#going to sleep now just dusting out the cobwebs

[anime-nymph]

Sorry I havent gotten around to responding to you guys

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, I imagine that Soap is around 5'11, which is not short at all, even if it seems so if you look at the people he works with.

However, from his whole family, he is the tallest.

His da is 5'8, his brother is 5'9, his sisters are 5'2 and 5'3 and his mam is 5' nothing. To his family, Johnny is not only tall but also overgrown.

(This is also why entering the military was a shock to the system --- Soap was used to being pretty tall if not the tallest person around and then boom, he's smol)

The first time Soap takes Ghost to his family home, he is instantly named a giant. Literally, his mam when she sees him says something along the lines of 'and I thought my boy was a giant' and his da makes the typical joke of 'what does the army feed you?' and one of Soap's sister says she 'woulda climb him like a tree too if she had the chance' and his brother goes all 'was gonna give the fella a shovel talk but I think he's too big too bury by myself any case'. Soap is so embarrassed by them but Ghost is awkwardly shy anytime his height is pointed out.

On top of it, he tries to help Soap's mam in the kitchen (I like to think he likes to cook) and there is the comical image of her, standing there tiny at 5'0 and Ghost towering over her at 6'3 or 6'4 (Soap's not sure, Simon slouches often) and trailing behind her as she orders him around. There's literally a moment when she goes to grab herself a step ladder to reach something on the top shelf and Ghost just stretches his arm a bit and gets it for her. She might or might not ask if he can dust the cobwebs from the corners of the ceilings she can't reach herself. (Ghost dusts the cobwebs, duh, even if Johnny can't snicker at him enough).

Johnny's brother uses Ghost's height to make his kid eat his veggies, 'if you eat your veggies, you're going to grow as tall as him'. Ghost goes along with it.

The kids in general treat him like a walking jungle gym --- especially because he's not only tall but also strong enough to function as a walking jungle gym. One of Soap's nieces who used to love piggyback rides from him now insists Ghost has to be the one because he makes her feel taller than Soap does.

They're supposed to sleep in Soap's childhood bedroom and Soap's da brings in an ottoman and a couple of pillows so Ghost's feet 'don't stick out'. Soap laughs it off until he realizes that Ghost's feet would, in fact, stick out from his tiny double bed if he slept straightened out.

[bowieandqueen11]

Strawberry and Black Tea / Sanji Imagine

Request: for the fluffy sanji request-- maybe sanji and the reader end up sleeping in each other's rooms one night because its hard for them to sleep apart. reader gives sanji a good night kiss and he just falls into a lovesick puddle on the floor.

Something short and sweet because this idea is so so lovely, thank you anon!! :)

Warning: mentions of child abuse!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes @suuho.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

It was the Iron Mask that had left Sanji with such a distaste for the dark.

Even now, lying tossing and turning in his bunk on the Going Merry, the dark starlight that creeped through the lone porthole seemed to do nothing but shroud his eyes in a long-suppressed misery. It reminded him far too much of home. Of his father. Of nights spent trembling in dank corners: nothing but the touch of flimsy cobwebs against his outreached hands, and the ratchet of his own voice cawing off the empty stone chamber to ease the frightened child.

Until his paranoid eyes couldn’t tell of the receding monstrous shadow shrivelling up the tower was the receding form of his father, or the unyielding loosening of shrill’s death fingers rasping uneasily across the stone wall by his cage, finally come to fulfil her promise to take him away.

She grew closer and closer, until her liripipe seemed to crow through the bars as she leant down through the shadows to kiss his forehead.

He started scrambling back desperately along the dirty dust, still too young and inexperienced with the true hardships of his life to try and face them head on. Instead he buried his head into his crossed arms, tried his hardest to calm his panting breath, closed his eyes and squeezed. It was the only way, he thought in that tumultuous moment, it was the only at he would be able to hold onto his sanity. To pretend it was you. To pretend it was you. To believe it was you.

A rat scurried out of a hole between cracked shackles, sniffing the air as it noticed Sanji cowering in the corner: the same boy who had showed the rodent such kindness only e weeks before, feeding it leftover scraps of his mother’s favourite crumble, trying his best to clear the dish before his father realised it was missing. The poor thing ran over to Sanji’s shoe, it’s tiny claws pinching into the forgotten prince’s skin as it raised its little body up closer to him. But to that child - oh, that poor child - it was like bony fingernails biting into his bone and extruding coarse chills straight to the bone.

She had come. The wrong person had come. So he did what any young child would do. He started screaming.

He screamed your name. He screamed for his ma, until the screams died, choked by the wails sticking in his throat. Then he whimpered, clawing at the metal screwed against his cheeks until his fingernails were left stunted, jagged, bloodied.

He thought about how alone he was, but realised quickly that wasn’t what made him so sad. He thought about you: how you would react, how heartbroken you would be when his father announced to the world that the young Prince has perished in a terrible accident. He imagined your tear streaked face as you would watch the faux funeral procession parade in a cheerful solemnity down past the main market and into the sea, stealing away into the alleyway and seeing how alone you were.

Most of all, he felt guilty. Guilty that this was all his fault. That he had proved his brothers right. He was weak. He had destroyed his mother. He had ruined you. He was weak. And so he crumpled into a ball, falling onto his side and allowing the sweet embrace of the shadows to lap over him.

His cries had quickly fallen into pitiful whimpers. Then quiet sobs, jolting his body forward in convulsions that had left him gasping for breath every few minutes or so, only broken by the almost angelic sound of the iron wrought door being shoved unsteadily open, and the pained whisper from the top of the stairs. ’Sanji? Sanji! Where the- ow- are you?!’

'Y/-Y/n?' He clambered to his knees, and shoved his arms desperately through the bars, as if he could levitate you down towards him. 'I'm here! I'm here - please! Y/n!' His little fists began to bang on the bars as he scraped up to lean on his knees. 'Help me - get me out, please! She's going to kill me!'

It took you less than thirty seconds to scale down the remaining steps, nearly flying chin first down into the dirt. You didn't care though: not when Sanji's fingernails sliced desperately into your skin and burrowed into the meat of your arm, tugging your forehead against the cool metal of his own. You did your best to cup his face between the clunky mask, pressing your fingers down to his neck and pulling him even closer to you. 'It's alright - it's alright. I'm here. I'm going to get you out of here, Sanj. We're going to run, we're going to get away.'

He refused to let you go, even as you bit your lower lip in concentration and wiggled into your pocket to pull out a stash of bobby pins you had pilfered from Vinsmoke Reiju when you had slipped into the castle. Poor Sanji nearly flies backwards onto his behind when you finally manage to click the locked gate open, yet the realisation hardly seems to dawn on him; he's leapt on you in a second flat, knees knocking the wind out of your stomach as he tumbles his torso against your awaiting hug.

'You came', he heaved out between sobs, shoving his grimacing face into the throbbing pulse point on your neck, 'you came back for me... why would you come back for me.'

The absolute dejection in the final warble of his desperate plea made you bite down on your tongue so harshly, you had to shove it against the roof of your mouth for a moment to stop yourself from spluttering on blood. 'Because, Sanj... because you're my best friend. And I love you. And we made a promise, didn't we? We're going to go find the All Blue, but we're only going to do it together. Not one without the other, right?'

He head bobs quickly, desperately. Shaking fingers latch tighter into your back, and although he wants nothing more than to grab onto your fingers and fly to freedom up that winding staircase, he slides his legs to the side and comes to sit awkwardly on your lap like a frail bird. The soft tip of his nose tickles the shell of your ear as he whispers: 'like black tea and strawberry?'

You snort, but nod your head against the side of his curls, tightening your grip around the shaking expanse of his spine. 'Yes chef, like black tea and strawberry. Even though that sounds absolutely disgusting.' His laugh- god, his laugh was so warming, even if the sound cracks, hoarse and low as his face balls up. What was less welcome, though, were the few pearly tears that slipped past the cracks slats covering his eyes and began to trace down an old bruised hollow that lay sharp and gaunt on his neck.

'I'm sorry- I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry-', he starts to panic again, one eye blinking open as he stares into the inky depths of the umbral shade gathering over your heads. 'This is my fault. It's my fault we have to leave.'

'No.' You grab onto his shirt, nearly making him wince, but both of you refuse to unlatch from the other. 'No. This is not your fault. This will never be your fault, and I don't want you to think that for a second.'

The authoritativeness behind your shaking words was almost enough to make him believe you.

He nods slowly, but you can tell he's doing it just to placate you. 'I love you too, by the way', he sniffles, finally leaning back enough so he could wipe what he deemed as an unsightly amount of snot away from his nose. More than you know. More than he could even put into words. More than his young, frightful heart could even yet understand. He's too bashful to look you in the eye, instead skimming his eyes quickly over the torn threads of his kneecap, but finally allowing himself a respite of calm in the knowledge that the love he had been so desperately begging for hadn't abandoned him.

Before the adrenaline could rush out of his body, he leant forward with his head still bowed, and kissed your cheek as best he could in the darkness.

You hadn't left him. You hadn't: you never would. The revelation seems to shift the world around him, coaxing him into believing the sweet twilight sleeting across his eyes was sunlight instead; even though he still felt like his life was spent as a coin flipping through the air, so unsure of where it will land - of where it belongs - of the choices it will wrought, it felt a little easier afterwards, knowing he would eventually land. That it was your hand that would catch him.

He still hated the dark. And he still loved you more than life itself. Which is why you weren't surprised to find yourself running around your room at nearly one in the morning, trying your best to discreetly gather your bed sheets and sneak off towards the boy's cabin.

Before you could even finish gathering your pillow into your arms, the melodic rapt of Sanji's knuckles had rung out through the door. It took you less than thirty seconds to slide across the planks and fling it open, but it took the poor chef a lot longer to catch his breath and try to look more put together; he was doing his best to look suave by the way he was leaning his elbow against the doorframe, but the wind swept hair gave away the fact that he had come running over the side of the ship to get to you. The soft pant of his breath, the ruddy cheeks, the slight spasm of his abdominal muscles through his half-unbuttoned dress shirt, the scratch of his teeth against his inner lip line: you knew his tell-tale sings, his idiosyncrasies far too well. The man was flustered beyond belief, even if he did his best to cock his head and beam down at you.

What really gave it away - what really, really gave it away, though, was the fact that he literally had to clasp his hands together in front of his chest and wring them to stop them launching forward and grabbing onto you with the cloying, overwhelming power of eight octopus tentacles.

You almost have to shove your hand against your mouth to stifle your laugh at the way he flicked his head back to move the hair away from his eye: to anyone else, it would have seemed like an innocent tick. But he knew, and more importantly you knew too, that it was just so his glistening eyes could wander across your face, as if the lines and marks of your face mapped out the most beautiful treasure in all the seas.

'Well, my strawberry, I hope I didn't wake you from your beauty sleep. Not that you need it! But I, I was hoping, if you were to grace me with such luck, that I may come in-'

Before he can even finish, you've grabbed the knot of his tie and have hauled him across the door line like a fisherman reeling in his hook. Sanji goes flying, landing safely in your open arms, and flopping his back down pleasantly into your hammock. Sanji's eyes widen as he comes sliding down the material towards you, headfirst, stopped only when his chest does the job for him. His arms thump clumsily around your back, using his fall as an excuse to pull you as physically close to him as he can. He huddles up against you, his hand spreading across your shoulder blade and guiding your ear down to rest comfortably just above his right pec. You flush, pretending you don't feel the firm ripple of his tense muscle: don't hear the pounding shudder of his tell-tale heart.

'I'll take that as a yes, ma chérie.'

Distracted by the way your arm falls around his stomach, idly reaching up to curl back the stray edges of his fringe behind the corner of his eye again, his legs inch closer... and closer... and closer... until his left one has plunked down above your own. You have to bury your head into his neck to stop yourself from laughing at how incarnadine his face spreads, warm pink waves radiating off his cheeks as you lift up your knees and slide your free leg in between the heavy weight of his thighs. Bless his heart, it must have taken some exertion to hold it the way he did, making sure not to place his full weight on you, but just enough that the contact was physically there.

'You know', Sanji starts, once he has calmed his heart from beating so rapidly he feared it may have flopped out through his throat, 'Zeff used to give me a kiss goodnight.'

You lift your head to stare at him incredulously. 'No he didn't. I was there for only... uh...', you lift the arm hanging over the soft skin of his bellybutton to ostentatiously count on your fingers, waving them in front of his face. 'Hm, look at that - fifteen years!?'

He leans his head down until his chin is tucked into his neck, and does his best to try and hide the way his lips are warbling into a grin; he tries to play it off as him finding your antics amusing, as he strokes his fingers tenderly over the warm cotton on your shoulder, but inside he's just so beyond giddy to know that you remembered. To know that you had been together so long. To know that after all this time, after all the two of you had been through, he would gladly dredge through the unspeakable caliginosity again, if it meant he could always arrive at this moment. If it meant, no matter what his life threw at him, he could spend every moment of it by your side.

Even if the shadows are juddering up the walls of the girl's cabin too: even if your stroking fingers can't mask the memories of death's sharp knuckles stretching out across the walls. Even if he were to land, right now, in the waves: if he were to capsize and drown, he would be happy. He would be happy, because it was your hand instead. Your hand.

Too timid still, too apprehensive to admit that which had been a heavy weight holding down the flight of his sweet heart, he hides his love behind canorous tease.

'Yeah, well, Zeff did it when he could be arsed. Which I’m pretty sure was never.'

You snort, and he delights at the sound that he had drawn out. His vice like grip on your side tightens, but you decide better than to tease him for the way he begins squirming himself against you. He finally settles properly on his side, the bridge of his nose so dangerously close to yours that you can feel the shallow warmth of his breath brush over your bottom lip.

'Well-', he starts, trying to distract himself from your proximity. He was failing horribly, of course, because his eyes kept falling down to stare blankly at the seam of your lips. 'This does sure beat sleeping on the dungeon floor, even if we do have to put up with Luffy's snoring.'

'Hm, the dungeon wasn't too bad. Cosy', you say teasingly, letting your finger dance down the shell of his ear, pointing the tip against the jut of his chin and lifting his gaze with a smirk.

'How'd you figure that, sweetheart?' The feel of your finger against his skin, no matter how miniscule the touch, was enough to make the fibres of his body burn with such a want that it almost scared him.

'Because... it was the first place you ever kissed me.'

Sanji starts, eyes widening as he feels his limbs turn to stone.

He can't hide in the shadows anymore. Now, he has to come into the light. Has to let himself be free.

'Yeah, well strawberry', he wets his bottom lip with a dart of his tongue, and folds himself further down the hammock so his knees are drawn warmly up against your own. The shaking of his torso is only overshadowed by the widening of his eyes, so full of deep wonder the dams might have burst and drowned you if he hadn't spent so years cautiously restraining himself. You draw a finger down the pulse point of his neck, and he feels that resolve weaken.

He feels like that frightened boy again, but he knows it has to be now. He knows he's been lucky to have had the luxury of borrowed time, but the bell has tolled: the bill has come due, and now he must admit the truth of his life - of his soul - of his heart, for he doesn't know when it will become too late.

He wanted to kiss you. God, he had wanted to kiss you so badly for fifteen years it hurt. Now, now he was going to create his own light: he was going to thrive, in spite of it all. He was going to allow that child to live. The cage was open. He was free. His choices were decided by nobody now but by his own ruling, his own compassion, and he had wasted far too many years training himself to be sceptical, precise, composed.

'... If you may be so kind as to permit it... I think this beautiful ship might end up being the second.' He leans his torso forward, and after a bashful burn flickers over his cheeks, he squeezes his eyes shut and plants a wet kiss against your cheek, just like he had done all those years before.

He suddenly becomes hyperaware of it all: of the closeness of your thigh against his own: slick, naked, vulnerable below your pyjama shorts. Your warm breath, inching closer and closer to his trembling mouth as he juts his head back to look warily at you, so afraid he's messed everything up.

But then you surprise him; you rush forward, overwhelming and crushing in the way your lips pliantly slide over his own, licking against the inside of his bottom lip as it drops open, breathlessly.

He had been waiting for this - over and over since the two of you were children. This thought - the idea that he would finally get here was the only thing that had kept him grounded. Kept him sane. And so he kissed you back: heartily, heavily, with a slipping mouth awaiting your tongue, and clawing fingers coming up to rapt into your cheeks as if you were something fleeting: as if he were still spinning in mid-air, waiting for the shadows to snuff the light out again.

When you finally find the strength, the resilience to pull away, neither of you seem to be able to muster the courage to just finally admit the truth you had both always known. Sanji, instead, looks youthfully shy as he tries to hide his wanting - god, so longing gaze behind his fringe once more, although his tongue can't help but prod against his bottom lip as if in disbelief.

'Like strawberry and black tea, right?', he finally asks against the side of your mouth, nudging his nose against your own and smiling fondly.

'Like strawberry and black tea.'

[eternal-kosmo-ghoul]

ur iv fic was so good 🥺 could you do some comfort with vess? idk reader had a really bad day n he basically spoils them n gives them love? <3

❝alexithymia❞

➵ “sometimes, even the darkest of spirits can prove to be the most welcoming in dire times” —❤︎

pairing: vessel x gn!reader

theme: fluff ✿ , slight angst ❦

a/n: this is just pure, tooth-rotting fluff w vessel. it’s a complete contrast to my first smut fic w him lmao. also i hope you’re doing well anon!

cw: reader is bad at expressing emotions. overprotective vessel. lots of comfort and fluff

┅✦┅

sometimes there was comfort in the dark.

only sometimes. tonight was one of those few exceptions.

prior to that, you were curled up underneath the bed, cobwebs and dust scattered everywhere, but none of that mattered. there was only a handful of soft and plus items that you could cling to, at least to try and soothe your pain.

what a mess you were. curled up in fetal position like a weak kitten, only having your own arms to comfort yourself and try to create some sort of warmth.

but there was barely anything warm in the abysmal coldness that swelled in your heart.

as you silently sobbed to yourself, an alluring darkness peeked underneath the bed, observing you with the utmost curiosity.

“bad day?”

you looked up from where you were curled up to observe where the voice came from. a commanding, yet enchanting presence was observing you with a curious, yet slightly concerned look. you couldn’t see his face, but his aura emitted his emotions strongly enough for you to say.

“mmh.” you hummed back quietly, voice slightly crisp from your silent crying.

the dark one frowned underneath his mask. vessel has been a being that had popped up every now and then in your bedroom, the sleep entity who was known to visit people at the strike of midnight and consume their everlasting dreams. he was one to be feared, but you’ve grown used to his presence.

for some reason, he kept on visiting you frequently, and you grew less scared of him, more so tolerating his presence. however, you’ve never seen him be.. tender, or at least show one basic empathetic emotions.

vessel just sighed and stood up, looking away from underneath the bed. you thought he was going to finally leave you alone.

that was until you felt a surge of darkness from underneath the bed scoop you up from under the bed and into your mattress, making you squeak from surprise. you sat up to look at the dark, almost alluring being looming over you.

“y/n.” vessel stated firmly. “tell me, what’s going on?”

you didn’t know what to say. i mean— this incredibly powerful, almost otherworldly being, was asking how you were doing? you felt like you were in a novel.

it was kind of sweet knowing vessel had the heart to ask about your mental state.

but at the same time, you didn’t want to open up, at least not yet. you were too caught up in your storm of emotions.

sighing and turning your head, you faced the wall against your bed, and you could hear vessel’s disappointment in his sigh. but nonetheless, he understood.

“i see.” he started out.

vessel thought to himself for a moment. how could he comfort this mere mortal? and more importantly, why was he doing this? no human has ever drawn his attention like this. no, he was too good for that. anyone who dares to even be within his vicinity should bask in his presence.

whatever it was, vessel was going to have to worry about that later. the sleep entity just groaned and disappeared for a moment, before coming back with a pile of stuffed animals.

“here.” he spoke. “take these. if you’re not gonna talk, at least take my help.”

you looked up at him confused, almost mind-blown. was this real? if you weren’t so deeply rooted in your own mind, you would’ve asked vessel what the hell he was going.

noticing your hesitance, vessel sighed. he wasn’t too good at this human, comforting stuff. but he was going to try.

“well?” he asked again, his tone slightly more firm.

noticing his urgency, you just nodded before taking the stuffed animals in his arms. as you looked through the pile, you realized that all of these plushies were of your favorite animals and brands. there’s no way this could’ve been a coincidence. vessel must’ve been paying attention to your interests during the times he stalks you in your sleep.

noticing how your eyes gleamed a bit, a slight chuckle escaped his lips. “yeah, i knew you’d like these ones. i know you’re not much of a talker, but i know what you like.”

he didn’t know what force of satan compelled him to do this, but vessel shimmied around to sit himself behind you, and hug you from behind, drawing you to his cold, firm chest. your eyes widened from the contact, but you didn’t protest.

“just relax, y/n.” vessel spoke in a more soft tone. “whatever it is, i’ll do my best to comfort you. even if i don’t understand any of this human shit.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. that certainly made you feel a little bit better. smiling softly, vessel sighed and rested his chin on the top of your head, drawing you closer to his body.

his body was cold, and his hands were calloused and dark. but there was a strange comfort in his hold. subconsciously, you intertwined your fingers with his. vessel didn’t protest, he could feel your body start to relax and your emotions start to calm down.

a strange surge of protectiveness overtook vessel’s body. he’s never seen a human this distressed, and this desperate for comfort. you looked so little compared to him, and you just curled up in his form. vessel, the dark entity of sleep, was comforting a mere human.

he didn’t want to see you like this anymore. even if it went against his values, he was going to keep you safe and protected. vessel didn’t want to see you hurt like this again.

maybe it was the tike you both spent together that softened his empty heart.

he liked it.

and for the first time in a while, he felt warmth in his chest.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance takes the long way there, now.

He doesn’t have to. Technically, the way their rooms are set up, he’s barely any farther from the hanger he needs to be in come battle time. From the very beginning, it was he and Keith in the left wing by Blue and Red’s hangars, Hunk and Pidge in the right by Yellow and Green, and Shiro by the royal ring with Black. Shortest distance to their lions, most prepared for battle. It would probably make sense, logistically, for some room switching to happen, or at least for Keith to take Shiro’s room, but that’s…it’s not happening.

Lance has had the castle fully mapped out since his first month in space. Pidge may have reigned queen in the vents, but it was Lance who carefully marked down every tile that when stepped on opened a stairwell, every divot in the walls that cracked open a pathway. It was Lance to walk the six hours from the highest point of the castle’s peak to the lowest pitch of its bowels and boiler rooms. It was Lance who walked the echoing servant’s passages, brushing dust from his jacket when he made it back to a regular hallway only to realise that there wasn’t any, in a castle sealed for ten thousand years, not even a cobweb. (It was Lance, too, to discover the bunker rooms and hidden staircases of the Garrison. He most certainly didn’t sneak out every other night by merit alone. And further still it was Lance to knock on the wall behind his childhood bed and realise it was hollow, and find the tiniest of little holes, right where the wallpaper met the floorboards, just barely wide enough for narrow fingers to poke through and tug. Lance has always been good at finding small, hidden places, at poking and prodding until secrets are revealed to him. Lance has always been ineffably nosy, he’s just quieter about it.)

To get to Red’s hangar, you have to pass Blue’s. That’s how the rooms are set up. Blue’s zipline reaches out first, and twenty-two steps later is Red’s. On the first day after Lance had crawled on his hands and knees to beg by the barrier between him and his Lion, on yet another mission called to them in the night, Lance had swung down into Blue’s hangar by habit, and when his feet hit the floor he choked, realising, and had barely managed to sprint back up the way before Allura questioned why the zipline wasn’t at the beginning. He’d ducked into Red’s reluctant embrace with lungs that wouldn’t fully inhale and a throat that was closing.

He knew better than to try the passages, easier as they would be.

He avoided passing Blue’s hangar entirely, now. He already felt her absence, the gaping hole of her abandonment, all the way in his room, in the bridge, in the dining hall, in space. He felt the sharpness of it awake and in sleep. He felt it when he lay under his bed, knees pressed to his chest, eyes blank and head empty. He felt it when he felt nothing else. He couldn’t escape the hollow pain of her rejection, but he most certainly couldn’t stand to walk down the same paths he used to run, beam pulling at the muscles in his cheeks, heart galloping in his chest, sparks lighting up his head. The emptiness of her and of himself lingered there, in her spaces, and Lance couldn’t face them.

He goes around.

———

Lance knows it’s stupid and torturous. But he makes his way to the training room anyway, in the dead of night, once he hears Keith’s breathing finally slow through the thin wall separating their beds. It must take him an hour just to creep out of his bed and down the hall, socked feet soundless on the cool polymer floors, breath caught in his lungs, paranoid that someone is going to pop out behind him and ask him what the hell he’s doing (as if anyone has paid him that much scrutiny and attention in his life, except maybe Iverson).

Half of his hesitance is trepidation, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

The knowledge that this is a bad idea rings in his head for the entirety of the walk, but he banishes it the second he walks through the training room doors, locking them behind him, walking brashly in and throwing open the cabinet in the farthest corner. He snatches a headset before he can talk himself out of it, forcing his hands steady as he sticks the electrodes on his temple and under his hair at the back of his neck, like Coran did all those months ago. It feels far more daunting without the brush of the advisor’s gloves on his skin to accompany them.

He’s grateful at least that the headset doesn’t make him click through his own memories, search for particular snapshots the way he might search for sad songs when he’s already upset. It’s the same premise regardless, and he knows the only thing he’s going to do is devastate himself, but at least he’ll be devastated. At least that will be something.

The first memory to play must be early space, the first few days of the Voltron mission. There’s no death in his eyes yet. They look bright and brown and sparkling, the way they do in family photos, matching his mother and brothers and sisters. He watches as he crows, whooping to no one as he pushes Blue’s throttles as fast as they will go, whipping himself around in barrel rolls. There is no audio, but he can feel the team’s yelling in his head, the shouts to stay on task, but he remembers the way he felt like he was floating, like Blue’s energy was billowing around him, carrying him throw the air. He remembers feeling like his belly had bottomed out, like he was doing exactly what he was made to do.

The memory loops, same thirty seconds on repeat again and again and again and again and again and again and again and he lets it and he doesn’t cry and he doesn’t feel pain or sadness or loneliness or anything but the same bottomed out feeling, only now he knows he’s not floating, he’s falling, and every time he hits the ground it gives out from under him and he gets lower and lower and lower.

———

He ends up in Blue’s hangar by necessity. He knows Allura’s head injury is worse than she is letting on, and he’s simply closer to her.

He doesn’t let himself think as he sprints to her. He doesn’t let himself take in his surroundings (the deep blue accents the faint smell of the ocean the pinned up drawings from kids he’s gotten over the weeks and months the blankets and pillows he kept in the corner for rough nights the gigantic bottle of nail polish he had Coran synthesize for him to paint Blue’s claws the the the the the), keeping his eyes firmly on Blue’s, telling himself he’s not looking at her but through her, to his friend, who is hurt, who needs his help. By the time he makes it to Allura, by the time he helps her out of her seat and down the ramp, Coran has already come rushing in with his armful of medical supplies, whisking her away to a pod. He hears the rest of the team talking at the other end of the zipline, waiting for them, and he wills himself to follow them, for his feet to move, for his legs to function, and they don’t, and his knees stay locked, and suddenly he is a butterfly pinned through the chest, stuck in a glass box.

One by one, starting from the outer lights and making their way to the centre of the hangar where he stands, the overhead lights flick off, plunging him into flickering darkness except for the faint blue emergency lights, and the glow of Blue’s particle barrier up between them, and the deep yellow of Blue’s headlights. His eyes begin to lose focus, with the lighting change, until he is not staring through the particular barrier but at it, at his own reflection, at the way it lines up perfectly with the Blue Lion.

His legs give out from under him.

He’s not sure he feels it when he hits the ground. He’s lucky he doesn’t hit his head, although that’s in part because he cannot tear his eyes away, as if they are tied on a string to the Blue Lion. He feels stuck, and his mouth feels glued.

“You left me,” he manages, voice smaller than it’s ever been. He doesn’t feel her prodding at his mind in response, not like he should, but unless it is wishful thinking there’s a sharpness in the air now, the stunning smell of regret and of pain.

He wants to sink into it. He wants to let it envelop him, wants to let himself feel it in full, but he can’t, he doesn’t know how to let it seep into his pores. He tried to strain his ears, his mind, anything, to hear her, hear her apologise or excuse herself or anything, even tell him straight that she is done with him.

He thinks of how his best friend has been pulling away from him for weeks, how he chased after the taxi that drove his sister to the airport when she left for school, how he used to leave a space for his father’s boots every single day by the door long after everyone else had given up, how he would duck away from the first of his mother’s kisses when she picked him up from preschool, sniffling. There is a toddler in his head, feet planted on the floor, hands clenched at his side, tears and snot screaming down his face, cheeks bright red in rage, screaming at the top of his lungs YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME BEHIND! YOU DON’T WANT ME ANYMORE! YOU LEFT ME AND I WILL NEVER EVER FORGIVE YOU! and the voice is loud and echoing and the only thing he can hear and he has heard it all his life and he has never learned how to block it out, how to make it go away, and it will never go away and never grow up.

“I hate you,” he chokes out, and the lie is bitter on its way out of his throat, and he doesn’t regret it at all.

He drags his legs upright and steady with his hands and flees.

———

pt 2

[loveydovey-leviathan]

ramshackle is alive.

gn!reader

.

you’ve always wondered how the hell this entire building was still standing. you’d think crowley would’ve demolished it by now, technically it’s a waste of space. it hasn’t had inhabitants for who knows how long.

but you’re grateful. you have a place to go to when the day ends, it’s the one thing you have in common with the rest of your friends. and while the floors are always creaking and the doors and windows never really keep the wind out- it’s something. and it is much better than nothing at all.

you’ve taken the time to meticulously clean and organize the rooms, the little bit of allowance you have all goes to the dorm and food. it’s tiresome but incredibly worth it; watching the house slowly turn from desolate and cold to a place of warmth and love.

slowly, ever so slowly. the house seems to... change, but only for you and grim, it seems. it’s brighter- more alive. the doors open easily despite your friends complaining it’s always locked, there are no longer shadows that seem to chase after you when walking through the hallways. the rooms you’re in are always warm and you notice that you no longer wake up at night shivering from the cold. 

you could say that it’s because of all the work you put in, but the feeling that the house you now call home here in twisted wonderland can’t be shaken off. the dorm being magic would explain a lot of what you’re experiencing.

you’ve asked the ghosts, but all they said was “maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. does it really matter?” you’ve asked crowley, but he wasn’t much help.

but you suppose your roommates were right. did it matter? you’d take care of the place you live either way. you’ll continue to clean the floors and dust the shelves, you’ll continue to sleep and study there, you’ll continue eating and inviting your friends over. the ramshackle dorm is home to you, and it will continue being so until you leave.

ramshackle was always so busy. its hallways bustling with life during the day, the occupants constantly chatting, laughing, playing- and when comes night it’s quiet and peaceful as the day ends. the ‘leader’ of the dorm turns off the lights and tells everyone to go to sleep, and (most of them) listen. the rooms are now filled with quiet snores and silent mumbling. and the cycle continues day after day.

but then they are gone.

there is no one to dust the shelves and clean the floorboards. there is no one to clean the cobwebs and shake away the spiders that make home in the corners. there is no one silently reading, no one studying. everything is still. everything is silent.

the house grows bitter over the many years it is empty. it prevents anyone from coming in, and the few that do swiftly leave once they see its pitiful state. 

but then a trio of ghosts come along and fill a tiny part of the dorm’s heart. they play and laugh and shout, just like their previous occupants did. it tries to make them leave at first, hate still in its soul for the pain of being abandoned still hasn’t healed. but they are ghosts, and no matter what it did, they would not depart.

overtime it grows used to their company, and they are grateful that someone finally lives in its walls. but regardless, it is not the same. for the dead cannot take care of it as the living can.

then you come. 

it is harsh at first, like it was to their late occupants. doors that won’t open, shadows that chase across hallways- but nothing changed. you still stayed along with that devilish cat you like to follow around.  and you take care of it. its floorboards are clean, cobwebs are gone, shelves are rid of dust. it is not perfect but there is only so much one can do. 

and it warms up to you. slowly, surely, eventually. it no longers makes strange sounds to scare you away, the doors open only for you, the lights shine brighter and the room is warmer when you walk in. 

it is happy. it may only inhabit one, but this one tries their best to take care of it like many others before it. it becomes a home again, slowly, but surely.

[lucyheartfiliqx]

His home

Ship: Natsu Dragneel x Lucy Heartfilia

Summary: Natsu finds out that Lucy’s gone on a date, and he doesn’t quite know how to feel about it.

This is the first time I’ve written anything for Tumblr, I hope anyone who sees this enjoys it! :)

_________________________________________________

“Damn, I’m stuffed. This new fire roast of yours is so good, Mira.”

“It really doesn’t take much Natsu. You literally just set the thing on fire.”

“You set them on fire so well thouuuggghhhh.”

It was the early evening, and Natsu and Happy had just come back from a job. It wasn’t difficult, all they had to do was protect a merchant and his wears as he travelled from one town to the next. The money they’d made, which wasn’t much anyway, went straight into Natsu and Happy’s meal. They didn’t regret it one bit.

He wiped his face with his sleeve and stood up. “Right, we’re off to Lucy’s. See you later!”

“Oh no you can’t Natsu, she’s busy right now.”

He turned around to look her, “doing what? Is she out on a job? She went alone?”

“No, no she’s…. on a date!”

Natsu’s eyes became saucers. Mira cupped her hands over her mouth, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

“A date you say? How dare she not tell me…” Erza muttered, who could hear the conversation from where she sat nearby.

“Juvia thinks we should stalk!”

“Gray thinks so too.”

“Guys… no.” Came Wendy’s voice from a little further away.

“Oh, Lucy’s going to have me dead by morning. I can’t tell you much about it, but…”

Natsu had stopped listening, the cogs in his brain slowly trying to process this new, shocking information. Hit feet carried him to a bench in the corner of the guild. He slumped down and placed his chin on the table, eyes still wide. Happy followed him over, “hey, you good?”

“…I don’t know.”

The sun had completely set by the time Natsu forced himself up and out of the guild. He began to wander home with Happy slightly lagging behind. He sped up a little every so often to see if Natsu looked like he was in a talking mood, but he never seemed to be. His eyes were trained on the pavement and his feet kept catching on it, not bothering to pick them up properly as he walked.

“…You okay buddy?” He eventually asked, catching up enough to reach Natsu’s shoulder.

He didn’t respond at first. “I’m fine,” he muttered eventually, “just tired. I wanna go home.”

“Why don’t we go to Lucy’s?” He chirped, “we always go to Lucy’s.”

“She’s busy.”

“She won’t be by now, she’s probably back.”

“Let’s just go home, Happy.”

The conversation was decidedly ended on Natsu’s end after that. He picked up his speed and said no more, leaving Happy behind again.

Conversation remained few and far between after they’d returned home. The two of them hadn’t been there in a long time after getting into the habit of staying at Lucy’s every night, so it had accumulated a layer of dust on most surfaces and thick cobwebs had formed on the ceilings and on the corners of some of the furniture.

This, on top of the mess that they’d already left it in, made it look more like a garden shed than a home. To Natsu, in spite of how long he’d lived there, it didn’t feel like home anymore.

Without speaking, he batted his hammock in an attempt to rid it of some dust and clambered up onto it. He turned on his side and faced the wall, bringing his legs up to his stomach as he curled up under the scraggly blanket. Happy understood the message and went to lay on his little bed on the other side of the room, not bothering to try talking anymore.

Instead of going to sleep, he looked up to the collection of requests he’d made above him. His eyes fell on the job at the Evelue mansion that he’d labelled as ‘the first job I ever did with Lucy!’ He smiled a little and looked over some more. Though unlabelled, he could remember every single detail, everything himself, Happy and Lucy had done during the jobs they’d been on as a three.

Though many were unpleasant at best and she’d moan sometimes, Lucy tried to make the best out of bad situations. They always ended up being worthwhile, and more than just for the money. His smile grew as he recounted the memories, but the happiness was temporary and quickly replaced by a dull ache in his chest

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. He wanted Lucy to be happy, yes, but not with some random guy. Not with some random guy that didn’t know her like he did. They don’t know what she likes, what she doesn’t like. What she reads when she’s happy or when she’s upset, that she will try and reserve at least one evening a week to getting better at baking. That she likes her apartment to be clean and orderly or it stresses her out, that she sticks her tongue out a little in an act of concentration when she’s writing. That she likes to be hugged from behind to keep warm when she’s too tired to be embarrassed by it.

No.

He had to see her. The thought of her with someone else left a hole so deep in his soul that it hurt. He didn’t know what the rollercoaster of emotions Lucy made him feel meant half the time, but he knew this one.

-

It’d reached half past midnight. Lucy had just finished getting changed and was getting ready for bed when she heard the regular tap on her window. She smiled, rolled her eyes and walked over. She was met with Natsu, his lips forming a thin line, but no Happy. Not thinking much of it, she opened the window and he hopped in, landing quietly on the floor in a more cat-like manner than a human one.

“Where have you been?” She asked, grabbing her dressing gown to cover herself up a little, “it’s so late, I thought you’d decided to stay at the guild.”

“I went back to my house.”

“Oh, really? Why? Did you miss it?”

He looked down at the floor and moved slowly towards the sofa in the middle of the room. He sat down and stayed uncharacteristically quiet.

“Are you alright?” She asked, tilting her head and also walking over to the sofa and sitting down.

He didn’t respond for a while. Eventually, he said, “how was your date?”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You know about that?”

“Mira told me. She told quite a few people, actually.”

“Oh, figures. Typical Mira.”

“So?” He pushed, “did you enjoy it?”

She pondered on his question. “It was alright at first, but by the end I knew we wouldn’t click. None of my jokes hit home and he did an awful lot of talking about himself.”

Natsu’s brows raised. “So you’re not going to meet with him anymore?”

“Probably not,” she answered, “there’s no point in putting effort into something that won’t ever work.”

“…Why didn’t you tell me about it? That you were going?” He asked. For a split second, he looked genuinely hurt.

She sighed, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell anyone until it was over. I only told Mira so that somebody would know where I was in case there was an emergency. I would have done, just not beforehand.”

She sighed again, deeper this time, and put her head in her hands.

“Clearly I’m just destined for a life of being alone.”

“…But you’re not alone.” Natsu murmured quietly, not looking up.

She sat up and turned to him but he didn’t meet her eyes.

“You have us,” he continued, “you have… me.”

He looked up at her, his eyes swimming with something she couldn’t quite work out.

She took a moment to respond, somewhat shocked by his words, a light pink tinging her cheeks.

“I-I know.”

“Are you sure you know?”

She smiled and leant her head back against the sofa. “Yeah I do. We’ll always be together, right?”

He nodded with a smile. Lucy figured that he didn’t mean what he’d said in the way that a small part of her heart wanted him to, but it still made her happy regardless.

“I can’t say I plan on going on anymore dates anytime soon.”

“Good.” He whispered under his breath.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. Come on,” he began to clamber into her bed, “bedtime now. It’s late.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bed!” She moaned, pulling at his clothes with the strength her tired body could muster.

He didn’t move a muscle and looked at her, “are we really gonna play this game again?”

She rolled her eyes, reluctantly accepting defeat. She took her dressing gown off and climbed in after him.

“What was that guy’s name?” Natsu asked after a couple minutes of silence.”

“Why?” She asked.

“So I can set him on fire.”

“Oh for god’s sake.”

“Kidding, kidding. Sort of.”

It wasn’t long until she was fast asleep. Natsu stayed on his side of the bed until he could hear her breathing slow and deepen. Slowly, he crept onto Lucy’s side and slid one arm over her waist. He then waited for a bit to make sure he hadn’t woken her up and began the harder of the two. He cautiously slid his other arm under her neck. Still asleep, she felt the movement and received it, sinking into his bicep. He then snuggled up to and sank into her, fitting his knees into the little nook hers had made.

And there he stayed, listening to the rhythmic sounds of her breathing. In, out, in, out. He was warmer here. Calmer. More at peace. He didn’t like his old shack. He wanted to be at Lucy’s house. With Lucy. Not long after, sleep succumbed to him too.

Right where he belonged.

[therealdisneyfan2319]

Latte Love | Wanda Maximoff

Summary: When a new coffee shop opens up across the street from your bakery, you enter into a rivalry with its new owner

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut (minors DNI), language, mentions of major character death, house fire, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.3K

Masterlist

A/N: This was a request from @aloneodi​.  The prompt was pretty straightforward: enemies to overs with lots of angst and smut.  Enjoy ;)

For the past two months the construction across the street from your bakery had driven you insane.  The constant sawing and hammering was grinding your gears.  You weren’t sure what was coming in the old storefront.  It had been vacant as long as you could remember.  You were in elementary school when Mr. Neely retired and the building now sat in a state of dilapidated disrepair: the front awning was threadbare, the windows were partially boarded up, and graffiti was spray painted over the brick storefront.  Inside the empty cases gathered dust and cobwebs.  It was a bit of a pleasant surprise when you came to work one day to see a ‘SOLD’ sign taped to the front door. 

“Maybe we should blast some music, give them a taste of their own medicine,” Natasha suggested with a smirk.  Natasha Romanoff was your right hand woman when it came to running the bakery.  Not only was she an accounting whiz and could balance the books in her sleep, she also made a mean creme brûlée.  

“I just don’t understand why it’s taken them so long to remodel.  It’s construction, not rocket science.  What’s going in there anyway?”

“It’s a coffee shop.  I met the owner when I went to the wholesaler the other day,” Sam explained as he dumped another batch of bagels into the bucket.  A slightly intimidating Air Force veteran with the heart of a teddy bear, Sam was your resident bagel maker and donut fryer.  People came from all corners of the state for his famous brownie batter donuts and egg everything bagels,

“So literally the exact same as us?”  You could hardly believe what you were hearing.  The Rolling Scones had quickly established itself as Westview’s premiere (and only) bakery.  Why did someone else need to open up right across the street?

“Hold up, it’s not exactly the same thing.  We’re a bakery that serves coffee and they’re a coffee shop that serves baked goods.  Totally different.”

You shot Sam a glance that immediately made him do an about face and head back to his boiling batch of bagels.  Flour covered fingers ran through your hair as you leaned up against the back counter thinking about all the negative ways this new shop was going to impact yours.

“What are we gonna do, Nat?  I can’t lose this place.”

“Y/N, relax.  It’s just another business.  We’re not going to go out of business just because there’s a new place in town.  If anything they’re the ones who should be worried.  They have to compete with Sam’s bagels.” 

“We could just burn it down!” Peter, the teenager who washed dishes after school and on weekends, added.  “Then we wouldn’t have to worry about them!”

“He’s got a point,” Sam added as the door jingled open.

“Peter!  Arson isn’t the answer here!” Nat rolled her eyes, heading to the back to work on handling the latest invoices.

“But it is a solution,” you teased.  Natasha groaned as she kicked the back room door open.  “Can I help you?” you asked, turning your attention to the customer who walked up to the counter.

“Yeah, I’m looking for a - oh, SAM!  Hi!”  The young woman in front of you raised up on her tiptoes and waved over the counter.

“Wanda hey!”  He walked over, an overflowing basket of hard rolls in his arms.  “Glad you came.  How’s the remodeling going?”

“Good!  My contractor told me that we should be able to open by the end of the month.”

“That’s great news!  Did you pick the name yet?”

“My brother and I argued about it for a while, but we finally settled on Latte Love.”

“You’re the one who bought the old deli?!”  

“Mmhmm.  I always wanted to open a coffee shop and I thought it was an absolutely charming little spot.  So I saved and took out some loans and got it!  I’m Wanda.  Wanda Maximoff.”  The overexcitable brunette shoved her hand out in front of you.

“Y/N L/N,” you responded as you reluctantly clasped her hand.  The last thing you wanted to do was be friendly with the person who was your direct competitor. 

Sam chatted with Wanda, asking her all sorts of questions about the wholesaler and how she was faring getting her deliveries set up.  Your vision went red at the sight of your friend and this despicable woman having a friendly conversation.  Why on earth would he invite her into your shop, the shop your parents worked so hard to build and the one you worked so hard to keep thriving?  The fear of losing the family business permeated your mind on a daily basis.  This wasn’t making it any better…

“Who’s that?” Natasha’s voice snapped you out of your stewing.  She leaned against the counter, sizing up the scene in front of her.

“That’s the new coffee shop owner.  Wanda.  I have no idea why she’s here or why she’s talking to Sam,” you huffed, crossing your arms as you leaned against the counter.

“Someone sounds a little jealous,” Nat teased.  

“Jealous?!”  Your face flushed red with embarrassment.  “You think I’m jealous?  Nat, that’s the woman who’s going to try to steal all our customers!  She’s the enemy here, not the prize!”

Natasha looked at you, then at Wanda, then back at you, and back at Wanda.  “She’s hot.  Think I stand a chance?”

“Can you pretend you’re not gay for like, five minutes please?  Five minutes.  That’s all I’m asking.  I’m not jealous, I don’t want anything to do with her, and I swear to Christ if she’s into chicks too and you sleep with her your ass is so fired.  ANYONE who sleeps with her is outta here!”  As much as you hated to admit it, Natasha was right: Wanda was gorgeous.  She had the perfect figure, her cropped jeans hugging the curves of her hips just right.  The billowy light blue and white button up and oversized sun hat gave her a youthful exuberance that radiated from her glowing face and stunning green eyes.  

“You’d have less of a stick up your ass if you got laid, you know?” she smirked.  Groaning, you headed back toward the kitchen, kicking the swinging door with your foot.  The sweet smell of powdered sugar and freshly baked cupcakes instantly calmed you.  Unsure of how to amuse yourself until Wanda left, you grabbed a cooling rack of cookies and began frosting, turning the sugary discs into half moons.  The repetition of frosting and smoothing calmed you.  With enough time and vanilla Wanda’s unwelcome appearance would soon become a distant memory.

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

Latte Love had been open for almost a month.  The cafe had a slow start initially.  Customers trickled in and out for the better part of two weeks.  For those two glorious weeks you paid no heed to the brunette who could often be found sweeping the sidewalk and arranging the outside tables just so.  Suddenly, something changed.  Before you knew it a line formed outside the locked doors every morning with people waiting to get their morning cup of coffee.  You didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but once you spotted a couple of your regulars in the line your vitriol for Wanda increased tenfold.     

“That’s the third time today they’ve had a line out the door!” Peter exclaimed as he pressed his nose to the glass.

“Thank you for that reminder, Captain Obvious,” you snarked as you counted back change to the lady at the counter.  “Anything else you want to add?”  

Peter quickly recoiled from the glass, a sheepish expression on his face.  “Ned says their coffee is really good….and so are their muffins,” he mumbled.

Oh great.  Now I’ve gotta compete with her pastries, too.  What a bitch…you thought to yourself as you handed the lady back a fistful of coins.  Wanda was frustrating you more and more every single day.  You sighed, taking off your baseball cap and running your hands threw your sweaty hair. 

The door jingled.  Sam and Nat walked in, the two of them eating cookies that suspiciously didn’t look like yours.

“What are those?” you asked.

“You want one?  Wanda gave them to us.  Pietro’s trying out a new recipe for sugar cookies.  They’re honestly not half bad.”  Sam reached into the brown paper bag and grabbed a large cookie, its warmth causing it to bend ever so slightly.

“Goddamn it!  You slammed your cap down on the counter.  In your mind, this was an act of war and you were not going to stand for it.  Who did she think she was, bribing your employees?  

“Y/N, just relax, okay?  Wanda didn’t mean anything by it.  She’s really nice if you get to know her,” Natasha asserted.

“She’s stealing our customers!” you shouted.  “And I can’t believe you guys are eating her food!”

“Dude, relax.  The cookies are good and she’s nice.  Her brother’s cool, too,” Sam added, wiping cookie crumbs from his goatee.  

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled, storming around the counter and yanking the door open.  You were going over there to give her a piece of your mind. 

You didn’t care what customers thought as you pushed Latte Love’s door open.  Lucky for you there weren’t any at the moment, the last one having left moments ago.  You heard the commotion of dishes crashing from the back and a voice you hadn’t heard before mixing with Wanda’s.  As the commotion in the background subsided, it was the perfect opportunity to look around at the transformed deli.  

The new design was rustic chic with exposed brick walls, stained wooden tables, and the same rustic counter that Mr. Neely once stored his meats and cheeses in.  A series of shiny metallic coffee machines sat behind the counter, the shelves above it stocked with containers full of different types of coffee beans.  The front case was stuffed full of various breads, pastries, cookies, and sandwiches.  It wasn’t a bad place at all, and the food didn’t look half-bad either.  She’d actually done a decent job at bringing the old shop back to life.

“Y/N?” You whipped around as Wanda called your name.  She looked exhausted, her face glistening with sweat and powdered sugar as she pushed a rack of cupcakes and sweet breads out of the kitchen.  Her hair was swept up in a messy bun, strands hanging askew as she wiped the sweat from her bow with her arm.  Her black apron was peppered with sugar and frosting stains.  “How are you?  Did Sam give you a cookie like I asked him to?” “Did Sam - what?”

“Oh, I gave him some cookies to try.  Pietro’s working out a new sugar cookie recipe and he needs taste testers so I figured-”

“What are you playing at here, Maximoff?”

“Excuse me?” Wanda tilted her head as she questioned you, her gaze quickly hardening into a stare.

“You heard me.  What are you playing at?  Is stealing my customers not enough for you that you need to go after my employees too?”  

Wanda’s jaw dropped open as she stared at you incredulously.  She laughed, shaking her head as she started unloading the cupcakes.  “Are you for real right now?”

“Before you showed up we’d sell out every single day.  Now more often than not I’m throwing stuff out.  Sales have dropped and I’ve lost regulars that I’ve had for years.  So I’m telling you this now: stay away from me and my staff.”  It was all you could do to not take all your frustration out on her.

“I don’t know what you think’s going on here,” Wanda started, placing the trays neatly in the case.  While she wasn’t outwardly aggressive, she shoved them in there harder than she normally would.  “But you are absolutely insane if you think that I’m trying to steal your customers or staff or whatever.  Sam and Natasha have been nothing but kind to me and Pietro, I just want to return the favor.”

“Well stop.  The last thing I need is for my guys to be fraternizing with the enemy,” you grumbled, your blood pressure reaching a boiling point as you stared her down, fists clenched tightly at your side.

“Oh, so now I’m the enemy then?” She slammed the tray on the counter, sending loaves of bread tumbling off the sides.   “Jesus, Y/N, what’s wrong with you?  Have you ever stopped to think that maybe people stopped going to your shop because they wanted to try something new or, here’s a novel thought, maybe they like my place more than yours?”

“Fuck you, Wanda!  That place means everything to me!  You have no idea what I’ve done to keep that bakery running and I’m not gonna let your stupid bucket list adventure ruin my life’s work!”

“Get out!” Wanda shouted as she threw a muffin at your head.  Her aim was wide and the pastry hit the wall with a splat as you leaned out of the way.  “Get the fuck out of my store you bastard!”

Your vision tunneled as you stormed out of the shop, not neglecting to flip her the bird as you slammed the door behind you.  Ever since Wanda Maximoff came to town everything had gone completely and utterly wrong.  Everyone seemed to be flocking to her and her business.  Even Sam and Natasha, two of your closest friends in the whole wide world, had taken to her.  It irritated you to no end.  She constantly invaded the deepest depths of your mind, and many nights you awoke in a cold sweat after she invaded your dreams.  There was nothing you wouldn’t do to get her out of your mind: grueling pre-dawn runs, sleepless nights spent getting ahead on cake orders, countless after-work happy hours throwing back whatever alcohol you could get your hands on…anything to get that frustrating, irritating, beautiful woman, out of your mind.

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

After your spat, it was like someone had built the Berlin Wall in the middle of the street.  Patrons realized that something was up with the two shops and most had picked a side.  Lucky for you a majority of the customers you lost returned.  Things finally went back to normal for a while.  Sam and Natasha stopped frequenting Latte Love, or if they didn’t they kept quiet about it.  Natasha reamed you out for the way you snapped at Wanda, telling you to grow the fuck up and deal with it like an adult while Sam became unusually quiet around you.  It was exasperating, but at least you felt like you were in control again.  Yet as things started to go back to normal, there was something looming around the corner that would change your life forever.

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

“Hello?” you mumbled groggily into your phone.  It was the middle of the night and your phone jolted you awake with its abrasive ringtone.

“Y/N, it’s Nat.”  You shot right up, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.  She sounded extremely concerned to the point where you were worried.

“What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.  It’s the bakery.  It’s-”

You didn’t even let her finish before you hung up, frantically searching for some clothes and your keys as you raced down the stairs of your apartment toward your car.  As you sped down the road toward downtown, an orange glow illuminated the dark buildings while sirens grew ever closer.  

Oh no.  Oh no no no no no.  Please no.  Please.  You white-knuckled the steering wheel, your damp palms sliding as your heart pounded in your chest.  The turn onto the main drag confirmed your worst fears: The Rolling Scone was burning. 

You skidded to a halt almost as soon as you turned the corner.  Fire engines, police cars, and ambulances blocked the area surrounding your store and the other end of the road while firefighters rushed into the burning building.  You jogged down the street, looking for a familiar face in the crowd of first responders.

“Y/N!” Natasha jumped out of the back of an ambulance and came running over to you, a reflective rescue blanket draped over her shoulders.

“Nat!  Oh god, are you okay?”  She threw her arms around you and squeezed you tight.  You instinctively pulled her close, cradling her head with one hand as you wrapped your other arm around her.  

“I don’t know what happened.  I was working on the books in the office before I got started on the donuts and I started smelling smoke, so I walked out there and the kitchen was on fire.  I tried to put it out, but when it got too big I called 911.  It’s all my fault, Y/N.  I’m so sorry.”  Her eyes were brimming with tears as she apologized for the mistake that wasn’t her fault.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumbled against the top of her head.  “I’m just glad you’re okay.”  You held her close to you as she cried into your shirt.  The sight of your beloved bakery burning to the ground in front of you should’ve elicited some emotional response from you, but you felt nothing.  None of what was happening seemed real.  You’d wake up in a few hours, shake off your nightmare, and head back to work like nothing ever happened, but that wouldn’t happen again for a very long time.  Now when you woke up, you’d have to spend the foreseeable future picking up the charred pieces of your livelihood.

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

Gone.  It was all gone.  The last tangible reminder of your parents had gone up in smoke.  Words couldn’t accurately describe just how devastated you were.  The bakery was the way you dealt with the crushing pain of having tragically lost your parents so early in life.  Now your coping mechanism was gone.  You looked around, seeing the charred remains of the booths, the front counter, and the collection of employee and family pictures that hung on the back wall.  One picture in particular caught your eye.  It was you and your parents after the little league championship game the year your team won.  The picture was charred around the edges, half of your mom’s body was burnt off, but it was mostly intact.  You ripped it off the wall, sighing as you stared at the faded memory.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered at your parents’ beaming faces.  You let their dream burn down and with it your last memories of them.

You stayed in the building most of the day.  Natasha stopped by at one point to find you on the floor leaning against what was left of the front counter.  She offered to grab you some food or take you home, but you declined, wanting nothing more than to disappear into the void.  That’s where Wanda found you when she showed up later in the evening.

“Hey,” she said as she crouched under the CAUTION tape.  You ignored her as you stared at the charred photograph in your hand.  She stood awkwardly in front of you, a brown paper bag in one hand and her purse in the other.  Wanda was the last person in the world you wanted to see right now.  You wanted to scream, to tell her to leave you alone, but you didn’t have the energy.

“Please go,” you murmured, flipping the photograph through your fingers.  

She didn’t go.  She walked over to the counter, kicking a piece of charred wood to the side as she sat down next to you.  There was an unspoken tension in the air as neither of you looked at each other: you stared down at the picture, she stared at the brown bag in her hand.  

“Here,” she said as she slid the bag over to you.  Taking a look inside the brown bag, you saw two delicious looking honey butter muffins staring back at you.  “I figured that it’d help you feel a bit better.”  Wanda smiled, her emerald eyes glimmering back at you.  For the first time since you met it made your heart skip a beat.

“You figured that muffins from your still-standing cafe would help me feel better about my bakery burning down?”

“Look I’m sorry, okay?  I’m really sorry about your bakery…” she trailed off as she brought her knees up and hugged them close to her chest.  “It should’ve been my place that burned down, not yours.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true!  Sam told me all about this place.  How your parents built it from the ground up, how you’ve literally spent your whole life working here, how you dropped out of school after they died to-”

“Please stop,” you interrupted as you felt another lump in your throat. .

“Is that them?” she asked, leaning over to get a better look at the photo in your hand.

You nodded.  “That’s, umm, that’s the day we won the little league championship.  Dad coached my team that year and…”  You trailed off as your eyes filled with tears.  “Umm, this place is the only thing I have left of them, you know?  Coming here every day, it’s almost like they’re still here.  And now that it’s gone I…”  You looked down at the picture as hot tears rolled down your face.  The emotional breakdown that had been brewing all day was finally bubbling up through the cracks.  “Sorry.”

Before you could say anything else, a pair of soft hands wrapped around you and pulled you close.  “It’s okay, you can let it all out,” Wanda whispered.  That was all it took for you to finally break down.  You sobbed into her chest as she held you.  She squeezed you close as she gently rocked back and forth, her fingers gently stroking your hair.  “You’re okay, Y/N.  You’re going to be okay.  I’ve got you,” she soothed.  Your body was wracked with sobs as you finally let everything go. 

Wanda’s touch was calming.  You’d never felt so calm or safe wrapped up in someone else’s arms before.  You never cried in front of anyone, not even Natasha and she was your best friend.  Somehow you knew that Wanda was someone you could trust completely.  “I’m sorry that you’re going through this, but you don’t have to go through it alone,” she whispered in your ear as your sobs started to calm.  You didn’t have enough control to speak yet so you simply nodded into her chest.  Her scent was intoxicating, a combination of sugar, roasted coffee beans, and vanilla blossom shampoo.  You never noticed it before.

“Sorry for getting your shirt wet,” you sniffled as you sat up.  

“Sorry for throwing a muffin at your head,” Wanda chuckled as she reached up to brush a stray tear from her face.  Her hand was incredibly soft as she rested it on your cheek.  You felt your face grow hot, but you weren’t sure if it was from the way she was touching you or the lack of distance between your faces or all of the above.  The knot in your throat instantly migrated down to your stomach as you locked eyes with her.

“ S’okay,” you mumbled as you lost yourself in her deep green eyes.  After staring for a moment too long, you turned your head away and blinked.  She shook her head, realizing for herself the tense intimacy of the situation.  “What kind of muffins are these?” you asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Honey butter.  Pietro found the recipe online and fell in love with them.”  

“I can see why,” you responded with your mouth full.  “They’re good, but I think mine are just a bit better.”

“Shut up,” she answered with a playful smack.

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

Over the course of the next few weeks, Wanda came over to your bakery almost every day.  At first it was just to bring you something from the cafe: a cup of coffee and something sweet in the morning or a sandwich after she closed up for the evening.  Her presence soon became a familiar comfort to you and you looked forward to the few moments you spent with her every evening.  Daily food deliveries turned into offers to pick up dinner, and you often found yourself sitting up with her until all hours as you ate and continued the arduous rebuilding process.  Soon enough Wanda was coming over to help you on her days off.

As you spent more time with her, the way you thought about her changed.  You no longer woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares that involved her.  Nowadays when you dreamt about her you woke up with an uncomfortable throbbing in your pajama pants.  Her smile made you weak at the knees and you craved any opportunity to touch her.  She was an incredible woman but you were terrified to tell her how you felt.  

Natasha, of course, had noticed the shift in your demeanor towards her.  “So do I get to fire you when you sleep with her or are you gonna fire yourself?” she teased one night while you were tearing the tile flooring out of the kitchen.

“Fuck off, Nat,” you answered, not steering your attention away from the floor.

“Don’t pretend like you weren’t drooling over her when she wore those shorts in here the other day.  Besides, I see the way you two are when you’re together.”

“She’s just being friendly.  She’s like that with you and Sam too, you know.”

“Y/N, she kept staring at your crotch when you wore those grey sweatpants last week.  Even if she doesn’t like you, and I’m telling you she does, she still wants to fuck you.”

“Right, yeah,” you guffawed.  While you brushed Natasha off, you hoped she was right.  You had caught Wanda staring when you wore your grey sweats last week…and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

“You should tell her how you feel.  I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.”

“Nat-”

“She’s over there now.  Just go talk to her.  Ask her out for dinner or something.”

“Nat-”

“Relax, I’ve got everything under control,” she smiled at you.  “Go talk to Wanda.”

You groaned as you pushed yourself up from the hard floor.  “Fine.  But if this all goes wrong I’m blaming it on you!”  You wiped your hands on a rag, throwing it at Nat as you headed for the door.

“It won’t!” she called from the kitchen.  You shook your head, grinning as you pushed the door open and crossed the street to Latte Love.  The store was closed for the evening.  Inside, Wanda was cleaning up, wiping down the tables and counter like she did every evening before making her way to The Rolling Scone.

Wanda looked up as she heard the door jingle.  Her exhausted face lit up at the sight of you.  “Hey you,” she called.  “What’s going on?”

“Not much.  Just helping Nat rip up the tile in the kitchen.  Contractor says he’ll be ready to go by the end of the week for that.”  The words felt like cotton balls in your mouth.  You never got this flustered around her but the thought of telling Wanda how you truly felt about her had your stomach tied in knots.  “How was your day?”

“Good!  Pietro left early for an appointment, so it’s just me closing up.  I was planning on picking up Indian for dinner.  Wanna join me?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.  Listen-”

“Oh!  I got this call for this INSANE order.  This lady wants twelve dozen cupcakes by Sunday.  SUNDAY.  Can you believe that?!”

“Wanda-”

“I mean of course you can, you’ve been doing this a lot longer than I have.  But I mean we’re a coffee shop, not a bakery!  I would’ve sent them to you but, well, you know, it’s a little hard to bake cupcakes when you don’t have an oven.”

“Wanda-”

“So I said ‘Sure, why the hell not?’ and I think that was a mistake because-”

“WANDA!” you said a little more aggressively than you intended. 

“Yeah?” She threw her hand towel over her shoulder.

“Wanda.  I, well, fuck.  Sorry, I’m not good at this.”  Your hands were all sweaty and your knees felt weak.  “Look.  What I want to say is, well, for the past few weeks we’ve…spending time with you…fuck!  Why is this so hard for me to say?”  You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated that you couldn’t figure out the right words to say.  

Wanda’s quizzical look slowly softened into a smile as she started to put the pieces of the puzzle together.  She looked down at the ground, biting her lip as she threw the towel on the counter right before she jumped up on it, spun around, and hopped off on the other side.  She walked right over to you, stopping less than a foot away as she looked up into your eyes.

“You know, for an emotionally suppressed type of guy, you’re pretty cute when you get all flustered,” she teased.

“Wanda, I-” 

Before you could finish your thought, Wanda grabbed your waist, leaned in, and kissed you.  Your hands somehow found their way to the back of her neck, palms resting on her cheeks as you cupped her head.  Every single coherent thought you had flew out of your brain the second her lips touched yours.  They were just as sweet as you imagined they’d be.  You smiled into her lips, eternally grateful that she had been the one to initiate this in the first place.  She smiled back as you deepened it, capturing her bottom lip between yours.  There was no need for talking, no need for any other explanation.  The dance between your lips told the entire story: you were hers, and she was yours.  The knot in your stomach burst into a million butterflies as every touch ignited a burning sense of desire within you.  

“Wanda, I-” you somehow managed to choke out as she began to kiss the side of your neck.

“There’s a couch in the office and the door locks,” she mumbled.  Her lips grazed your sensitive skin as she spoke and it took everything in you not to let out an offensive moan.

“Lead the way.”  Wanda grabbed your hand and dragged you behind the counter and through the kitchen to the small office in the back of the shop.  You slammed the door shut behind you as Wanda pinned you to it, locking the door with one hand before bringing it back up to roam your body.  She slammed her lips into yours as you grabbed her hips, pulling her flush against your body.  The contact sent a surge of energy through your groin and you knew it would be only a matter of moments before your shorts became unbearably uncomfortable.  

You explored her body as you kissed her, tracing over every curve as she moaned into your mouth at the sensual contact.  She was heavenly.  You decided to change up the intensity of your make out session, swiping your tongue over her lower lip.  She willingly opened up and allowed your tongue to explore hers.  

Before you realized it, Wanda’s hands made their way down your body to the front of your shorts.  She unbuttoned them, stopping right afterwards to palm your throbbing erection.  You nibbled on her bottom lip as she fondled you and she smiled into your mouth in response.  As she pulled your pants and boxers down, you pulled off your t-shirt and threw it off to the side.  

“You’re beautiful,” Wanda whispered as she looked at your naked body for the first time.  She ran her hands over your toned biceps, strong and wiry from years of kneading dough, and your pecs, down your toned stomach before reaching your cock.  She grabbed it with one hand, stroking it gently as she dropped to her knees.

“Wanda,” you groaned as she worked her hands up and down your shaft.  Pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, she lined up her mouth with your tip and swallowed the first part of your penis.  She swirled her tongue around your tip, coating it in saliva before removing her mouth and using it as lube to jack you off.  Your knees felt weak as she took you in her mouth again, bobbing her head up and down your entire length.  She sucked and licked and swirled your cock, hollowing her cheeks as she took you down her throat.  The noises that came from her mouth as she gagged on your length were sinful, but it only made you want her that much more.

At one point she reached for your hand, placing it on the back of her head.  You took that as a sign to do what you wanted, so you moved her head up and down at a speed you liked.  You moaned as you felt the familiar fire burning within you, spurred on by the way Wanda’s eyes watered as she let you fuck her throat.  She grabbed onto your thighs as you pounded into her, nails digging into your flesh as she looked up at you with those pleading green eyes.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moaned as Wanda ripped your hand away from her head, bringing her other hand up to jack you off as she sucked on your tip.  The sudden suction and added stimulation immediately caused you to tumble over the edge as you released down her throat.  She greedily swallowed every last drop.  Having her suck you off like that was a life-changing experience.

Wanda sat back on her heels, wiping the drool from her chin as she gasped for air.  “Nice cock,” she chuckled.  “Hope it feels as good as it tastes.”

“Why don’t we find out?” you teased, offering your hand to her as she stood up.  “But I think you’ve got too many clothes on for that.”

“I think we can take care of that,” Wanda smirked, reaching down to pull her shirt over her head.  “Want to get my pants?” she asked as she reached behind her to undo her bra.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” you joked as you unbuttoned her jeans.  You slid both them and her panties down her legs before she kicked them off.  “Wow,” you said, taking a step back to admire her.  

“Like what you see, tiger?”

“Wanda, I’m sure you’ve heard this a million times, but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”  Wanda blushed a deep shade of crimson at your words.  It wasn’t an exaggeration.  She was absolutely gorgeous.

“Thank you,” she whispered sheepishly as she sat on the couch.

You sat down next to her, your eyes darting from one part of her nude figure to the other before you settled back on her lips.  Leaning forward, you kissed her as she fell back on the couch.  It didn’t take much to shift your position so that you were completely on top of her.  You relished the taste of her lips as you kissed and you wanted to savor  the sensation of every second.

“Fuck,” you murmured as you reached a hand down between her legs.  “You’re absolutely soaked, Wanda.”  She whined as you drew a finger up the length of her cunt, teasing around her engorged clit.  “You do that to me every day.  I go home soaking wet and fuck myself thinking about how good you’d feel inside me.”  She bucked her hips against your hand, desperate to relieve the ache building within her.  “God, I want you in me so bad, Y/N.”

“Jesus,” you whispered through gritted teeth as your erection swelled at her words.  “And here I was trying to figure out how to tell you how the first thing I do every morning is jack off to the thought of you.”

“I guess we both have filthy minds then,” she grinned.  Her face was flushed with arousal, the redness spreading down her neck and onto her breasts.  “Fuck!” she exclaimed as you dipped a finger ever so slightly inside her before quickly pulling out.  “Please just fuck me!”

“You’re cute when you beg,” you sighed as you lined yourself up with her entrance.  You teased her with your tip, rubbing it up and down her slit and over her lips and clit before barely pushing your head in.  She whined, rolling her hips in a feeble effort to lower herself onto you.  

“Y/N please-” Wanda’s words turned into a sharp cry as you slammed your entire length inside her.  Her pussy was absolute heaven.  She was warm and wet, her slick velvety walls engulfing you and squeezing in all the right places. 

“Oh my fucking god,” you croaked.  You laid over her for a minute, trying to regroup yourself enough so you wouldn’t immediately blow your load inside her.  As she adjusted to your intrusion and you calmed yourself down, you began to roll your hips against her, thrusting in and out.

“Shit,” she gasped.  Wanda rolled her hips in time with yours, meeting you as you thrust your length all the way inside her.  You continued at a steady pace, the sounds of her wet pussy being the only noise in the room.

“Are you okay?” you asked, noticing Wanda’s eyes were screwed shut.

“Feels really good.  Can you go faster?”  Not wanting to disappoint, you began to pound into her.  Her mouth gaped open at your newfound intensity as she reached up to wrap her arms and legs around you.  “Oh fuck, right there.”

The couch shook under the duress of your movements.  You pounded into Wanda, her tight hole stretching perfectly around your cock with every thrust.  Sweat beaded on your forehead as you grunted from exertion.  Your moans and groans, along with the squelching of Wanda’s pussy, filled the room.  As you pounded into her cunt, your cock disappearing within her wet folds, Wanda’s moans became louder and more erratic.  “You close, baby girl?”

Wanda nodded, wrapping her legs tighter around your midsection.  “My clit,” she choked out.  You helped her move one of her arms from your back to the sensitive spot.  She circled it furiously, a loud groan tearing from her chest.  “Faster,” she commanded.

You doubled down on your efforts and hammered into her dripping cunt.  The way her walls fluttered and clenched around you told you she wasn’t far away from her orgasm.  The way she tightened around you sent that familiar coil through your lower abdomen.  It wouldn’t be much longer until you reached your climax as well.

“I’m gonna cum,” she whined.  You pounded into her as fast as you could, groaning as your hips slammed against her swollen pussy.  Her hand circled her clit furiously.  Wanda came with a loud groan, her back arching off the couch as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed down on her.  Her walls throbbed and clenched rhythmically around you, the intense sensation finally causing you to cum as you released your thick load of cum deep inside her.  Wanda dug her nails deep into your back as you absolutely ruined her.

“Fuck I love you,” you gasped as you collapsed on top of her from sheer exhaustion.  Blood pounded in your ears and black dots peppered your vision as you recovered from the best orgasm you ever had.  

“You love me?” Wanda asked, her eyes blown wide with desire from the afterglow of her incredible orgasm.

“Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.”  A sense of panic overtook you as you stared down at Wanda.  

“No it’s okay.  I mean, I feel the same way,” she admitted, smiling back up at you.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm” 

You chuckled as you leaned down to kiss her.  “Guess I have to quit my job now.” 

Wanda looked at you with a confused expression.  “What?” she asked as she cocked an eyebrow.

“I told everyone that they’d be fired if they slept with you, so I guess I’ve gotta quit.” 

“I love you,” Wanda giggled as she shook her head.

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

“So let me get this straight: we’re merging with Latte Love after you threatened to fire us if we talked to Wanda?” Sam crossed his arms as he sat on the newly reconstructed front counter.  You had called the team together to announce the new business venture you were about to embark on.

“Okay first off I only threatened to fire you if you slept with her.  Talking to her would’ve resulted in a stern talking to and overnight donut duty for a week.  Second, it's not a merger so much as it is a partnership.  Both businesses will operate independent of one another, but now we’re going to start carrying some of their baked goods,” you explained.  Everyone looked at you in utter disbelief, unable to fathom your sudden shift in the way you viewed Latte Love.

“What changed?” Nat asked, tapping her pen against the table.

“Oh you know…stuff…things,” you murmured sheepishly as your face reddened.

“Oh my god!”  Nat’s eyes widened in realization as she stood up. “You slept with her!”

“Dude what?!  That’s so -” Peter exclaimed before Sam slapped his hand over his mouth to shut him up.  You pinched the bridge of your nose as you looked up at the ceiling.  Natasha was laughing at the irony of the whole situation before she lambasted you with questions.

“How long has this been going on?  Wait, was it a one time thing?  Oh, it was definitely the time I made you go over there to talk to her when we were ripping up the floor.  And you told me you two just talked.  Talking my ass…Is this a business deal, like sex in exchange for pastries?  Are you two a thing?  I should’ve guessed with how much time you’ve been spending over there and how you never want to do anything fun with me anymo-”

“Nat, will you please shut up?!”  Her endless questions were exasperating.  Yes, you and Wanda were in fact a thing but you hadn’t told anyone about it.  You hadn’t even told Nat about your back office hookup even though it happened two months ago.  There was so much going on with rebuilding the bakery and dealing with insurance claims that you wanted to keep this part of your life private.  “I just think it’d be a good idea for both of us, maximize our profits, boost both of our busin-”

“Hey babe, is there any way you can come help me with the rest of the-” Wanda paused as she barged in on your team meeting.  “Oh hi guys!”

“Mmhmm, it’s definitely good for both of you,” Nat smirked as she took a sip of her coffee.  You shot her a warning look while Wanda stood utterly oblivious to the scene unfolding around her.  “Go on, go help your girlfriend with whatever she needs.  I’ll show Peter how to do the bagels.”

You smiled at Wanda as you headed toward the door.  “So what do you need my help with?”

“Nothing,” Wanda responded as she reached for your hand.  “Just wanted to spend some time with my favorite guy.”

“Don’t let Pietro hear you say that.”

“That’s okay, he already knows.”  She squeezed your hand reassuringly as you crossed the street.  

You smiled as her grip tightened around your hand.  Six months ago there was no way to predict that the woman who ruined your life would ultimately become the greatest thing that ever happened to you.  As you crossed the threshold from your bakery to her cafe, you were grateful to be able to call The Rolling Scone, Latte Love, and Wanda home. 

[small-sinclair]

Roadside Angel: The Way You Smile

This is part 3 of the series! This is not the last part.

Lester Sinclair x reader

Tw: burned hand, mention of dead people, not proofread

Tag list: @sketchy-rosewitch, @sweetgoateelight, @justmeandmyghosties, @idorkish, @mommymilkerfanclub, @early20sfailingplenty, @shadow-h-cipher

Part 1| Part 2

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been here, so you have a month left to tell Lester ‘I love you’, but you weren’t sure if you were going to make it long enough to say it. But you were starting to find reasons to love him.

For starters, he asked Vincent, the one in the waxed mask, to let you say goodbye to your brother and William before he turned them into wax. He let you have a moment to mourn over them as he stood outside of his brother’s workshop. Vincent did a nice job on sowing Jace’s wounds and cleaning Williams body; they looked like they were sleeping.

When you were ready to leave, Lester walked out out of the maze of pipes and wires towards upstairs to the House of Wax. Before you left the room, you looked back at your brother and waved goodbye one last time.

“What’s Vincent going to do to them?” You asked softly as you went up the steps, passing waxed faces on the wall.

“He’ll put your brother in t’movies and t’other in the dining room,” Lester says as he opens the door for you. He held out his hand for you to take at the last step, but you didn’t take it. He awkwardly put his hand down. “Vince’ll make sure they’re respectful.”

You were sure if that was comforting or horrifying to say. “I hope so.”

Your footsteps echoed throughout the museum as you took a look around. It doesn’t look like anyone alive has been here for years; the mountain of dust showed along with the cobwebs. Though the place looked paused in the late 90s, the art style looked pretty new. You stopped at a chair and poked it— it’s wax.

“Is this whole place made of wax?”

Lester stopped a few feet ahead of you and turned to look at you. In the halo of dust floating around your hair, you looked just like an angel. “Yeah. The whole place ‘is.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “Bullshit.”

“Point ‘at somethin’,” he encouraged, a grin forming. “Anythin’.”

You took that invention, pointing at the floor. “Wood?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Beeswax and soybean wax.”

“Door and bookcase— that can’t be wax!”

“Sorry, sugar,” he chimed. “Wax, too. Soy wax, actually.”

You gasped surprisingly. “The whole house!? That can’t be—“

“Wax. Beeswax, soybean wax, coconut oil wax, an’ whale oil wax as t’hardern.” Lester gives you the brightest smile. “Mama built ‘is place.”

“Your… your mother built this?”

He nodded as he paced the floors then stopping by an oil painting. “Yep, Mama built ‘is before I was born.” Then he looked back at you. “She taught Vincent everythin’ she knew!” He chuckles and shakes his head, saying to himself, “They’re smarter than me.”

You tilted your head then looked at the painting. At the corner, you saw Vincent’s name written in gold. “He does the art?”

“That’s right.”

“Bo fixes car,” you took a careful step towards him. “And what do you do?”

His smile leaves as he looks down at his dirty boots. The air became thick around you. He pushes himself away from his brother’s work and came to your side. He takes your hand. “Come on,” he mumbles. “Gotta get you home. Still need rest.”

That was two weeks ago.

Now, you barely talk to him.

He wakes up before you, cooks you breakfast and coffee, and kisses you goodbye on the hand, saying, “Be home soon, sweet pea.” Everyday, he does this. When he comes home, he kisses your hand or cheek and washes up. He talks about his day and tells you something new the loves about you.

“I love your handwriting,” he told you a couple days ago. “It’s so easy to follow and flows.”

Yesterday, he said, “I love the bread ya made last night.” He flashes a smile and said, “Promise I’ll bring home more cookin’ things ‘is weekend. Y’all can come with.”

He invited you to come with him to town last time, but you didn’t go.

Even though you don’t talk to him, he still tried his best to talk to you. He takes about his day, about the people he met, the animals and kills— but he likes it when he hears you talk. Still, you haven’t given him the satisfaction for talking or smiling. Lester would bend-over backwards just to see you smile. He’ll do anything to see you smile.

When he came home today with a wild daisy, he hung up his hat, boots off at the door, and he kissed your hand like normal. He balled up his light grey jacket and threw it in the washer. “I brought home a deer,” he says as he places the Bowie on the counter next to his pack of Reds and green lighter.“Killed jus’ twenty minutes ago, I reckon.”

You hummed to show your approval. Before you came here, you never thought of eating deer, now? You love it!

“I love the way ya sing, y/n,” he said. You lifted a brow at this one. You were finishing making dinner, something that he expects you to do, as he went on, saying, “Mama used to sing me to sleep.” He went to the kitchen sick and started washing his arms with orange soap and Goo-b-Gone. “She hated singin’ to me. Bu, you?” He glanced at you and gave a half-hearted smile. “You sound like an angel.” You couldn’t help but give a grin in return, but it fell as you continued cooking your hamburger helper.

He bit his lower lip nervously then started washing his hands again then under the finger nails. “I saw a lil’ fox today. It had the cutest tail an’ face—“

You weren’t paying attention when you grabbed the hot part of the pan. You let out a painful yelp and threw the spoon to the floor. You held your hand close to your chest as you fought back tears. Lester hurried to your side and took your hand—

“No!” You shouted, pushing him back. “Don’t fuckin’ touch me!”

He looked at you hurt and lowered his hand. He bent down, picked up the spoon, washed it off, and stands by the stove. “Run it under water at least, y/n,” he instructed. “Helps the pain.”

You did as you were told and ran it under cold water and took deep breaths through your teeth. In the silence, he said, “I know we’re supposed t’do one a day, but I love the way ya take charge of yer life.” He sounded genuine as he said, “I never… well, I wanna take charge.” He glances at you then back at dinner. “I love ‘at your strong.”

That broke the dam.

You’re supposed to hate him. He didn’t save your brother and friend. He has you here in his home, keeping a close eye on you and everything— but he’s been nothing but kind. He gives you space and never forces your to do anything. He helps clean and cooks, but you’ve taken that role to keep you busy.

But he smiles at you. It’s never forced or fake. It’s a real smile filled with tenderness and friendliness.

So how could he come from a family like that? How come he never ended up like Bo or Vincent? He doesn’t like killing or participates in the killings, so how? How didn’t he come out almost normal. Bo enjoys seeing your fear in your eyes every time he comes around. He scares you, threatens you, has once threatened to stab you if you showed weakness. Is that it? Does Lester feed off your fear?

You let a cracked cry escape and started crying against the sink. “Aw, sweet pea,” Lester sighs. He turns the stove off and moved the pan away from the burner and came to your side. “Is it that bad? Lemme see your hand—“

“Smile,” you chocked out. You met his eyes. “I-I love your smile.”

His eyes went wide in disbelief, but it softened. Hesitantly, he guided your hand back under the cold water and holds it there. Gears turned and burned with thoughts of hope and fear of you, but he’ll worry about it later. You just… you love his smile?

“Thank you, sweet pea,” he whispers. “I love your smile, too—“

“Lester,” you cut him off as far tears fell down your eyes. “Lester, I’m scared. I’m scare-scared you’ll hurt me or your brothers and Bo—“

He searched outside then looked back at you. “Rest your head on my shoulder, sugar.”

“Les—“

“Just do it. Le’me talk.”

You lean on his shoulder and allowed him to look over your burned hand. His fingers brushed over the burned mark for a moment then placed it under water once more. His eyes never left your hand, and he looked at it as if it was a fragile piece of art. He turned off the water and brought up your hand, kissing the wound as gently as he could.

“I ain’t never gonna hurt ya,” he promises. “I swore to your brother, an’ I plan on keepin’ it.” He rested his head on top of yours as he looks at the burn. “I know Bo’s been scaring you, an’ I know your scared t’death,” he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, “You ain’t got nothin’ to be afraid of when ‘m around.” He kisses your hand once more before turning to face you. He lifts your chin as he thumbed away your tears. Oddly, his rough hands were soft today. “I’ll fight them monsters, sweet pea,” he kisses your knuckles, “I swear.”

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

After dinner and tv, he made his bed on the couch again. He fluffed his pillows and took his night medication, but he stopped when he saw you standing in the hallway between the living room and the bedroom.

He straightens himself, eyes scanning over you. “Is your hand fine?”

You nodded as you held the wrapped hand close to your chest. “Could,” you swallowed the lump on your throat, “could you sleep with me tonight?”

His eyes lit up. “You sure? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

You nodded. Standing aside, you opened up to the bedroom. “Just for the night, okay?”

He nods and takes his pillows, following you down the hall. In bed, he lays down after you made yourself comfortable and laid on his back.

Before he closed his eyes, you asked, “Promise you’ll never hurt me?”

“I promise, sugar,” he drawled, turning his head towards you. “I’ll protect you from everything wrong if ya let me.”

You laid on your side and offered a smile, and it made his heart ache for another. “Thank you, Lester.”

You started to learn to love him the next day.

[vampiricalblob]

Stumbling Upon A Castle in the Woods

Fem!Vampire x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: I've never really written x reader or y/n content, so forgive me if it's not that good lol. I mostly just have been scrolling the vampire x reader tag and have not been finding a ton lesbian content, so I figured, why not write my own! I dunno, I ended up just writing what I personally would hope to find on my dash, so I hope it's at least to your liking! I tried to make our vampire character here as description-less as possible so you can imagine whoever you want in her place, but if this ends up being popular enough and depending on how y'all want it, I might make her into an oc, give her a name and an appearance. I hope you enjoy!

Also quick note: Y/n isn't being hypnotized or anything, she's just horny.

You were so, so tired. Hours of hiking through the woods, looking for a way out of your cursed little town, that never let anyone leave. You were so tired of being trapped there, unable to escape. So, one night, you packed your things and left. Or, tried to. It was noon when you entered the woods, and it’s nightfall, now, and you can’t seem to make heads or tails of any direction. The trees seem to shift and change positions when you aren’t looking.

You actually cry with relief when you find a castle, dark and imposing. Shelter. You don’t stop to question why there’s a dark castle in the middle of the woods that keeps you from leaving your cursed town, you’re just relieved to find somewhere to stay for the night.

You don’t even knock, you throw the doors open and shut them behind you, a warm entrance greeting you. You sigh in relief, before remembering that you’ve just let yourself into a house without permission.

“Hello?” You call out. The entrance is wide and tall, and the place smells of cobwebs and dust. “I erm, I’m so sorry to intrude– I just need a place to stay for the night…”

No response. You aren't too surprised, this house is giant. You start to wander around, looking for any signs of life. Candles are lit, it’s not like the place is abandoned. It’s eerie, actually, how the place seems to house people but none can be found.

Eventually though, the exhaustion of wandering the woods for several hours starts to catch up with you. Surely whoever owns this place won’t mind if you crash in one of their guest rooms? There are so many, lining the halls, and the beds seem to call to you, they look softer than any bed you’ve ever seen.

Caving to your exhaustion, you fall into the canopy bed of one of the many guest bedrooms, finding it to be even more comfortable than you’d expected. You pass out almost immediately, oblivious to the laughter that echoes through the dark.

Hours later, you wake up from a sleep that might be the best you’ve ever received in your life. Even as your eyes flutter open, sleep tugs you back down into the mattress, promising sweet dreams and comfort and rest. You sigh contentedly, pulling the thick duvet closer. Since when has your bed felt this heavenly?

It hasn’t. Memories of the night before flood back to you, and you realize that this isn’t your bed. It’s not even the bed you had collapsed into the night before, it’s bigger, and the sheets are different. You try to sit up, but are forced back down by a pair of slender, strong hands.

“Hush, go back to sleep. You looked like you were having a wonderful dream.”

Your eyes snap open, wide awake now. A beautiful woman is holding you down, laying beside you. For a moment you feel frozen, your brain is confused and you have to take a moment to just stare. She’s downright stunning, and she’s looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. Half of you wants to do as she says.

Wait, no. Your senses come back to you and you realize that you’re a trespasser being held down on a bed. That’s, weird. You realize that this is not normal, not good.

You struggle out of her grip, sitting up and panickedly scooting away. You get the idea that you were only able to get out of her hands because she let you, by the way she laughs.

“I-I– stay away–” you start to say, but you don’t really know what to say afterwards.

She just smiles and tilts her head at you, propped up by her forearms.

“Stay away?” She asks, voice like honey, slow and sweet. You could drown in the sound of it, you find yourself wishing for her to speak more. “Miss, you’re the one who broke into my home unannounced and used my guest rooms without my permission.” She scoots closer, so that she’s practically on top of you. “Do you know who I am, silly? Do you know what you’ve signed yourself up for? It’s been so long since I’ve had visitors, you know. I always have to go to your town to eat, but here you are, waltzing right into my home like you own the place.” As she speaks her fingers walk up your shoulder, pulling at the hem of the dress you had fallen asleep in like she wants to pull it off your shoulder. You flush red when she does so, gay panic freezing your brain in place.

What is happening.

You try to make sense of her words through your confused stupor, stuttering out incoherent syllables. She acts as though you should know her, that she’s important. As the cogs click into place you realize exactly who this is.

The town has had attack after attack as of recent, all women, claiming to have been attacked by a beautiful lady who drained them of their blood until they had passed out. A vampire has been loose for years, although she’s become more active as of recent. Looking at the woman in front of you, you see that she matches the descriptions down to a T.

You feel so stupid. How could you have wandered into the den of a monster like this?

She laughs at the face you’re making, pulling away and sitting among the pillows on the bed.

“Oh dear, you’re so easily flustered,” she says, and you just flush darker. “You’re quite adorable, darling.”

“What are you going to do to me?” You ask, voice trembling. Your brain is at war right now, the logical side says you need to run away, now. Unfortunately, the touch starved side says otherwise.

When she smiles, you can’t help but notice how sharp her canines are. She scoots closer again, and for a moment you’re afraid that she’s going to bite you right then and there. Instead, she pulls you into her arms and cards her fingers through your hair, catching you off guard.

“If I end up liking you, I’ll make you mine, permanently,” she says, lifting your chin with a single finger. “Anything you desire will be yours.”

Your brain short circuits.

“But,” she continues, face becoming serious, “If you aren’t a good girl, I can’t promise to treat you as more than just a living food storage. Disobedience will earn you nothing but a cold shoulder.”

You don’t like the sound of that very much. The way she’s holding you, the way she was smiling at you before– you want it–

You snap yourself out of your stupor. You should be wanting to escape right now. Right? That’s why you left the town, to escape it. Although, being here, is it really the same as the village? You weren’t treated the best there, and the living quality wasn’t particularly good. But here? You’re practically swimming in blankets and fluff, and a beautiful monster is giving you attention as though you’re a princess. It isn’t what you had in mind, but isn’t it escape nonetheless?

“Other than that,” the vampire says, “I mostly want to drink from you. And if you want it, I want to kiss you, and play with you, and cuddle you every single morning before we go to bed…” She trails off, before giving you a smile. “Of course, those last few are only for if you want… Can’t go making you too uncomfortable, hm?”

I want it, your brain screams, and you immediately force yourself to be logical about this. “I-I, erm, I don’t even know your name,” you squeak out instead. “How can you know you’ll like me?”

The vampire laughs, fingers running through your hair again. “I’m sure I’ll know soon enough,” she says. She then tells you her name. You tell her yours in return, hesitating at first.

“Well then, my dear,” she says, giving you a boop on the nose. “Be a good girl for me?”

You pause for a moment, studying her face, assessing what it is that you want. Thinking about your town you left, and where you might be if you hadn’t ended up here. Somewhere where you’ll struggle, surely. Much wouldn’t really change, as you turn your options over in your head. The next town over won’t be any different. You won’t find anything waiting for you there. And you feel so comfortable here, and she looks so beautiful, in her red nightgown, looking at you expectantly. She’s stunning. You wonder how she looks at you like you’re the most wonderful person in the world. You feel undeserving.

That doesn’t stop you from giving in, melting into her touch. You want this. You want to make a home here.

Before you know it, you’re leaning in and your lips are on hers, the faint taste of blood dancing along your tongue as she laughs into you and pulls you closer.

[slasher-dasher]

Okay, this may sound... random. But I see Jason Voorhees more like a son than anything. This isn't shipping, this is just something wholesome I really wanna see.

Jason meets the reader and sees them as a parental figure, and the reader sees him like a son. And they have a healthy {as can be with an undead murderer} mother/father-son relationship.

I've never seen anyone do this, and I just want some wholesome parent-son time with him TvT

Parent Trapped

(Jason Voorhees x Reader /p; this was really fun to write!)

︶꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷♡꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦︶

This was supposed to be a fun vacation. You and a few friends had planned to visit some popular urban legend spots, one of them being Camp Crystal Lake. The story had always intrigued you, and you had managed to convince your friends to stop and look around just as the sign had come into view. How could you have known that there actually was an undead killer protecting the camp who was now picking off all of your fellow trespassers? Luckily, you'd managed to take shelter in a cabin that he had yet to explore. It was a little cleaner than the others, but not by much. No cobwebs, but a light layer of dust has settled around the cabin. A small stuffed teddy bear rested on the bed, tattered head placed delicately on the dirty pillow. You reach your hand out to pick it up as sharp snap from outside caught your attention. You whipped your head towards the window, quickly taking the bear in your arms for some sort of comfort. There he stood. You both froze, neither wanting to move as if staying still would prolong the inevitable. You take a hesitant step back, as if that movement would be your last. He didn't move. Just watched as you bolted out of the cabin and towards the woods.

"Jason, spare them." The voice of his mother echoed in his skull, forcing him out of the trance he had been in. For the first time, he doubted it was her. He obeyed regardless. Jason found you crouched under a hastily assembled leaf blanket, bear clutched tightly to your chest while you shivered in your sleep. He moved carefully, lifting your form with gentle ease as he brought you back into the cabin to rest. He didn't know why you had been an exception, your friends certainly hadn't been, but your presence did make him feel... protected? It was strange. He hadn't felt peace with a person at Camp Crystal Lake since his mother worked here, and even then her reach could only go so far. Maybe... if he could convince you...

You sat on the edge of your bed, hand haphazardly plunging a needle and thread into worn fabric that you'd finally been able to keep out of Jason's sight. Several years had gone by since you fell into the role of Camp Crystal Lake's second resident. While Jason disposed of trespassers and kept you safe, you kept the place tidy and him cared for. It was fairly easy, and Jason seemed to enjoy your company. He liked to help you clean, and would often hang around you while you were cooking, a habit you gathered was left over from when his mother was alive. You were relieved when he first rejected your romantic advances that you thought would be an easy escape plan, thankful that he truly did want nothing to do with that. Although, he did appreciate a doting kiss to the cheek (mask?) and other simple affections. The cabin door swung open as you reminisced, tying a final knot that you prayed would hold as the thread sealed the seam in the barely-held-together bear.

"Jason Voorhees, if you get any mud or blood on that floor so help me-" In an instant, an undead hand was extended towards you, holding a random assortment of flowers and leaves. A gentle smile graced your lips, replacing an older makeshift bouquet with the new one while he stood, hands fiddling at his sides.

"I have something for you too!" You stood, bear hidden behind your back as he tilted his head. Standing up on your tip-toes, you lifted the bear up to his face, watching as his stoic body language changed to a child-like joy. He scooped the bear up in an instant, pulling you in for a tight hug while your giggles filled the small cabin. In the midst of the moment, your eyes caught a glimpse of something on the floor, turning both of your attention's to the trail of Jason's boot-prints on the freshly cleaned floor. He got a very stern talking to about taking his shoes off before coming inside while he mopped the floor, apologizing for the mess the whole time.

[stevieharringtonwifeguy]

i think when steddie have their first baby (not sure if they have more) it's an accidental pregnancy. eddie's been on t long enough that he didn't really think he still could get pregnant, and he hasn't had his period in a while, so it takes him a second to realise why he's been so nauseous lately. wayne picks up the test for him, and waits outside the bathroom door while he takes it. eddie'd moved in with steve like a year ago, but he's so off-kilter he needs waynes stability right now.

the test is positive. eddie walks outside the bathroom and wordlessly hands wayne the test. wayne sees it, puts a hand on eddies shoulder, and asks if this is good news. and now eddie has to think. he always kind of wanted kids, abstractly, and he knows steve does too (six of them, the mother hen), but he always thought that it would be some time nebulously in the future. he feels too young right now, still feels like a kid himself, even if he is in his mid-20s. and carrying a pregnancy to term is resigning himself to at least 9 months of definite misgendering. but also he's not sure he'll ever get a chance like this again. he hasn't had a period in years, so he kind of assumed his uterus was just like. dust and cobwebs at this point. it's probably an act of god this happened in the first place, like what are the chances?

and then he looks down at his stomach. again, it took him a while to realise anything was up, so he's about two months along now and just starting to show, even though his bump is still small enough he thought he was just getting fat. and he thinks about the little bump of life inside of him. his and steve's baby. thinks of him and steve raising it together. and he thinks it might be good news.

but first he has to tell steve. it goes well. mostly well. at first when eddie says he and steve need to talk, all serious and sitting him down at the kitchen table, steve has a minor panic attack thinking eddie's gonna break up with him. but they smooth it over, and eddie tells him he's pregnant. honestly, steve's elated. but then he thinks about eddie, who's a dude, and maybe won't want to go through such a traditionally feminine ordeal as pregnancy. steve'd carry their baby himself if he could (don't read into that, steve), but he doesn't want to accidentally guilt eddie into it if he doesn't want to. so they go back and forth for a bit like 'how do you feel about it' 'idk how do you feel about it' 'idk how do y-' but they eventually do talk it out like the adults they are. eddie can handle it, for their baby. and yeah their apartments kinda small, but it's big enough for one more (robins gonna have to give up her allocated guest room, but don't worry, she's cool with it), and money will be tight, but eddie knows how to make a pay check stretch

eddie's pregnancy is kinda rough. nothing goes seriously wrong, but no obstetricians know how to deal with a pregnant man, and the constant misgendering wears him down a little. the constant pissing and back pain and foot pain and everything pain really don't help matters. but at night he lays down next to steve, who curls around him and lays a hand on his stomach, and they feel their baby kick together. and he thinks it's probably worth it

their baby girl is born in the fall, happy and healthy. they name her alexis (lexie munson), and she grows up into the weirdest little kid ever, with two parents (and aunty nancy and aunty robin and uncle dustin and-) who love her very much. she collects bugs and plays dnd and loves metal and climbing trees. she joins the softball team (that night eddie cries himself to sleep while stevie gloats) and always gets one of her aunts to help her with her homework because her parents are helpless. stevie almost cried the first time she asked, no idea what was going on there.

they're not a normal family, and sometimes lexi gets teased for this. but she goes home to two parents who love her so much, who always support her and her passions, and who would do anything to put a smile on her face. so yeah, not a normal family, but a very, very happy one.

[manias-wordcount]

May I ask for a request for spike x reader?! Reader is quite a soft person by nature & tends to wear their heart on their sleeve but most of their life was surrounded by people who saw such traits as a weakness. They feel no one truly understands them and feels a bit out of place, so they tend to daydream a lot. But Spike, despite being a rugged bounty hunter, ends up loving those very traits about them 🙏🥺

A Dreamer's Doo-Wop (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗴𝗼! 𝗶 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗮 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝘆𝗽𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝗹𝗼𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘁 (𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗰𝗸 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗲 𝗟𝗢𝗟) 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗱!!! 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀! 𝗜'𝗺 𝗮 𝗯𝗶𝗴 𝗱𝗮𝘆𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝘂𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲

𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗯 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @dogsandrocketsocks @pittbull-enthusiast @asuperconfusedgirl @rendartgrimson

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

It’s not unusual to find you here.

  It’s a seat in a corner, by a window. The big window, as you and Ed (and now the entire crew), have taken to calling it. For the longest time when it was just him and Jet and their empty pockets, this seat went unnoticed. Forgotten about. Gathering and gathering dust and cobwebs and all sorts of lonely things like it just never existed. And then things happened, and suddenly one day after a trip to Europa- there’s you. And now, there’s you in your favorite spot. The seat by the window. No more dust. No more cobwebs. He used to think of it as lonely. But now when he sees it? 

  He calls it home.

  Of course, he doesn’t use it as often as you do now that you’ve joined the crew. Everyone who calls the Bebop home has spent a moment or two sitting in that special place of yours- but it’s still yours. It’s always going to be yours. So it’s not unusual to find you there. Sitting in it comfortably for hours and hours to no end. It’s not unusual to find you like this at all. 

  Starring outside the window, gazing at the stars. A blanket you took from home draped over your legs and a few pillows you bought from a market on Mars a little after you joined the crew. You’re thinking about something. It’s written all over your face, even though you have it half turned away from him. Still, he can tell. After all this time living with you, he knows. One hand on your chin, supporting your head as your distracted eyes look at all the world has to offer you. The other hand, down by your waist- absently stroking a sleeping Ein’s fur as the dog curls up in your lap without a care in the world. He sees it too clearly. There’s something on your mind. 

And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to find out what. 

  “Hey,” Spikes murmurs quietly, trying not to break the peaceful atmosphere you created for yourself. He stands right by the entrance to this room, leaning against the wall to give you all the space you needed before he draws closer to you. But perhaps, it was too quiet of an attempt. You make no move to show that you heard his voice. Your fingers never stop making their way through Ein’s fur for a moment. Nor does your mind ever seem to have stopped moving to register his words. You’re off in your own little world. Distracted, as usual. But that won’t stop him from trying to find you- where you drifted off to this time.“You there, sweetheart?”

  Sweetheart.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen. In fact, he had been trying to keep that from happening for so, so long. And yet, the nickname slips out so easily. Almost as if it was second nature. But again, you don’t seem to hear a word that had been said to you. You just don’t.

  Still, that does little to stop Spike’s cheeks from growing warm and his overall embarrassment from that small moment of no composure. His saving grace is that you’re still looking at the stars. Still stroking Ein’s fur. Still off in your own world. He could only imagine your reaction to something so bold coming from him. You wouldn’t have been able to handle hearing something so intimate. Hell, you’re hardly able to handle a compliment from anyone on the crew- especially from him. But maybe that’s why he can’t help but call you sweetheart in his head whenever he looks at you. 

  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t help but call you that out loud too.

  Out of the corner of his eye, something shifts. For once, he decides to take his eyes off of your face to follow the movement that his mind only vaguely registered. Luckily, he doesn’t have to shift his gaze far. In an instant, he’s able to tell that his eyes caught on Ein moving around in your lap. He was freshly woken up from slumber- his look complete with a silent yawn and a sleepy gaze that peered out at Spike and stared deep into his soul. 

  And like any normal person, he stares back at the mutt, giving it the glare he could muster. And hoping that this will be the day the stupid dog finally takes the hint. Spoiler alert: he doesn’t.

  Instead, the dog just continues to look and look and look at him. With that stupidly annoying cute little doggy face of his- Spike doesn’t blame him for staying put. Even though Ein is now fully awake, your fingers never stop running themselves through his fur in that steady, constant motion of yours. Your eyes are still looking out. Your gaze is still far away. But Ein makes no move to get off your lap. He makes no move to give you space. No move to give your hand a break. No move to stop selfishly taking up your precious time and energy when you should be spending it on-

  Okay, no. 

  Spike isn’t jealous of a dog.

   He’s not. He can’t be. But just because he’s not jealous of the dog doesn’t mean he can’t acknowledge when something is unfair. For example, Ein taking all your time is unfair. It leaves you very little time for yourself, in Spike’s opinion. Or Ein always wanting to lay near or on you is completely unfair too. How are you ever supposed to be alone like that? How are you ever supposed to sit down and be comfortable with a tiny, four-legged, foul-breathed space heater that is always trying to be in your space-

  He pauses his thoughts for a second. For two. For three. Perhaps four. And then, he sighs.

  “What the hell is wrong with me?” He can’t help but mutter under his breath with a shake of his head. A thought he doesn’t mind sharing with the near-empty room- even if you’re not even present enough in the moment to hear him. Because he’s not looking for an answer or a response. He’s not even looking for acknowledgment. Because at the end of the day- he’s far too busy for something of the sort. “See what you do to me, sweetheart?”

  He’s far too busy, looking at you.

  You’ve barely moved an inch and yet you’ve captured all his attention. You haven’t said a word, yet his ears are tuned in to hear you and you alone. Before meeting you, he didn’t he would ever fall in love again. Before meeting you, he didn’t think he was even capable of falling in love ever again. But things change. Things change, and now there you are- looking out that stupid window, while petting that stupid dog and sitting in that stupid seat in the corner as your mind swirls around with those big, beautiful thoughts he knows you’re having at this moment and somehow he’s still standing here in complete silence watching you. Somehow he’s still hoping for the chance that you’ll notice him competing for your attention. Waiting to meet your eyes. Waiting to hear your voice. To see your smile.

  Somehow, he’s in love. 

  He didn’t think it was possible. Completely, wholly, fully in love. With a person so soft and so sweet he drives him insane. Because you’re so different from him. The type of different that makes it hard for him to think around you. The type of different that makes it so that all he can think about is you. You’re not like the people he meets in this world. You’re not like any of them. And he knows that people like you are the first to get hurt. The first to get their hopes dashed. Their dreams ruined. Their lives stolen.

  But he also knows that it’s getting increasingly hard to think about living in a world without you in it. So hard, that he swears he’ll do everything in his power to make sure it doesn’t happen. That it never happens. Never. Even if means he has to survive a universe where all you do is look out at the stars and think. Even if means he has to learn how to thrive in a world where all he can do is watch you from afar.

  And think about what it would be like if he just had you.

  So he’ll admit it. He’s jealous of the dog. So, so jealous. He is. He’s jealous of the dog, and deep down inside of him, he knows it’s stupid. He knows it’s dumb. But he can’t help it. He just can’t help but fall victim to that feeling. He’s jealous of the dog. He’s jealous of Ein. Just like he’s jealous of that little seat in the corner that you built up for yourself. It’s a place you find so safe. So wrapped up and warm. It’s a place that makes you happy- he can’t help but wish it were him. He’s jealous of the stars outside the window. How they capture and keep your gaze for hours upon hours. Showing you a beauty he’s not sure he could ever give you. Not while his hands are still stained in blood, at least. But most of all?

  He’s jealous of all the thoughts swirling around your head. So, so jealous. 

  So he hopes for your sake, they’re beautiful. Things that are more beautiful than the stars. Things that are softer than the clouds. Things that are somehow sweeter than you. And he hopes for his sake?

  That your thoughts find a way to include him too.

[diodellet]

i think i've found a place for us (jamil viper x gn!reader)

lovingly strapping jamil into a rollercoaster ride along the full emotional spectrum😇😇 fic title is from this song content warnings: -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect -mix of jp and en terms -post-Book 4 OB (references to master-servant relationships, assassinations) -self-deprecating thoughts (references to symptoms of depression) ++this fic is hurt/comfort, whatever issues kalim and jamil have, it's probably mentioned here word count: 3.4k words

This was now Jamil's... fourth day of staying at the Ramshackle dorm. And even though he spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, he could make a list of all the inconveniences that came with temporarily living in the once-abandoned dorm. Mold, dust, cobwebs—those were only the first of many entries on his list.

It was far from the quiet, secluded place he initially pegged it as. The building would creak and groan as its living residents moved from room to room. At the peak of midnight, bits and pieces of the ghosts' conversations would travel through the walls, up the floorboards, mix with the sound of the wind outside.

That didn't mean it was completely unbearable.

Whenever you thought that you were alone, you would fill the silence with song. More humming and mumbled syllables than audible lyrics, but still melodious and pleasant to listen to.

"I didn't know you sang." Jamil's voice is rough with sleep.

You spin around to see him, eyes widening in surprise. “You! Should be sleeping!”

"I… think I've had enough." 

If anything, he’s spent too much time asleep for the past few days, dealing with more lingering headaches instead of feeling rested and energized. He sits up, turns his gaze to an interesting patch of clawed up wood on the bedframe left uncovered by your mattress. Grim's doing.

"...did I—do you want anything? I could run over to Sam's or the cafeteria?"

"No, no thank you." It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach the thought of food, but it was along the lines of not really feeling up to it.

He’s been feeling an awful lot of nothing lately. It was as if everything—all the rage, the resentment, everything that had festered within his being—disappeared with the Blot.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” All that remained now was the shadow of his Overblot. The lingering discomfort, the hushed whispers from the students, the vision of ink coating his fingers.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “...Go back to what you were doing.” The words spill out. Clipped, taut. A demand—no, a plea for you to leave it at that.

He doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “Okay.” You nod, and slowly turn back to your textbook. Slip the other earphone back on and spin your pen in between your fingers.

(The reflexive ‘sorry’ catches in his throat, a few seconds too late for it to be used.)

Jamil lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. The hour ticks by, rays of the afternoon light slowly dimming. He shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t let himself doze off.

The scratch of your pen stops. “...hello?” Jamil turns to rest on his other side so that he’s not looking at you or your work desk. “He’s still here, yes… what about Kalim?”

Even if you lower your voice, it doesn’t stop his ears from picking up on the conversation. The same way that his sleep never tips too far into deep unconsciousness.

“I see… I’ll try asking him about that later.” You fall silent again, listening to the person on the other end. “...Are you guys holding up alright? On top of your…usual stuff?”

He suspects it might be someone from Octavinelle, maybe Jade or Azul. 

The chair legs squeak against the floor. “...If it does get to be too much, please tell me. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll visit Scarabia tomorrow or—” The sentence dies in your throat.

Another pause elapses before you give a resigned sigh. “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll leave it to you…thank you.” Something clatters on your desk, probably your phone.

“...Okay, dinner. What to make…” You mutter to yourself, clicking on the desk lamp. Your footsteps travel to the other side of the room to undo the curtains.

He continues to feign sleep, remaining still as you switch on the lamp at the bedside table. The mattress dips with your weight as you lean over to pull up the blanket so that it covers his shoulder.

The first day that he arrived at Ramshackle was in the middle of a snowy night. An otherwise normal interaction with Kalim escalated into a heated argument. And then the dorm leader insisted on doing something by himself, which steered the conversation into doing away with their opposing statuses and then…like his Overblot, Jamil couldn’t remember the exact specifics of what happened.

Only a persistent gnawing at his temples, red-hot flashes obscuring his vision, his hands haphazardly gathering his things. Not a single one of his dormmates stopped him, quickly moving out of his way or fearfully standing to the side. Kalim's voice calling out for him was the last thing Jamil heard before he stepped through the mirror.

Somehow, his feet brought him to the once-abandoned dormitory. His shoulder was protesting under the weight of his gym bag. The wind bit into the exposed parts of his face, his hoodie did little to protect him from the cold. The gate was locked, of course. But just before he turned on his heel to return to Scarabia, one of the Ramshackle ghosts appeared and unlocked the gate for him.

Everything else was a blur after that. He was just…numb. And tired. Pliant to letting you peel off his snow-covered outerwear and replacing it with a thick blanket. Another ghost pushed a warm mug of tea into his hands. He couldn’t fall asleep though, not with Grim sitting next to him by the fireplace and whining about being woken up. 

“—just let me call back in the morning, he’s…no, he’s not hurt, he’s fine.” You were on the phone, cradling it against your shoulder as you laid his hoodie on the back of a chair. “Okay, bye.”

Jamil didn’t feel alright. If he didn’t upend his family’s carefully-built legacy with his betrayal and Overblot, then he single-handedly sent it to its downfall by running away from Scarabia, away from his charge.

“I…should go back…” he mumbled, moving to stand up. He set the tea aside, the drink was untouched. His fingers had warmed enough at this point. The blanket fell to the floor. “Kalim…”

“Will be fine,” you cut him off, gripping him by his shoulders. “He’s got the rest of Scarabia with him. You’re…not okay.”

Those words stung. He shrugged off your hold. “It doesn’t matter, I have to go.” He needed to stop acting like a child. Go back to what he was meant to do.

“Jamil, I’m not letting you walk in the snow. If you really want to go back, then at least…” Your expression, pained with concern, then softened with your voice. “...at least wait for the weather to calm down by next morning. Please.”

“...Next morning. I’m leaving,” he conceded.

He didn’t leave when morning arrived. When he awoke, it was already afternoon. He was covered in two new blankets and Grim was curled up against his legs.

At the foot of your bed, resting beside his gym bag, were two overstuffed suitcases. Kalim’s handiwork.

Save for the light emanating from the desk lamps, the rest of your room is shrouded in darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls, the floorboards, the edge of your bed, seemingly dripping with ink.

He scrubs a palm over his face. The room returns to normal—no, it's always been normal. He's the one with problems. To solve and to shoulder, those were the only courses of action he could take. And to say that he was merely shouldering all these burdens would discount the resourcefulness he honed from a young age. 

But then to be denied both options with your interference—you, Kalim, and that Octavinelle trio—to have you all meddle a second time, it should have sent him into a rage again. Maybe it would have warranted a second Overblot, but he was. Just. So.

Tired.

He pulls himself out of your bed and goes down to the kitchen.

You were at the stove, finishing up a batch of pasta and serving it on a plate. One of the Ramshackle ghosts was carrying Grim in its arms. Maybe to keep him from jumping onto the countertop and sneaking a few bites. Atop the small dining table, an upbeat tune played from your phone, it sounded like something from a musical. The scene in front of him was nice, but dinner was tuna carbonara. And for the past four days, his meals consisted of fish. Not even shellfish, just some iteration of canned fish. Tuna, sardines, mackerel, salmon, maybe shrimp if Grim was up for the "variety."

Jamil can’t complain, he won’t complain. He’s not a picky eater by any means, but even he had his limits when it came to eating processed food. In his mind, he decided that he would have to take over kitchen duties. Tomorrow. He can only manage helping with cleanup.

(For now, even as an outsider, he can enjoy the shred of normalcy that the shared meal brings.)

You spend one more hour at your desk, going through your winter break homework. Steadily and methodically finishing one subject at a time. Your foot taps against the floor, in time with the music playing through your earphones.

“...Done!” You sigh in relief, stretching your arms above your head. “Will you still need the lights, Jamil?” You turn to look at him.

One of his own textbooks laid open on the bed, little lecture notes and annotations neatly written along the margins. His homework was already completed a day before the holidays started. But, he decided he could redo some of them, make an attempt to earn a higher grade.

“We can stop holding back on account of our social status.”

Jamil feels a twinge at his left temple. He closes the book, leaving a pencil in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark, then sets it at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” There’s an urge to make himself small, invisible to your concern. Which he knows is just basic courtesy as a host—as the head of the Ramshackle Dormitory. 

“Alright. Good night, Jamil.” A click, then darkness. 

That would make this the fourth night spent away from Scarabia. Another night of resting in two hour intervals. Of waiting for sleep to claim him before his racing thoughts consumed him. He calls your name. 

It’s surprisingly easy to, now that the lights are off. “You should be sleeping in your own bed.” 

“...But I can’t just let you sleep on the sofa. It’ll be a killer on your back.” The sound of your footsteps slows to a stop, floorboards creaking with the motion. “The both of us are fine sleeping downstairs.”

“Isn’t he a restless sleeper?” 

“Nope, he sleeps like a baby.”

At that remark, somewhere from the first floor, the sound of rapid footfalls could faintly be heard. Coupled with the fire-monster’s trademark cackle.

“Well, that is, when he gets tired enough.”

The both of you lapse into silence, listening to Grim tear through the first floor hallways. The sound of the ghosts playfully taunting him.

You mutter quietly to yourself, “yeah, he’ll tire himself out in a bit. Hopefully.” The floorboards creak again, you’re probably leaning against the doorframe. “Does the noise bother you?’

“No, not really…” The Scarabia dorm was unnervingly quiet in the days after his Overblot. It was as if there were eyes on him, breaths held in anticipation. Watching and waiting for his next misstep. Nighttime wasn’t any easier. Whenever he'd jolt awake, he would stifle any screams or cries with his pillow, wait for the terror to run its course, count the hours until sunrise. “It’s just—”

There’s a faraway crash and the sound of Grim cursing, a chorus of ghostly laughter in response.

“Never mind, I misspoke. It’s…” Stupid. Jamil quickly dismisses your concern. “You should go check on him.” He turns his back to the doorway.

But you don’t leave. The sound of your footsteps approaches your bed. “Grim’ll be fine. I’m… more worried about you. Could you scoot over?”

“It’s your bed.” He tamps the embarrassment down, forces irritation into his words. Nonetheless letting you climb into the spot next to him. The mattress dips with your weight added to it.

Your own response was bashful. “I know, but…” you pause, thinking of your next words. “Grim and the ghosts… noticed that you were having… nightmares.”

“They’ll pass.” He’s dealt with worse.

“...You’re not wrong for feeling these things,” you say, voice low. As if speaking any louder would disturb the other residents of the dorm.

"How could you still say that…” A lump forms in his throat.  “...after…"

"After everything?” 

It doesn’t feel right to hear you cut to the heart of it. His words spill into the darkness of your bedroom. "After throwing you and Grim into the desert, keeping you against your will—"

"Hey, we were glad to get out of the cold for a little bit."

At his silence, you let out a quiet laugh.

"...I mean it though. It wasn't all bad." Your fingertips press against the side of his arm, apologetic.

He doesn’t… shy away from the contact, but he remains still. Staring up at the ceiling. “You could’ve died.”

Your touch withdraws. “I can say the same to you."

"Wouldn't that have been better? What use is there for an insubordinate servant?” Jamil thinks back to the attempts made on Kalim’s life. Investigations were made into the other staff. Into esteemed guests, renowned politicians, prospective and longtime business partners. Through it all, only the Viper household remained clean.

And it just had to be him, the person closest to Kalim, who tarnished that steadfast loyalty. He’s seen what happened to assassins who were caught. 

(There’s a certain irony in having to spill blood for the protection of another.)

"Don't…don't say that. Kalim doesn’t think of you like that…"

But he still treats Jamil like one. “He thinks the world of everyone he meets. Even those who’ve wronged him.”

“...sure, maybe he’s a bit naive—” That was an understatement, Jamil thinks to himself. Dense, ignorant, stupid were more fitting. “—but he really does see you as one of his closest friends.”

“What do you know?” he counters. What could you say that he hasn't already heard?

“Kalim’s not stupid. He genuinely trusted—he still trusts you in spite of what happened.”

And wasn’t that the most irritating part? That he was still being showered in empty kindness and praise by Kalim? That in the end, he would have to be held accountable for something as careless as losing control of himself?

“It isn’t that simple.” Frustration laces the way he says your name. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second—”

“I am…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s my duty, to Kalim’s family and my own.” God, he was sick of hearing the dorm leader’s drivel about friendship, but to hear himself repeating his parents’ own words to you was painful.

“That’s true, but you’re not…”

There’s a familiar heat building at the base of Jamil’s throat, an ugly mix of shame, embarrassment. “His title and status as the Asim heir takes priority, and I have to make sure that he doesn’t die before that happens—”

“But you were just a kid!” Your voice rises to a furious whisper before falling, quiet and trembling. “...you were just…a kid… and you shouldn’t have had to bear that on your own for so long…And then to be expected to carry on as if nothing happened…”

Jamil should be angry at hearing another shed tears for him. Expressing the emotions that should’ve been his. Only one other person has done that in front of him, and that misplaced kindness sent him further along the route to his eventual Overblot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t but—” Despite your apology, the thickness in your voice doesn’t let up. "Still…! Who just tells their own child to ‘lose thrice’?"

The anger that he has carefully nursed doesn’t rear its head. Maybe it really did disappear with the dispelling of his Overblot. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t face him with the fear that his dormmates held.

“How do you know that?” His question is met with your silence. With the curtains drawn closed, only faint slivers of moonlight creep into your bedroom, scarcely enough to reveal the shape of your figure beside him. Jamil’s hand reaches out tentatively—the back of your hand is damp—before withdrawing altogether. 

“...When I fell into the Blot ink, I could hear them…and I saw you. When you were younger.” 

He could remember the ink pouring into every orifice. “Then you…” If it went on for any longer, it would have drowned him, then consumed his magic, then his body and then—

“Yeah, then I managed to pull you out.” 

“But you weren’t in the infirmary.” 

“...Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Did…that happen with the others?”

“Yeah. With Riddle. And Leona, and Azul. I don’t know why it happens." You shift, the sound of your clothes rustling against the bed covers as you move closer to him. Your shoulder lightly nudges his. “The first time it happened, no one else knew what I was talking about.”

“Tell that to the livestream of my conversation with Azul.”

“But they didn’t broadcast it… it was just a speaker call. For the rest of the dorm to hear.”

Jamil sits up. “What.” He was supposed to know about this? Those Octavinelle fuckers.

“I…I thought—oh, I guess they didn’t tell you, I’m sorry—”

His stunned silence is broken with a laugh, bubbling from his throat and building into sharp, hysterical laughter. He feels warm, burns with embarrassment, because of course it wasn’t a livestream. And why was he feeling a hint of relief at that revelation?

His palms press against his eye sockets. To his ears, the sound is foreign, but he can feel the exertion in his throat. Feel his breathing quicken, the start of a sob which he chokes down.

It takes him a few more moments to register the tears flowing down his cheeks. His outburst dies as quickly as it erupted. His chest hurts at the feeling of stifling his cries, to keep them from escaping.

God, he feels dumb.

You sit up, pull him into your arms. Let him cry against your shoulder, rub a soothing hand against his back. You don’t say anything, but the tender gesture speaks enough.

By the time his emotions have calmed down, his head aches with a dull pain. The all-too familiar sensation of exhaustion seeps into him. 

“Will… you ever talk to Kalim?” you ask. Your own expression was stricken with tear tracks, from sharing in a fraction of his pain.

“Of course I have to eventually.” He sighs, lying back down and you follow. “...I have no choice.”

“You don’t have to…force yourself to though.” You reach forwards, gently wiping away his tears with your thumbs. And he lets you. “If you still need time, you can stay here… To rest and recuperate.”

Paradoxically, it’s in the words of a stranger—(did you count as an acquaintance though? Acquaintances didn’t just spoon each other though, they didn’t just tangle their legs together while sharing the same bed)—that he finds a pinprick of solace.

And sure, you could call it that. ‘Rest.’

But to Jamil, this was stagnation. He couldn’t just keep mooching off your hospitality, blindly trusting in Kalim’s resolve to change. He couldn’t let himself stay indebted for this long. 

“I can’t just stay here for the holidays.  But…thank you.” 

Once winter break ends, what would he do? How should he go about repairing his social standing in the dorm? With the rest of the student body? 

What’s the next move?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep. Rest comes to him, gentle and peaceful.

When early morning arrives, Jamil gives himself five minutes. Five minutes of sitting in the rare calmness of his mind, of listening to your slow even breathing, of being encased in between the warmth of the blankets and your body heat. Comfortable, protected, safe in your arms.

Then he extricates himself from your hold. At the motion, you make a weak sound of protest, blindly reaching after him. Your fingers brush against the hem of Jamil’s shirt. He catches your wrist, gently sets your arm down on the mattress. Then he pulls the edge of the blanket over you to keep you warm and goes to get ready for the day.

Since he was planning on making breakfast, he’d first have to check if the school store had anything available.

(A part of him is grateful that Kalim packed a scarf.)

A/N: originally this started as a scene of jamil being the lazy one for once and trying to keep u in bed with him. i just wanted to write cuddles (read: the intended kissies were somehow lost along the way. i am still sobbing crying weeping and calling for them to come back home) but aaa its finally done, one of my persistent brainworms is freed!! and more have taken its place help id like to credit @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic, thank u ms maam twst veteran💕💕 wcidfy ch3 will take a bit more time to be written. so im gonna chip away at other wips (shorter oneshots) as i try to get the main beats down. it would take a miracle for it to be posted soon, so id probably expect chapter 3 in (late) june. anyway, i hope u enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags!! i treasure each and every comment!! taglist (ig i have one of these now?): @merotwst

[blueberrypancakesworld]

The song of desire

Warning : smut, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, nightmare, blood drinking, little emotional, kissing

Masterlist, next part

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

Darkness overcame her as soon as she closed her eyes. She had resisted sleep for too long. Too long she wanted to wait for him. Whether it was Milo or Michael, it didn't matter. She wanted to wait and meet her fate. But as she sat there on the couch, it apparently became softer and softer and her body, which was no longer under adrenaline, needed to recover.

From the horror, the blood, the corpses, the monsters of reality. But it was finally the sleep that came to her before the two and brought her into the darkness.

She herself could not see it but her body moved restlessly back and forth. Not something because it was a dream full of lust. No, it was another nightmare that was given to her. Darkness surrounded her as always an old friend and yet always different.

She moved forward before the corridor in front of her was illuminated by the almost burnt out flickering candles. The candles in the old iron hallways no longer seemed splendid. Everything seemed cold and dark, gloomy and abandoned. As if the splendor of the wish and the dream was gone. As if the truth about the creature had come to light.

The darkness at her feet gave way and cold bare old stone floor and walls were brought forth. The cold drove into her body and did not seem to let her go. The white long nightgown that covered her naked body moved slightly as she walked. She continued walking before an old oak door with heavy iron hinges appeared out of the shadows. It seemed to have been there since the beginning of the castle's construction. Her fingers ran over the wood. Cold. It was just as cold as anything else in the place.

She touched the cold handle and felt the slight indentations that had been made by the casting before she pushed it down and walked through the door. But the hope of a change of scenery was not to be found. The castle, the magnificent interior, everything in this wonderful place seemed to be in disrepair. The walls, which were hung with brightly painted pictures and tapestries as well as large oil paintings, were now full of mold, dust and cobwebs.

The tapestry had peeled away and as she stepped closer to get a better look, she was startled. Claw-like deep furrows had pierced her cheek in various places. The tall, candle-lit chandeliers barely provided any light, but it was enough to see the horror.

Moving away with a pounding heart and an uneasy feeling, she continued on her way. On what or after whom she did not know. Was it Light, Michael or even Milo?

But the further she went, the more fragile everything seemed to become. Desolate and yet morbid in its own beautiful.

She reached the apparent end of the passage, but stopped. A figure of her own stood opposite her. The initial fear in her inner self gave way when she realized that it was her own reflection. Stepping towards the mirror embedded in the wall, she soon found herself face to face.

The reflective surface was cool and a crack ran from top to bottom across the mirror. She saw herself twice, as if two sides were ruling her inner life, as they did with Michael and Milo. Was it wrong?

Didn't she have two sides? The one who loved Michael and wanted to help. The other who was afraid of the monster and tried to accept it. She stepped closer and touched the crack with her fingers. She hissed harshly as blood smeared the surface. Despite the fact that it was not a deep tear in the mirror, the cut on her finger was deep.

To somehow soothe it, her fingers tangled in the white nightgown. But this also absorbed the blood and formed a morbid pattern. ,, My heart" she heard Michael's voice and when she looked up he was standing behind her again. His cold hand ran up her arm to her bleeding fingers. ,, Let me help you" she heard him whisper before she felt his tongue on her fingers.

He licked and sucked the blood away but he did not stop. ,, Michael, enough," she said after his deadly embrace became more possessive. She cried out in fear when she felt his teeth on her neck. They were only a few millimeters away from her skin when there was a crack from the mirror. Her gaze fixed on her own image as the mirror shattered further and the pieces fell to the floor.

They shattered and she felt the small cuts on her legs that had gone through the fabric. But what frightened and panicked her was the figure that came out through the darkness. ,, My flower" she heard his voice and yet she could not escape him because Michael would not let her go. Milo grabbed her other hand and ran his tongue up it before she felt his presence on the other side of her neck.

The obsession chased and trapped two monsters who want to feed on her blood. But only one of them really has her heart.

Her eyes opened as she felt the teeth of the two vampires on her neck. Her hands clawed at the couch beneath her. Darkness infinite darkness still seemed to lie over the city. And slowly she wondered if she would be in the dark reality forever.

The exhaustion was in her body as if the experiences wanted to take her back to the darkness. Yawning as she got off the couch, she went to her kitchen. The coffee machine whirred and she watched the windows. The feeling of being watched did not seem to disappear. When the buzzing stopped she took the hot cup and turned around again as she recoiled. She saw the shadow scurrying past her window.

For what seemed like an instant it flitted on and she felt the cold countertop against her back. Only when she heard and perceived the breeze did she drop the cup out of fear. But she waited for the coffee to shatter and burn. ,, Please do not be frightened," she heard Michael's calm voice. He knelt down to catch the cup and came up.

She saw the short shift of his weight, but did not comment on it. He still wore the orange uniform and seemed to be a bit affected. ,, Here," he said before holding out the cup to her. When Y/n did not react and her gaze remained fixed on his chest, he placed it next to her.

,, I was afraid," she suddenly said as if she had found her voice again. Then she took him in her arms and tried to ignore the smell of blood on him. ,, I was afraid that Milo would come and not you. I was afraid of what would happen next," she confessed to him and she felt his cold hands running over her back. ,, I know I'm sorry, my heart," she heard him say, hugging her tighter.

Her heartbeat calmed down and the danger that Milo posed seemed less. The Derigent played his symphony. When they broke away, she took the coffee cup and took a sip. However, she briefly frowned when she tasted the metallic taste. One took what one tasted also with the smell.

And Michael stank of blood. ,, Sorry, I was not in the shower. May I use yours?" he asked when he found out what was bothering Y/n and when he looked down at himself he saw the dried blood stains on the suit. ,, Yes please," she said and left him to himself before pouring her coffee away.

Only a short time later she heard the shower come on and the warmth coming from the door as she walked past it to go to her bedroom. This time, however, it was late and she wanted to get out of her clothes. She paused as she pulled her shirt over her head. Can he see me? the question echoed in her head as she thought about a vampire. She still knew vaguely that Dracula, from the book of the same name she had read in her teenage years, could not see through walls.

But he could hypnotize, at least his beauty was so captivating that it bordered on hypnosis. But Michael had already seen her body, even if only a bit. Besides, she had to argue that he looked at her with love, not as an object without ulterior motives.

He perceived her as a whole as herself. ,, Would you have a shirt for me or something?" she heard the question and turned around. Michael stood there with a towel in his hand, torso exposed and dressed only in jeans.

She blinked several times before tearing herself away from his body and walking to her closet. ,, Staring is unwelcome," she heard him already reprimanding. ,, Oh, stop it, you owe me for the fright," she said as she continued to look through.

But she kept her eyes feverishly on the clothes, because even if Michael's new condition looked very good, she didn't want to make it too obvious. ,, Ehm here I don't know if it fits is the big cuddly shirt I have" she said and held up a big black t-shirt. ,, Thank you" he said before she tossed him the shirt and watched him put it on. Only when the fabric covered his muscles did she pull away and walk past him into the kitchen. ,, How are you?" he asked the surprising question and she looked at him uncertainly.

Nevertheless, she could not suppress a sigh. ,, I think- I'm worried about Milo. I'm scared Michael, scared as hell that he'll kill me," she confessed and turned away from him. She felt his hand reaching for hers, but not pulling it towards her. ,, I'll protect you, Y/n, I promise. We will make an antidote and everything will be fine," he said, but did not take her in his arms. He felt that there was something else. ,, I know you're strong, but I'd be lying if I said you had a chance against him. I saw you arrive here".

She saw that it hit Michael, but he accepted that she was right. ,, Let's talk about it tomorrow when I pick up Martine, we'll just finish everything here," she said before opening one of her cupboards. ,, Cocoa?" she asked, trying to lighten the depressed mood. ,, No thanks, I'll stick to the red stuff" he said with an embarrassed smile. She nodded and pushed him down on the couch while she made her cocoa.

When she was done she went to him and put the hot bag on the small table before she sat down next to him and leaned against him. ,, Michael". ,,Yes? ". ,, I love you" . ,, I love you infinitely more Y/n" she heard him murmur in her ear before he kissed her. There was love behind everything he did, he did it only out of love for her.

Two hearts that fit. She felt him pause with his hand on her neck as he slid down. ,, Do you want it?" he asked the question and she had to smile briefly. It seemed like the first time they were on their first date. So incredibly lloveful and yet always looking out for her. ,, Yes" confirmed the common love for each other before he kissed her again. She knew that in his condition also on the sexual level new possibilities opened up. She felt his cold fingers on her breasts again.

He pushed them under her top before he took it off and loosened the bra with a deft movement. She made a surprised noise as he suddenly lifted her in one swift movement. She felt the power behind it and how easy it must be for him. ,, I've got you" she heard him say before she wrapped her legs around his waist and he stabilized her.

She knew from the way he carried her into the bedroom. Gently, yet with certainty, he lowered her onto the bed before he took off the rest of his clothes and she followed him. ,, You are so unbelievably beautiful " she heard him murmur before he kissed her breasts. Her heart beat faster, it was as if they would beat together again.

But she knew she had to tell him something. Something that had already led to many an end of a relationship. ,, Michael, I have to tell you something," she said, which felt like an eternity. Fear gripped her body. What would he say back? Leave her and hate her. Immediately he let go of her and straightened up slightly to see her better. ,, What is it?" he asked after giving her her space.

The last thing he wanted was to lock up his heart. ,, I can't have children it-" she was interrupted by a hug. Slightly shaky, she hugged him back. ,, You don't have to tell me why. I don't care Y/n I would always love you my heart" she heard him say. All fear and doubt left her at once. She released his embrace before she felt the soft mattress against her back again.

Before she felt his loving kind on her again. He kissed his way from her lips down to her neck. She felt him sucking on her neck. There was a certain sweetness behind the gesture. Goosebumps formed on her body but it was not unpleasant rather exciting. Shortly she even thought to feel his pointed teeth scratching over her skin. But maybe she had imagined it or?

She felt how his hand drove over the soft skin of her thigh and drew light circles every now and then. And his other hand began to massage her breasts and lightly pinch her nipples. An excited sound came from her and she felt the short smirk of Michael.

Leaving her neck, he kissed his way down before pausing. His hand moved up her thigh to her arm before their fingers intertwined. She felt him gently place a kiss on her fingers. Another sign of love. ,, Are you ready?". ,, Yes" she answered breathlessly before she felt him inside her. It took some getting used to for both of them, but they knew it would be incredible.

To be united in their love was beautiful. She wrapped her legs around his hips again and pulled him closer. His new strength was incredible and yet he was loving. She felt him kiss her body again before their lips met. She moaned into the kiss and let the pleasure cloud her mind. His movements matched hers and the symphony was attuned to them both.

It was so fast that she didn't realize what was happening until she was suddenly on top. Michael had turned her around with his strength so that she was looking at him and her hands were resting on his chest. ,, I wanted to see all your beauty," he confessed and briefly avoided her gaze.

She lovingly stroked a strand of hair from his face before taking the lead. As soon as she moved, she felt his hands on her hips. The nude they both indicated blurred and they both lost themselves in the lust of their hearts. Y/n leaned against his chest she could feel the rapid heartbeat that seemed to blur with her own.

She felt him tighten his grip on her hips. She was sure that this too would leave a mark. But she didn't care, it was just another instrument, another sound in their shared symphony. She felt her own climax approaching. It took only a few more movements before she came with a lustful noise.

But it wasn't the end as the moans turned into a mix of pleasure and pain as Michael quickly gifted himself up and sank his teeth into her throat. ,, Michael" his name came from her lips and her hands tried to push him away. But he didn't seem to hear her, she felt him sucking her blood with every beat of his heart.

Only when she made another painful sound did she see the claws on her body and how they could cut her in half any second. ,, Michael, please stop," she tried again as black spots began to appear on her face. But it was useless, a monster was right next to her, not her heart, not her Michael. So it came that her vision continued to blur before she fainted. The body of the woman

was released shortly after and he withdrew from her. The blood red eyes became softer and lighter with each blink and each look at his heart. Before the man she loved was in front of her again. ,, Y/n, I'm so sorry," he said, and for the first time it was his heart that he could not control.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Hoarding Behavior #4

Masterpost

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Warnings: non-graphic processing of an animal (dead deer)

River woke up with purring in his ear and warmth against his cheek. What? His eyes flew open. He was on the opposite side of where he started, pressed into Master’s chest. He looked around wildly, and Master’s arms were loosely cradling him close. 

It wasn’t the worst feeling in the world, but there were better places to be than in the arms of a Master who could tear him apart. He slipped out from the hold. Noct cracked open an eye, but said nothing. He curled up on himself, and went back to sleep.

Now what?

He gazed around the den. His eyes landed on the cooking fire. Pots and pans hung on hooks from the wall. Breakfast sounded good.

He grabbed some eggs from a carton on the counter. He took a pan off the wall, and ran straight into a problem. How would he light the fire? It had long since gone out, and there were no matches or any flint. Of course there wouldn’t be; why would a dragon keep those around?

“Need a light?” He jumped. Master was right behind him.

“Yes, please.”

Master leaned over the wood and puffed a ball of flames. It lit instantly, a low heat perfect for eggs. 

“Thank you, Master.” He began to crack the eggs into the pan.

“I am going hunting,” Noct informed him, “I must kill all the bears in the wood to appease the village.”

“What about the wolves?”

“There are no wolves in the forest. I implied there was to make a better deal,” admitted Master, “Wolves are clever, and would not bother sharing territory with a dragon.”

“Oh. Um, have fun?” Noct cocked his head.

“I suppose I will. I do not care for bears. They dig up my garden and steal honey from the nearby hives.”

“You have a garden?” asked River as he scrambled his eggs.

“Of course. Why would I not?”

“I just… thought dragons ate only meat.” It seemed silly in hindsight. He had just eaten the dragon's food last night, and that had potatoes.

“Mostly. But I am fond of many things. I would not buy from humans when I can hunt and grow it myself. Aside from bread, of course.”

“Right.” River imagined Noct kneading bread and getting dough caught on his claws and the patches of scales on his hands.

“I will be back.”

“Okay.”

River ate breakfast slowly. Noct would be gone for at least a few hours. He washed the pan in the marble sink and hung it back on the wall. What to do now? He supposed he could just go back to sleep and wait for him to come back.

River laid back down. He sighed, staring at the ceiling. Even that was clean. Everything was clean. There wasn’t even a cobweb to dust away.

River wasn’t used to just lounging around. Even the servants at his old owners’ houses left messes for him to clean. There was always something to do. But Noct was incredibly tidy.

He sat up, already bored. He eyed Master’s collections on the shelves and displays. A tour of Noct’s things couldn’t hurt.

___________________

He was so fucked. 

River stared at the remains of the glass statue. He’d tripped over that damn chain and his elbow knocked it off the shelf.

He heard the distant whoosh of air in the tunnel. 

Of course Master would come home now, when he had no time to clean it up.

He watched, petrified, while Master carried in a deer on his shoulder. Noct glanced around the cave as he dumped the deer on the stone. His eyes landed on River and he must have seen something on his face, because he frowned and made his way over.

“What troubles you, my treas-” Master stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the shattered glass. 

“I- I’m sorry, it was an accident-” Master whirled on him, snarling. River stepped back, but Noct grabbed his wrist in a bruising grip. He raised a hand-

But the slap never came. Noct’s hold loosened.

River opened his eyes. Master was still clearly pissed, but he dropped River’s wrist and turned back to the shattered statue. 

“Go away,” he said, his voice oddly upset, “I will punish you later.”

River left him by the glass, and he sat in the nest. He grabbed a pillow, clutching it tight to his stomach and burying his face into it.

A faint sniffling reached his ears. He looked over. Noct was sitting on the floor, a piece of glass in his claws. He saw Master wipe his eyes. 

River couldn’t imagine that a small statue of a horse was sentimental or especially valuable, but dragons were different from humans. They were hoarders, drawn to certain items. Maybe it didn’t matter the object, everything they deemed important was worth crying over.

He really messed up.

Noct cleaned up the glass. But instead of coming over and punishing River as promised, he dragged his catch of deer to the kitchen. He began to butcher it, skinning it and portioning out cuts of meat.

River stewed in anticipation as he watched Noct get up to his elbows in viscera. It made sense to punish him after salting and wrapping the meat. He couldn’t let the dead deer linger in the warm room, but he hated waiting like this.

Noct opened a stone door in the wall, and disappeared behind it. That must be where Master stored most of his food.

He waited as Master returned and cleaned up the blood and gore.

He waited as Master went to dispose of the excess.

He waited as Master washed the pelt.

He waited as Master went to clean himself up.

He waited as Master set the skin aside for tanning.

Until finally, Master turned to him. His face was stern and impassive, and River shrank under his gaze. He took the pillow from River and tossed it aside. 

Master hauled him up and dragged him to another part of the nest. He forced River to his knees, sat in front of him, and then pulled River over his lap. 

River flushed. He whimpered when Master yanked down his pants and pinned his wrists with one hand.

The first smack surprised him. He gasped, jolting forward in Master’s lap.

His face burned and he tugged involuntarily against Master’s grip. Master barely noticed, his hold like stone as each measured smack landed on his ass. Soon the dull ache of each blow turned into a stinging pain when his hand landed on him. Again. And again. And again.

It was humiliating.

His whines turned to sobs, but Master did not let up. He wasn’t hitting him any harder than before, but it felt worse with each strike.

Until finally he was finished. River lay limp, and he pulled his arms close to bury his head in them. He didn’t have the energy to move off of Master’s lap.

Master rubbed his back and let him cry.

As far as punishments went, it wasn’t… the worst. His ass hurt like hell and he was completely drained. But a spanking was vastly preferable to the cutting torture of a whip. It was more embarrassing, somehow, even though Master had left him nearly dressed. When River got the whip, he had to strip to his boxers and everyone saw everything. But here he was strangely more flushed and ashamed while covered up with only Master to see.

After a few minutes, he could breathe properly again. He sat up and wiped his face with his hand.

“Here,” said Master, handing him a pillow. River pulled it close in a tight hug.  Master draped a blanket around him.

Master got up, glancing towards him with pity as he passed. It was over, and he wasn’t mad anymore. His expression puzzled River. Did he regret punishing him?

Noct began to make a meal, and River didn’t know if it was supposed to be lunch or dinner. Either way, he was grateful when Master handed him a plate of roasted vegetables and a tender cut of seared meat. 

Master had given him a knife with his food, but clearly he was supposed to use his hands to eat. 

River still felt miserable, a headache forming, but it was a little funny when Noct used the claw on his finger as a fork to stab the veggies. He supposed he wouldn’t bother with a fork either if his hands had naturally pointy bits.

But the way Noct ate his venison- sharp teeth flashing and the steak quickly disappearing down his throat- reminded River that he was trapped with a predator. The most dangerous, lethal predator in the world, and River belonged to him. Even if his idea of a punishment was far more gentle than he was used to, Noct was still deadly.

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