thing*

A long, dark strand of hair almost covers her eyes, just not enough to conceal, and this time, for a moment, he can tell. 

He can tell that she hasn’t been able to look away, though nothing on her face delivers anything like disgust or recoil at what she’s just witnessed. No, if anything he can tell by the almost imperceptible way the tip of her pink tongue peeps through her plump, red lips. It takes less than a moment, and he might have his elvish eye to thank for it, but something in her expression now feels familiar, akin to enticement

*Eager little minx, If she had ever looked at me that way before, I would have known*

The little book would have been completely redundant because, even from a distance, it's obvious how something in her yearns for him.

And right now, he can’t blame her. Right now, as his body glides with feline gracefulness, he knows she can feast her eyes all she wants because he feels magnificent himself. The life essence is bringing back each and every sense to its apex form and the sunlight feel glorious against the smooth skin of his cheeks, and her heartbeat coupled with her slightly laboured breath is a compelling evidence to sustain every word and thought she has spent over him

+Something must have happened to Astarion, something bad enough to take away his voice, his actual voice, and left him outside looking in. And I don't know how to tell him he's not alone+

And right now the memory of her words coming back to him doesn't even bother him. In fact it's almost sweet how set upon finding his saving graces she is, so much so that she might deserve a treat.

He's just a few feet away from the tree she's still hiding behind, though her one beautiful dark eye peeking has not left him since he began stalking towards her. He gets closer, his long legs lithely gliding towards her and *she can have a show in fact*.

As he reaches the tree he extends his hand towards her so he can coax her out, his voice just like honey

“You're safe now darling, but you can show me your gratitude as you see best fit, though I might have a few suggestions I wouldn't mind indulging in”

At that she moves closer and now that she's not playing hide and seek anymore he has the visual of her increased heartbeat and laboured breath depicted on the rosiness of her cheeks that somehow spread the aroma of mulled wine and flowers even more than usual. The tug at his stomach that's usually elicited by her scent is now happening quite a few inches lower and 

*Fuck!*

Her dark eyes seem fixed on a spot just next to his mouth, and as she is now getting closer to him a new layer seems to be hidden in her bouquet, like the sweet tanginess of pomegranate? When she stops for an instant just in front of him, in that moment a flash of terror seeps through his boastful, post prandial confidence

*Shit do I still have blood on my face?? She knows! She must know and I'm fucked! She'll get the others to drive a stake through my heart and fuck waxing lyrical about eternity if immortality looks like… me*

And if that's the end, he concedes to himself to inhale deeply, to hold and commit her exquisite scent to his memory, and when her face gets closer to him 

*she must certainly be on her tiptoes now*

Her lips are pressing on his cheek, really so close to the corner of his mouth that at any point it will become debatable whether this would account for a real, proper *first* kiss.

“Thank you, Astarion”

She breathes the words on his skin and she's so up close that it now hits him, that sweet, tangy addition to her scent that reminds him of the tart, juicy seeds of a pomegranate is there for one reason.

*Because she's aroused*

At this point it seems worth considering celebrating this feast by grabbing her waist and pushing her back against the tree, fingers immersed in the softness of her thighs until her legs wrap around his hips and he can finally pin her to the tree trunk while his long fingers move deftly under her garments and

*Fuck! Why do I keep going back there!*

He swallows to keep her scent within his insides and a long, delicate finger finds one of her dark curls to wrap around and place just behind her ear so that his fingertip can brush even just for one moment against that spot that he can finally feel beating rhythmically against his digit. His eyes move to her lips, which seem just a tad bit redder after the kiss she planted on his face, as his entire hand now delves in her hair, caressing her scalp whilst his thumb is on her check and his entire hand is full of her softness, her hair *her mind underneath* and because she hasn't even put up a pretence of annoyance he pushes his luck

“Speaking of which, you were about to open up to me, weren’t you, sweet thing? Before we were so rudely interrupted”

He lets the words linger so he can measure her response and when the hand holding her head ever so slightly pulls her closer, guiding her dark eyes to meet his crimson ones again, she just lets him, so he lowers his tone and continues…

“Can you find your words for me now darling?”

And it seems like all the emotions he can read on her face pool around curiosity, enticement. Her lips tremble for a moment and she has to swallow before her sweet breath is once again hitting his senses.

“Hypothetically… if it was to be blood…”

She reaches up on her tiptoes now, her deftly hands found a way to sneak upon him again and they are now pulling at the fabric on his shoulders as she pulls herself closer so that her cheek is now brushing against his until her next words hit directly against the sensitive outer part of his pointy ear, even though it’s barely a whisper

“You just made it look extremely inviting”.

[justjams2003]

Blossoms-12

Pairing: Erik Destler x OFC (Mariposa Claremont)

Summary: A young author travels away from her family to The Opera she has heard so much about. She is lost and confused and yet still seems to get a job there as a cleaner. Yet when she meets a mysterious man there, everything changes. Her mind is entirely consumed, but will she allow her burning need for him to consume her life as well?

Warnings: Haircutting? Kidnapping? Mentions of sexual themes, angst, and fluff too, kissing, drowning, fights. Tell me if I miss anything

Word count: 1,7k

Masterlist

Part 11~Part 13(coming soon)

Dividers: @yaynowimglad @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Tags: @rclector @jordanmunson3 @ssssssws-world

Have I been down this tunnel before? The stone of the underground all begins to look the same. There aren’t any defining features to the grey walls. Not to mention it is oh-so-very quiet. There aren’t even any sounds of rats chittering or bugs on any of the walls. I can’t hear the music in these dark tunnels like I could in his cave. 

That is of course, until I hear the click as I take another step forward. “Oh no,” I can’t help but mutter out, my imagination begins running wild. It doesn’t happen suddenly, I’m frozen in my spot. Scared that if I were to move an arrow might fly at me. Worse though, the walls begin closing in.  

Panic rises in my throat, and I can already hear my breath rising. My frozen state is interrupted when the walls begin moving faster around me. I book it, I pick up my dress and run as fast as I can. My legs seem to be just a bit to slow compared to the walls.  

A sour taste forms as bile threatens to pour out. My shins burn and I can feel my heart in my ears. My vision turns darker, partially from panic and partially from the walls creeping in my peripheral vision. But then, there is a light at the end of the closing tunnel, quite literally.  

I don’t look where I’m going. I just need to get out. I need to escape the closing walls. And then suddenly, the floor falls out from underneath me. I can hear the walls that I was running from close with a loud thud. And then I too, hit the floor with a similar noise. My arms and legs are now covered in scrapes and bruises.  

A loud ting noise is heard, and I snap my head up. A grate now covered the hole I’ve fallen into. My head hurts, I can hear the thudding of blood rushing into my ears. “Oh my fucking god!” I yell out, slamming my fists against the walls. I never curse, I hate it but this does seem like the perfect moment.  

My head is in my hands, and I grip onto my dark brown locks. It’s a bit longer now, sitting just above my shoulders. I can’t help but let the tears fall, now that I’m alone. Why did I say that? Why the fuck did I say that? I want him, I need him to write. He fuels me and lights my passions and now I’ve opened my big mouth and pushed him away.  

What have I done? He holds my heart, my excitement and my passion. He’s the key an adventure and yet at the same time he feels like home more than my own home ever did. And now I’ve scared him off! I’ve called him dubious and myopic, after comforted my soul.  

Then again, I’m not wrong. I can’t spend my whole life comforting his fragility and assuring him of his worthiness. I’d much rather spend the time laughing and loving. Intertwining bodies rather than reassuring his insecurity. Yet, he also does the same for me. Abating my dislike of certain parts of me that he sees even when I try to hide it.   

Can’t he just love me without worry and I the same?  

A new sound causes my tears to dry up. Water. Water running. Then I feel it, the wet slosh on my bottom. The hole I’m stuck in is filling with water. “No. No, no, no.” Again I start panicking. Is the whole thing going to fill with water? But the top is closed up, I can’t escape.  

Now is the time to act and there is only one person who knows I’m down here. I jump up, too short by a meter to even touch the grating. “Erik! Erik, please!” I hate screaming if it’s not with joy. My voice is filled with worry and despiration and I hate it. I start jumping up and down, trying to see any way to escape.  

But there is none and the water is flowing even faster. “Erik, please, I’m sorry!” I’ll eat up my words if it means getting out of this alive. My birthday is around the corner, and I don’t plan to die at 18. The water is at my waist now and soon it might just be shoulder heidth. Now I’m really becoming hysterical. Screaming my head off and trying to throw out as much as I can.  

It doesn’t help though. The water is rising fast and soon I won’t be able to stand anymore. “Please, Erik, help! I can’t swim!”  

Sobs rack through my soul and my whole body curls up into a ball. I grab my mask and throw it as far from my me as I can. I can hear it jump from the walls and clatter across the floor. I don’t want it anywhere near me. I don’t want to be reminded of my horrid, disfigured face. More so the way it makes me feel.  

It makes me feel gross. It reminds me of the people who laughed at me as a child. It reminds me of the people who beat me, whipped me and ruined my body for someone as beautiful as her. It reminds me that people have made be believe that hurting her is better than allowing her in.  

It makes me feel safe. And she is anything but safe. She with the golden-sand hair and the sea-blue eyes. She is adventure. She is a sailboat traveling 100km/h in the direction that not even the captain knows. Her parents would hate me, I’m sure. I can’t always give her the sunlight, but I can at least give her my heart. Can’t I?  

Help! An echo bounces off the walls of the tunnels and all the way into my cavern. My head snaps up, into the direction that the young girl had walked. Then I hear it again, this time much louder. My feet scatter across the floor and my mind is only one thing.  

I know the exact route she took, as long as she keeps calling for me. The tunnels wind and twist and I just thank whatever god sent her to me that she did not take the route of arrows. “I can’t swim!” Now I truly move faster than I ever had before. The higher the water, the faster it flows.  

I open the latch that enter the trap and instantly turn the water valve shut. I yank the metal grid from the floor, over 100 kilograms and I sent the damn thing flying. I bend over and pull her from the hole by the arms. She’s soaked from the shoulders down, her whole body is shaking. Aurora clings to me, refusing to let even a centimetre of my fabric go.  

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She repeats over and over. It’s hard to even make out what she’s saying merely because she’s crying so much. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her bare arms and pulling her as close as I can. All while I continue to hush her.  

“I can’t die, please, I have so much I have left to do.” She mutters, her racking now died down. Only small whines of begs and pleas for her life exit her mouth. “Hey, I won’t let that happen. You’re safe. I won’t let you die, not while you’re still such a little flower.” She lets go slightly, wiping the snot and tears from her face.  

“You promise?” She asks and then lift her head to look up to me. Her words trail off and her eyes seem to go wide. She doesn’t move an inch. Anon, her look of shock turns to one of wonder. A smirk, not a laugh or a face of joy, but a smirk of wonder and dare I even say something else?  

Then is hits me, I forgot my mask in my alcove. And yet the look she gives me makes me so warm inside. It doesn’t make me feel stupid or hideous. Rather, I feel a blush creep across my ears. Soon after she smiles, it drops again. Mariposa lets go of me, and pulls herself up.  

The young girl wraps her arms around herself. She avoids my gaze and turns her back to me. “Please, take me back...” Her voice is small and shy and hurt now. Long gone is the naïve girl who doesn’t fear a handsome stranger. Now, someone who demands to protect her heart, even if it’s from someone who she trusts with her life.  

Fix it, Erik. Fix it the mistake of previous past. I don’t think. I don’t think of the insecurity of my bare face. Or the embarrassment I may cause her. Or the people in my past telling me I’m not good enough to be loved. I grab her by the wrist and pull her against me.  

My lips land on hers without any hesitation. My hands entangle into her dark blonde waves and land on her soft waist. I can feel her kiss back in the same passion and lust as I do her. Both our tongues intertwine, and our souls connects, and, in that moment, I know I mustn’t let her go. 

Except when we must come up for air, there is a moment of bliss and then she shoves me away with all her might. “You can’t do that, Erik! You can’t call me your Clementine, you can’t take me on dates, you can’t invite me in your home and you can’t kiss me like that if you don’t allow me to fall in love. You are playing with me. I am young, I know, but I won’t let you break my heart like this again.”  

Her words cut deep, except the it’s more truth than harsh words. “My Aurora-” I go to hold her again but she raises her hand. “No, you will take me back.” And so, I did, knowing I could not change her mind. And when she was safe, she forbade me from following her and I listened, not knowing if she would ever let me see her again.  

[velvet4510]

Maybe this is an inadequate comparison, but I find these two characters’ situations to be similar enough to warrant mentioning.

Think of the iconic finger-pricking scene from Sleeping Beauty - we all know it. It is quite clear that Maleficent is violating Aurora’s free will. Aurora is not in control of her own mind; Maleficent hypnotizes her. Aurora does not want to prick her finger; Maleficent forces her to do it. And as an ordinary girl with no powers of her own, she has no chance of adequately fighting back against Maleficent’s magic. Yet even in that scene, we see her inner strength. The fairies yell “don’t touch anything!” and not only does Aurora hear them, she actually moves her hand back in obedience. Then Maleficent reiterates “touch the spindle” and overpowers her will once more. And as far as I’ve read and heard, everyone who watches the film understands this. I’ve never heard any blame thrown at Aurora (though I’m sure it’s been done sometime by some ignorant viewers). Everyone understands that this isn’t her fault, that she tried her best to resist but didn’t have a chance. She gains our sympathy, not our contempt or scorn.

So why can’t everybody extend Frodo Baggins the same courtesy? Maleficent’s indomitable power over Aurora is made clear in only one scene, but the Ring’s indomitable power over Frodo is made clear throughout an entire book / three entire movies. And Frodo’s strength is made even clearer … for 6 months straight, while walking thousands of miles on foot, he still resists it and fights it all the way into Mordor, all the way into the one place where the Ring would be in danger. And yet … some people still blame Frodo for being ultimately unable to defeat the Ring’s will in Mt. Doom?! They still say it’s his fault?! They still say he was weak and useless?! One reviewer actually wrote and printed that he “should’ve been executed in Gondor” for not destroying the Ring himself?!

What is WRONG with people?!!! Aurora and Frodo’s situations are pretty much the exact same - the only difference is that Frodo had it EVEN WORSE than Aurora. Wake up and smell the coffee, for heaven’s sake!!

I can’t believe there still exists a need for this point to be made. Yet I once again stumbled across words of Frodo hate and felt I had to put this out there.

[sergeantsporks]

Autistic Hunter Week Day 1: Special Interest/Infodump

@spinaroos-47

“Whatcha got there?” Luz tapped the table in front of Hunter to get his attention. “One of Eda’s?”

He lifted the book to show her the title without answering. Why Won’t My Palisman Eat? And Other Problems You May Encounter with Your Lifelong Partner.

“Is Flapjack okay?!”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“Because you’re… reading a book about how palisman get sick?”

“Sure. Did you know that they heal like regular animals if they get hurt? Even though they’re made of wood? But that would mean they’re generating palistrom wood by eating regular food! So hypothetically speaking, you could generate an infinite amount of palistrom wood by cutting off pieces of a palisman and then feeding it so it could heal!” he reached up to the palisman nestled in his hair and scratched its head. “Not that I would. Anymore.”

“Found a game hack,” Luz joked, “Infinite palistrom wood glitch. Why are you reading the book if there’s nothing wrong with Flapjack?”

“The books at the emperor’s coven weren’t really about how to take care of a palisman. There were a couple, but, well, you know. Not much need to take care of them when your plan is to…” Hunter shook his head. “Anyway, there are a ton of weird things palisman can do.” He held up a different book, this one called The Legend of the Palistrom. “Not sure how accurate this is, it’s a mythic folklore kind of story about the first palisman, but there’s bound to be some truth in it, right? Because legends are usually based on fact. It was a nice story, though.”

Luz sat down at the table as he flipped the cover of a book back and forth.

“Supposedly, palisman can hold memories from the perspective of their witch, but no one’s said how to activate and view it yet, not in any of the books I’ve read. Is it like a memory in the mindscape where you can enter it? Or is it more like an echo mouse eating a book and being able to project it as something to watch? And—okay, get this, this is weird, a palisman can not only recognize descendants of its owner, BUT will also recognize palisman carved by its owner’s family as a kind of blood relative! But it DOESN’T recognize a palisman carved from its own tree as a sibling. That being SAID, there’s an old legend that if you carve your palisman from the same tree as the tree of your betrothed, you’ll be partnered for life. The explanation behind it is that your palisman is your lifelong partner, so if you carve yours from the same wood… but that doesn’t make a lot of sense, does it? I mean, if they don’t recognize each other as siblings regularly, why would partners matter? Unless it’s a combination of the family recognition AND being carved from the same tree? I don’t know, it’s probably just a romance legend that doesn’t have any fact built into it. Just sentiment, you know?”

“Probably,” Luz agreed, “It sounds sweet, though.”

“If you’re into that kind of thing. You know, all of the books mention that palisman all speak the same language, but I’ve DEFINITELY heard different sounds coming from them, and Gus and Willow’s don’t really make sounds at all—wait, hey, how do Gus and Willow know what they’re saying?!” He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back and holding his hand out for Flapjack to turn into a staff.

“Where are you going?”

“To ask them. Duh.”

And in a flash of gold, he was gone.

[sp1tkink]

hey, sorry to ask, but could you do a sdv elliot x fisher reader 🤭 if not, that’s alright! i don’t wanna take your time from ya

of course! :D, im not too into elliot’s story but i’ll go based off of what i’ve seen and heard,,,

pairing: (sdv!)elliot/(gn! fisher!)reader

wc: 1.09k

cw: spoilers to elliot’s heart events, mutual pinning, fluff, gender neutral (no gender specific terms), use of platonic nicknames (bucko by willy), established friendship, friends to lovers

wiping your brow and setting your fishing rod to the side, you marveled at your small bounty of sea creatures. having caught three fish, combined with your walk through cindersap forest, plus your stops to greet your neighbors had worn you out.

an exasperated sigh flew past your lips as your legs dangled over the edge of the dock, you knew your work wasn’t done yet. turning back to check the clock on willy’s storefront, you were met with a certain long haired man walking by, gazing off at the water. “OH- my, goodness!” you yelled before chuckling nervously, “you scared me!”

elliot chuckled back softly before his gaze shifted back to the sea, “i thought you’d be used to seeing me by now.” he hummed, “i’m afraid not.” the man playfully chided much to your, just as playful, dismay.

you’ve been living in stardew valley for a while now and built up a decent relationship with elliot. he’d shown you around his cabin numerous times, played his piano for you, and invited you to a book reading he’d hosted in the local museum/library in town. he’s supported you too! in his own ways, of course.

he based a couple of scenes in his books on you, inspired entire books off of the interactions you’ve had, complimented you on your fishing skills along with other things of the sort. you enjoyed it, the brief gleam of joy in his eyes when you tell him you liked a song or excerpt he wrote, it made you want the dream of living in pelican town to never end.

you hadn’t realized it but in the midst of your thinking, elliot had walked away. maybe this was why you weren’t used to him, he’d always been disappearing just as quickly as he appeared. you knew he had his own schedule, but visiting his house was always an option, so you’d do it later.

standing up, you decided to pack up your things and head home, briefly stepping into willy’s to sell any fish that you didn’t need to donate to the junimo at the community center. on your way home, you made a took quick detour to the saloon only to be greeted by elliot once again. you ordered and found a seat with some familiars of the right-corner table of the place.

elliot was spewing his usual poetic nonsense which you couldn’t help but laugh at his slurred tone caused by the strong wine he often drank when he visited. sharing one last chat with clint and willy, you decided to focus more on your food, not wanting to be fatigued the next morning. though, you couldn’t help but notice the not-so-subtle glances elliot was taking from across the saloon.

given you’d been doing the same thing occasionally, you didn’t think he was too. admittedly you were a bit flustered and this didn’t go unnoticed by willy or even ‘the romantically oblivious’ clint. “you should talk to him.” he stated bluntly nearly prompting you to spit out your food. “it’s not like you don’t know the boy, and not to mention we all saw you leaving pierre’s with those flowers.” willy added.

you swallowed your food and grinning defeatedly seeing as your purchase earlier this week outed you. it’s not like you weren’t going to give elliot the bouquet, you’d just been building up the courage to.

“you’re the same person who told me to go for it with emily? seriously? i find that hard to believe.” clint grunted, taking a sip from his stein of beer. “okay, well, don’t act like that. you got with her didn’t you?” you huffed back, waving your fork around before hiding your face behind the glass of your wine—that elliot had bought you earlier that night—in even more defeat. “which is just the reason you should go and splay your feelings to elliot, bucko.” willy prodded matter-of-factly, moving the bottle away from your face.

standing up, you placed a pouch of gold on the table. “i’ll do it. tomorrow. and if i don’t! i owe you both double this!“ you announced catching the attention of sam, sebastian, and abigail—who’d just been a room away—causing them to snicker at your seemingly random announcement.

willy and clint laughed in amusement at the bet, “we’ll take it, i could always use a little extra cash, you haven’t stopped by to process any geodes lately.” clint chortled. “i won’t even owe you a silver dollar!“ you guffawed, snatching up your bottle of wine and heading to the door.

the next day came faster than you’d expected, it almost made you wish you never stepped foot out of that bar with the thought that the night would have gone slower if you hadn’t.

you took your time watering your crops and feeding your animals, hoping that somehow they’d convince you to go give the bouquet to elliot. fortunately you did it yourself, after checking your personal stash you realized you didn’t have enough gold to renovate your home and pay the men for the bet so you’d just have to perk up and confess.

on your way to elliot’s you greeted your friends around town, emily in particular noticing the bouquet and cheering you on before quickly sending you on your way by shoving you out of her house and on your way to the bridge. “you can do this!” she loudly whispered, the giddiness she’d been holding in becoming evident when she spoke. “okay… okay!” you reassured her and yourself.

walking onto the beach, you notice elliot dusting off the old boat that always sat next to his house and luckily enough he’s not quick to notice you just yet.

“ahem… uh. elliot!” you speak out, causing him to look up at you, flashing a brief smile before going back to dusting off his boat. “hello, the weather is just about right for a boat ride. willy says to give it another day though, something about those silly ‘tides’ and such.” elliot replied.

laughing dryly, you nod. “yeah… listen, um, i wanted to give you this.” holding the bouquet down to elliot, you notice his eye slightly widen and you couldn’t help but feel you made a mistake, but you waited for him to confirm your suspicion. “you really feel that way?” the question made you gulp, “i feel that way too!” he said cheerily. letting out an excited yelp, you hopped into the boat and hugged the red head tightly, “thank yoba!” sighing as you slid off of him, elliot gently ruffled your hair.

you felt relived that this was finally off your chest. smiling at elliot, you kissed his cheek and waved a pleased goodbye, breaking off into a run to willy’s not too soon after you left his eyeshot. “i told you i’d do it!” you yelled, swinging the door to his shop open.

THIS WAS LEGIT MY FIRST FIC(on tumblr), i really hope you enjoy, i did my best to proof read and everything

[theleakycauldrn]

compliments (o.g)

summary: you tell ominis some things you love about him

little ominis drabble. not my best, but here ya go.

fluff !!

 ・❥・

the comfortable silence filled the room around you, while you sat with ominis in a hidden corner in the library. he had asked you here on a ‘study date’. he had one more essay to finish, and he asked if you’d accompany him to the library. you had brought an old potions book with you to kill time, while he worked away. it was old and dusty, making you sneeze occasionally, which didn’t go unnoticed by madam scribner, the spine of the book was cracked with the pages almost falling out. you carefully hid it out of her view as she occasionally walked the library as if she’s expecting you to do something wrong.

you didn’t blame her though, it was an potions book sebastian had found in the restricted section, but before he could make his escape he was caught by peeves, resulting in yet another detention for him. he lended it to you for the time being while he served his time.

ominis’ foot tapped rapidly on the floor, eyebrows knitted in determination as he worked thorough his history of magic homework. you had already finished yours as you had the class together. but, he refused any help you offered to him.

a small smile grew on his face as he ended, leaning back in his chair with triumph. you took your attention away from reading as you noticed ominis shifting beside you.

‘finally done?’ you asked, watching him as he closed his eyes, looking as if he was about to fall asleep any minute.

‘yes. i don’t know how you finished yours so fast. even the thought of it makes me drowsy.’ he laughed, opening his eyes again, as he looked in your direction. ‘how’s the book sebastian ‘borrowed’?’

you laughed at his change of tone. ‘there’s some potions in here i’ve never even heard of. veritaserum - a truth potion.’

he nodded as you listed of some of the ingredients and the brewing process aloud from the book. you stopped yourself mid sentence as you looked up from your book at him. there were strands falling out of place from his usual slicked back hair from him running his hands through it, his smile that you adored was still resting on his lips while you spoke.

’is something wrong, my love?’ he questioned, a look of sudden confusion took over his features, over why you cut yourself off. the mere mention of the nickname he called you melted your heart.

‘I love your smile.’ you admired, ignoring his question. he looked unbelievably good today, not that he didn’t every day, but you wanted to let him know. you placed your book down on the table in front of you. you spun in your seat to face him.

‘i-what?’ he stuttered, caught off guard from the sudden compliments. he looked down, trying to hide the flush of read that was rapidly spreading over his usual pale skin.

‘and you eyes,’ you continued. you reached out, gently placing your hand on his cheek. ‘and your beauty marks.’

you softly traced along his face, connecting the dots making an imaginary shape. the feeling of butterflies was rapidly building in his stomach as you spoke. ominis was not one to do well with compliments. he was usually a confident person, never one to dwell much on looks. but, he did always have a lingering sense of insecurity that surrounded him. his family never let him forget about what a disgrace his disability made him, on top of him disagreeing with their ways. he couldn’t see himself, so he truly didn’t know how he looked. he had a general idea, his hair colour, eye colour, how tall he is, etc. and, when he did confide in sebastian about his insecurity, he never failed to tell him ‘ominis you’re a handsome guy, you don’t have to anything to worry about’.

yet, he never fully believed that until he met you.

‘i love you.’ you practically whispered as you finished your ramble. his head immediately snapped back up, looking in your direction. you waited patiently, as you both sat in silence. the silence now felt crushing as it felt like his cloudy eyes were staring directly into you. you two had been together for quite some time now, and you’ve been trying to build up the courage for the past few months to finally say it. ‘don’t feel any pressure to say anything back. i just wanted to tell you how i feel.’

it instantly apologized, reaching out and feeling along your leg to your find hand that rested in your lap.

‘i just needed a moment to take in what you were saying. i love you. more than anything.’