#he inspires me every day to keep working on myself and healing

[heavnlyhetfield]

also. holy shit.

genuinely admire him in every way possible i just love him so so so much

[lemoncrushh]

Her Album

Summary: Harry has finished recording his album, and he wants her to hear it.

Warnings: Angst, lots of feelings

Word Count: 2.9k+

A/N: A short one-shot written in 2019 in first person from Harry's POV. While this is not necessarily a reader fic, the woman's name is never mentioned. This was written before Fine Line was out, so it's pretty wild to think about it now.

The album was done. I’d made a visit to the studio to hear the final mix and then had lunch with Jeffrey and Glenne. As I drove home, I listened to the songs again in the car, deciding not to stop at my house when I got there, but instead to keep going so I could give one last listen straight through.

I’m not sure how I ended up on her street. It used to be automatic, like taking my shoes off before my trousers, or putting the cap back on the toothpaste. I’d driven down her block so many times before, I probably knew it better than my own neighbourhood.

I sat in the car for a long time, staring up at her window. I wasn’t even sure if she was home. I couldn’t tell if a light was on, but it was the middle of the day and that window was her bedroom, so she could’ve been anywhere else inside. I let the album loop around to the first track again, the opening chords hitting me in the chest just like the first time I’d heard them.

I wanted her to hear them too. I wanted her to listen to the melodies and have them bring back the memories that had inspired me to write them. I wanted her to listen to my lyrics and know they were all about her, even the ones that weren’t as obvious. Songs about love and loss. Songs about sex and lust and forbidden fruit. Songs that sounded like they were about something completely different, hidden behind loose meanings and innuendos.

But they were all about her.

I scrolled through my phone and opened the contacts to her name. We hadn’t spoken in weeks, maybe even months. I’d lost count. Being in the studio had helped to heal my broken heart, and my pride, but it certainly hadn’t erased her memory. She was with me every single day, every moment that I worked on a song.

I almost tapped on her name, my thumb grazing over it. But I stopped myself, turning off my phone, and then my engine. Climbing out of the car, I walked around it to the pavement in front of her building, once again looking up at her window. For a second I considered being like John Cusack in Say Anything, holding up an 80s boom box and serenading her with my music so she’d notice. But I reckoned that was borderline stalking, not to mention disturbing the neighbours, so I made my way to the stairs and climbed them to the second floor.

I stopped in front of her door, staring at it for a good two to three minutes before I even lifted my hand. I took several breaths, wondering if I was making a mistake. She probably didn’t wanna see me, let alone talk to me. She didn’t give a shit about my album. She had moved on.

But I was there. I felt like something had brought me there for a reason, and that reason was to play her my music. Let her know exactly how I felt about her - how she drove me crazy and how she’d hurt me and how I’d hurt her. How in love with her I’d been. How I still…

Finally, I knocked, a little too softly at first, but I didn’t want to startle her. At least that’s what I told myself. When no one responded, however, I knocked again, much louder and with determination.

“Jesus, I’m coming!” I heard her yell from inside. “Hold your-”

She stood before me with a half-eaten apple in her hand, her mouth open and her eyes wide. She wore a t-shirt and shorts, her hair pulled back in a loose bun and no makeup. She looked beautiful.

“Hey,” I said, my voice not quite cooperating so I sounded like a frog.

“Harry.” She said my name in almost a question, though she knew it was me. She just wondered why it was me.

When she didn’t say anything else, I shifted my eyes up and down the hall and shrugged.

“Can I come in?”

I admit, I expected her to nod and step back to let me inside her apartment. But when she shook her head, my face fell.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she remarked.

“Um...why not?”

“Because…” she began, her tone hard as steel, “I just got over you.”

“Over me?” I gulped.

“Yeah. It’s taken me a while, but I finally am,” she explained, placing the apple on the table by the door. Then wiping her hands on her shorts, she leaned against the door frame. “You haven’t shown your face here in nearly three months. I can’t just let you waltz on in here and undo everything.”

“‘m not…” I stumbled, “‘m not undoing anything.”

“Then why are you here?”

Her gorgeous but stern eyes glared at me, piercing through my heart. I looked down at my feet, thinking I’d made a mistake by coming. She didn’t want any more to do with me. I’d waited too long and missed the window. Maybe there hadn’t even been one.

Lifting my head, I looked at her beautiful face again. It was then that I recognized the shirt she was wearing - my old AC/DC t-shirt.

“Looks like you’re not completely over me,” I pointed. I dunno why I said it. It was petty and juvenile.

“What?” she huffed, crossing her arms.

“You’re wearing my shirt.”

She looked down at the emblem on her chest, seemingly just realizing what she had on. With a sigh, she dropped her arms.

“I just like it,” she said, her head held high. “And you basically gave it to me anyway.”

“No, I didn’t.” Shut up, H, you’re making it worse, I thought to myself.

“Well, you left it here. And I ended up sleeping in it. And you never came back, so…” She crossed her arms again in defense.

She was right. The last time I’d been in her apartment, we’d had a massive fight, and I’d told her it was over and stormed out. She’d tried calling and texting me for a couple days, but I’d ignored her, stubborn with pride. When I’d finally agreed to talk to her again, I was only being a right twat, unable to see or accept her side. So, we only ended up fighting again until she said she needed some space.

“I was giving you your space,” I muttered, knowing damn well I sounded like a wanker.

“For six weeks?” she snorted and shook her head. “You have some nerve, Harry.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“What was that?” she stepped closer to me, her brows furrowed. “Did you really just say you’re sorry?”

“Yeah. I am.”

“Sorry for what? For breaking my heart? For being a dickhead? For not calling or texting or even saying one word to me for freaking ever? For telling me it was over in the first place? Or for showing up here now when I’m finally over you?”

I blinked. “All of it,” I admitted.

Her lips twitched, and for a second I thought she was going to smile.

“Fuck you, Harry!” she exclaimed.

Stepping back, she grabbed the door, ready to slam it. But I brought my hand up and stopped it.

“I want you to listen to it,” I said, remembering why I’d come.

“Why should I listen to you?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Not to me. To the album. It’s finished, and I want you to hear it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t be serious. You came here so I’d listen to your new music? You really are a douchebag.”

“No, you don’t understand, I-“

“You’re right, I don’t,” she interrupted. “But seems to me you had weeks to explain yourself, Harry. I’m done crying over you.”

She was about to shut the door again when I called out, “I’ve been crying over you, too!”

She stood still, her hand on the door that was opened only a crack. Leaning her forehead against it, I could tell she was holding back tears. I didn’t want her to cry now, at least not over this.

“Liar,” she croaked.

“It’s not a lie, ba-” I almost called her baby, but I knew she wouldn’t like that. Not yet. “Please. Let me in. You don’t even have to talk. Just listen to the album.”

I stood silent for a moment, watching her eyelashes flutter against her pink cheeks. Finally, she let out a sigh and stepped back, opening the door to allow me to step inside.

“Thanks,” I muttered low as she closed the door behind me.

She didn’t reply. In fact, she didn’t even look at me as she grabbed her half eaten apple and went into the kitchen. I stood in the middle of the living room, waiting for her return.

“Okay,” she gestured toward me as she plopped onto the couch. “Go ahead.”

Spotting her laptop on the coffee table, I pointed. “Do you mind?”

She merely nodded and I sat down next to her and opened it. Then sliding my hand into my pocket, I pulled out the USB drive and plugged it in, bringing up the files I’d saved in the studio. With a click of the mouse, the first track began to play, those familiar chords ringing once again. I sat back and watched her, waiting for some kind of reaction on her face.

But none came.

Not when the first track ended, nor when the second song started, the first lyric blatantly about her. I started to get restless, rubbing my palms on my knees and bouncing my leg. I ran my fingers through my hair, a habit she used to tell me was endearing, only now she didn’t give any indication that she even noticed.

Finally, during the third song, I saw her make the slightest move, leaning against the arm of the sofa and resting her head in her hand. We made eye contact for a second before she quickly looked away, her eyes hazy. I wondered what she was thinking. I wanted so badly to ask, to pry it out of her, but I’d promised she needn’t talk.

We were halfway through the album when I caught more movement out of the corner of my eye. I’d been sat with my head down, unable to look at her during track seven, the most intimate and personal song I’d written. My gaze lifted to her, and I noticed her shoulders were shaking. Her head was still in her hand, her cheeks now wet with tears.

I wanted to reach out, to hold her in my arms. God, I wanted that so bad. But I let her be. I knew she needed to cry without me giving false promises that everything was okay. None of this was okay.

I’d cried when I’d written that song. I’d broken down in the recording booth when I’d sung the chorus for the first time. I only just realized as I watched her body shake with sobs that I’d been an idiot for not telling her how I’d felt. But maybe...just maybe she could finally hear me through my songs.

By the time that track ended, I was in tears too. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, sniffling as I tried to compose myself. I sat back on the couch again, my head leant back. I shut my eyes and listened to the next song, one a little more uptempo. I tapped my fingertips on the cushion at my sides, humming softly. This song was about happy memories, when we’d laid on the beach or beside my pool last summer. When we’d been so in love and hadn’t a care in the world. Before all the fighting and jealousy and…

I almost didn’t feel it at first, her hand brushing mine. It was such a light touch, I thought perhaps I was imagining it, lost in the song. But my eyelids fluttered open when I felt it again. I stared at my right hand on the cushion, her slim fingers over mine. She used to like to do that, when we’d be sat together watching a movie, or lying in bed reading. She’d trace my hand and knuckles with her fingertips, her delicate hand dancing over mine before I’d smile and thread our fingers together. It was an unspoken gesture of affection we’d had. I missed it.

God, I missed her.

I raised my head to look at her. I half expected her to be looking at me too, but she was focused on our hands. Her expression wasn’t one I’d hoped either. She looked sad, her cheeks still tear-stained. I wanted to kiss them, make it all better.

I opened my mouth to say her name, but nothing came out. I cleared my throat and she looked at me. I turned my hand over then like I used to, wanting to thread our fingers together. But she pulled away, her jaw set.

“Why’d you do that?” I asked, my voice a deep rasp.

They were the first words either of us had spoken since the music started, and I instantly regretted it, knowing I’d meant to stay silent until the end. We were on track nine now, a couple more songs to go. I still wanted her to hear all of it. I wanted her to know I still felt the same, even though I wasn’t completely over the anger, over the heartbreak. But I’d spilled my guts out in my songs. I was shit at communication, I knew that. I hoped that she could understand it all in my music.

“I...I don’t know,” she whispered.

She crossed her legs then, sat in the corner of the couch. She reached behind her head and pulled at her bun, letting her hair fall freely down her shoulders. She seemed comfortable, at least less resistant than she had when I’d knocked on her door. I could tell she wanted to talk, but she kept her mouth shut because I’d told her she could. I also felt like she was really listening though. And that was really all I wanted.

“That was a really good song,” she surprised me after track ten. But she didn’t say anything more.

Clearing my throat again, I sucked in my lips when the final song started. If track seven had been the most personal, this was the companion to it. This was me giving my heart, me asking forgiveness and giving it back. This was me wanting another chance to prove how I felt about her. I’d known as I was writing and recording it that the possibility of that happening was slim to none. But I had to take a chance. I was tired of keeping it bottled up, being a stubborn prat because I’d wanted my way and had to be right. I was all kinds of wrong. I knew I wasn’t fully to blame for our break-up, but I was taking responsibility and owning up to my part in it. I hoped she could hear that in my voice.

By the time the song was over, my head was in my hands. I perched on the edge of the sofa shaking. I’d already listened to it a handful of times in the studio and in my car, but it hadn’t had the effect it had now, sat in her living room with her beside me. I was sobbing like a baby.

“Harry…” I heard her whisper.

When I lifted my head this time, she was right beside me, her face so close it startled me. Her hands were in her lap, and she wrung them like she was either nervous or was trying to keep herself from touching me.

“I’m so sorry,” I cried. “For everything.”

“I know,” she nodded. “I heard.”

“Will you forgive me?” I asked, turning to face her. I wanted to lift my hand to touch her face but thought better of it. Instead, I hesitantly reached for her hand. I was pleasantly surprised when she let me take it.

“Only if you forgive me, too,” she said.

I let out a deep breath and leant forward. I wanted to kiss her but wasn’t sure if she was ready yet. Lifting my hand this time, I grazed her cheek and wiped a tear away with my thumb.

“I still love you,” I admitted. “I never stopped. I’m just so sorry I waited this long.”

She bit her perfect bottom lip, her big eyes blinking fast.

“I thought I was over you,” she said. “I thought you were over me.”

“Guess we were both wrong.”

She leant into me then, and I took it as my cue. I took her into my arms and kissed her, like I’d wanted to kiss her for months. She felt so good against me, and I quickly found myself shedding more tears.

“We still have a lot to talk about,” she whispered when I released her lips.

“I know,” I agreed. “I promise I’m not walking out this time.”

“Good,” she nodded before kissing me again.

We ended up listening to the album again together while we prepared and ate dinner. There were more tears, but also lots of conversation. We had a long way to go, but I was hopeful.

Something had made me drive down her street. I guess it was me.

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[raysrays]

Fatal Attraction Chapter Two (NSFW)

18+ MDNI‼️

CW for the entire story: Breeding, Size Difference,Size Kink, Jealousy, Scent Marking, Age Difference, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Behavior, Angst, Twisted, Creampie, Angry Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Hair-pulling, Biting, Master/Pet, Light Dom/sub, Violence, Knotting.

Content disclaimer: This story is inspired by the amazing artist @PammyJammy117 on Twitter/X. I in absolutely no way own or claim the idea of the “Cryptid Rengoku” character. Please give credit to the original artist who inspired the story.

Chapter One

He let me go. I can’t believe what just happened as I stumble back to the small, secluded residence where Tamayo has been housing us. My ankle hurts, but not as badly as before. The pain lingers, though it's less intense after resting and talking with that monster.

I'm in shock and disbelief. Out of all the people who have been searching for these mythical monsters for years, I had the misfortune of encountering one—and a dangerous one at that.

I think back to that haunting smile, those sharp teeth, and the glow of his red eyes. However, Tamayo's rambling might have saved me in a way. I never looked Kyojuro Rengoku directly in the eyes, which means he couldn’t sway my emotions.

If I remember correctly, the Hashira—or more specifically, these cryptid creatures—have the ability to influence a person’s control once you look into their eyes. This could be a means of protection or a manipulation tactic. I didn’t care what Kyojuro Rengoku’s intent was. Once I realized the situation I was in, I kept my gaze low.

He seemed not to notice, or at least he never mentioned it.

My mind is racing, and there's a nauseous feeling in my stomach. The full realization of the situation crashes down on me all at once: I encountered one of the nine most dangerous monsters our group has been researching. And I can’t breathe a word about it to any of them, especially not Tamayo.

The guilt didn’t set in until I finally made it back to the small house. I could see Tamayo, Yushiro, and some of the others talking in a group through the window.

There they were, discussing theories and ideas, while I stood outside with a twisted ankle, no flower, and a huge secret I had to keep from them.

In that moment, it felt like the world was working against me. I didn’t even believe in any of these ridiculous creatures, and now I’m stuck returning to see one every other day.

And return I did. Once my ankle healed, I kept my promise to him, bringing offerings of different foods and teas. I tried bringing blankets and fabric once, but he didn’t seem to enjoy those.

Even though sneaking around at night to see him was difficult, I made it work. Our dynamic was confusing, but I tolerated it. The first few times I visited, we sat and ate together. He would ask me questions about myself and my life, which I usually answered briefly. I didn’t want a terrifying monster knowing everything about me. Recognizing my face was bad enough.

When I tried to ask him questions, he would either change the subject or ignore me completely. If anyone else behaved like this, I’d probably tell them off. But when you’re dealing with an eight-foot-tall cryptid with teeth sharper than any blade, I let it slide.

Today, on my way to see him, I felt different. I’ve been visiting him for around two weeks now and never felt us getting closer, but I’ve started getting used to his company. As I continued to see him more, his appearance began to grow on me.

The blonde fur, the sharp teeth, and the red glow emanating from his eyes became something familiar, something I expected. Over time, these once terrifying traits started to become... not so bad.

"Why do you look like that?" His booming voice jolted me back to reality.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"It seemed like you were staring... Haven't you gotten used to me yet?" He flashed a smile so terrifying yet charming it sent shivers down my spine.

"No, it's not that. I was just trying to decide what food to bring next time."

"I really enjoyed the sweet potato dish. Bring it again." His ears perked up almost like a dog's. It was kind of cute.

"I've brought that one too often. You should try other dishes. Besides, I won't be able to come see you for a few days, so you'll have some time to think it over."

I waited for a response, but there was none. Slowly, I looked up at him. His face was scary, his sharp smile replaced by a terrifying scowl. His ears flattened.

"That's not what we agreed upon, Y/N. Why won't you be able to come see me?" he growled.

I struggled to find the words. Tamayo had informed the group that we'd be moving locations for a few days to cover new ground. I thought he'd understand. I never assumed he'd be upset by my absence.

"My group has to move locations for our search for a while. It shouldn’t take too long. I’ll return soon. It will only be a couple of days."

He got up and moved closer, and I felt every part of my body tense as he approached.

"Where exactly will you be going?" His face was so close to mine now. I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

"North… we’re going north."

I didn't have to look at his face to feel the intense glare he was giving me.

"You can’t go. You won’t," he snarled, pulling away.

"I don’t have a choice—"

"I don’t care. You aren’t going."

I didn’t understand. Is it just for the food? Why would this terrifying legend of a monster care if I came to see him or not?

"Why is it a problem? Why can’t I go?" I somehow managed to push the words out.

He was quiet, then I suddenly felt something around my wrist. I looked down to see his tail tightly wrapped around me, pulling me closer. That’s when I felt his sharp-clawed hand lifting my chin.

I instinctively shut my eyes.

"Look at me, Y/N." That usually happy tone had vanished from his voice, replaced with a voice as cold as ice.

Every bone in my body wanted to comply with his demands, but Tamayo's warning lingered in my mind.

"I can’t.”

"Look at me," he repeated.

I couldn’t resist. I knew Cryptids could influence humans, but I didn’t realize how much.

Slowly, I felt my eyes open, adjusting to the sight in front of me.

My mouth fell slightly open. I’d never seen such deep red glowing eyes before. That smile I’d grown accustomed to was completely gone.

I was scared, but why was I so… attracted to him?

"You will not go, Y/N. I'm sure you can come up with some excuse for this Tamayo woman you speak of so much," he spat.

I wanted to protest, to argue, but I just couldn't.

"Okay, I'll talk to her."

With that, he let me go, his tail slowly unwrapping from my wrist. His smile returned.

"Very good! You'll return to me tomorrow. I want the sweet potato dish once more!"

I could practically hear my own heartbeat—what a one-eighty.

As I walked back to the safe house, I planned what I would say to Tamayo, what excuse I would give for not going with the group.

Yushiro was definitely going to give me a hard time about it. But this whole situation sucks. I don’t want Tamayo to kick me out of the only place I have to call home, but on the other hand, I risk getting killed by one of the scariest creatures known to man.

-—————-

"Where have you been?"

I glanced up to see Yushiro and some of the others packing for the journey.

"I just stepped out to get some fresh air."

"Seems like you've been stepping out a lot lately," Yushiro muttered, rolling his eyes.

I had no idea why he was so hard on me. His attitude had only worsened the longer I stayed.

Ignoring him, I walked away. I don't answer to Yushiro. I answer to Tamayo, and that's who I needed to talk to.

My hand felt heavy as I knocked on the door to her office.

"Come in."

I opened the door slowly.

She was nearly hidden behind a giant stack of papers and books. As I approached, she stood and walked around to meet me.

"Y/N, what is it?"

I couldn’t believe how intimidating this small woman was.

"Tamayo... I can't go with you and the rest of the group up north."

She looked at me blankly for a moment. "Why's that?"

"Because I'm afraid I might be coming down with a cold... or something..." I hadn't really thought of a convincing excuse.

"You look fine to me. You're going," she said coldly.

Damn.

"I want to, I really do. It's just that I don't feel well, and I'm afraid I'll hold everyone back."

She scrutinized me. I knew she could tell something was off, but she was making this difficult on purpose.

"Y/N, I've asked you to look for the same flower for weeks now and you've brought me nothing. Now I'm asking you to join the group on our search up north and you're telling me no?"

When she said it out loud, it sounded ridiculous.

"You will go with us, Y/N, or you can't continue to stay here. The choice is yours."

So, my options were to face this 4'11" intimidating woman or an 8-foot-tall cryptid monster.

I'll take my chances with Rengoku.

After all, Tamayo controlled whether or not I had a place to sleep at night. I'm sure he wouldn't be too angry with me as long as I brought him more food.

"Suddenly I feel a lot better. I'll be ready to go in the morning," I said, forcing a small smile.

"That's what I figured." She retreated back behind her desk.

Something inside me felt off, my body a little uneasy. Yeah, he's going to be upset, but he'll forgive me. Right?

I walked up into my small room to get things ready, but I started to feel a little strange. My body felt odd, as if I was doing something wrong.

Climbing into the covers I think about everything, this whole situation that I’ve gotten myself into, with Tamayo, with Rengoku, all of it. I just don’t understand why it had to happen to me.

I never wanted any of this.

I was feeling confident until this morning. As I was helping Yushiro get things ready for the set out, my body kept feeling weird.

It’s like I kept having this odd sense of I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m in danger. I kept trying to shake it off but, it doesn’t go away.

Things only got worse once we hit the road. Tamayo may have thought I was lying earlier about being sick, because I was. But now, my whole body feels awful.

But it’s just a few days. I can push through. I’ll come home, make Rengoku a large dish of the sweet potatoes he loves, and all will be forgiven with a little ass-kissing.

“Y/N, are you ready?”

I look over and see Yushiro and the others staring at me.

“Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.” I push the sick feeling down and start to move.

I can’t help but think about why Rengoku didn’t want me to go up north. I know the territory mark ends, but really that shouldn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’m staying up there permanently.

As I walked with the group, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I felt like something was staring at me. It only felt more intense the closer and closer we got to the border that separated our usual territory from the north.

Once we started to step over that line, I glanced over my shoulder one last time. I practically felt my heart stop as I noticed two shining red eyes glaring at me in the distance.

He saw me, and he looked furious. I made the wrong call.

———————

To say that the trip up north was a waste of time would be an understatement—at least in Yushiro's words.

We searched around but found very little. To be honest, I was more paranoid about what we couldn't see. Knowing about the Hashira's existence has made me overly wary of wandering around.

While we were camping out, I read that we were in the territory of Sanemi Shinazugawa. His description was just as horrifying as Rengoku’s.

But what truly scared me was how violent this monster was compared to Rengoku. I knew these monsters were fierce, but the tales of Shinazugawa were extreme.

I felt so guilty keeping this secret. My group had no idea how much danger we’d be in if we ran into him. And it would be all my fault.

Honestly, if Sanemi Shinazugawa wanted to find and kill me, I wouldn't complain too much after the way Rengoku looked at me on my way out. I figured I was painfully dead either way.

I could feel my steps getting heavier as we walked back towards the safe house. It’s not like I wanted to stay in a monster-infested forest, but I definitely didn’t want to be there with Rengoku.

I’ve looked through books and journals of Tamayo’s and still can’t find much about him. Everything I found was positive. He was a kind, protective cryptid who watched over the main village in this area until humans deemed monsters too dangerous to trust.

There was nothing on his origins, background, family, or anything—certainly nothing about a temper.

So why was he looking at me like that? Like he wanted to kill me for going against him. Honestly, it felt like my body wanted to punish me for it too.

Ever since we left—no, ever since I agreed to go—I’ve felt sick and worried. I just kept feeling like I was doing something wrong.

“Y/n, when we get back, I need you to get some firewood.”

I glanced over to see Tamayo looking at me.

I’m dead.

“Oh, okay.”

The rest of the walk, all I could do was dread what would happen to me. Not only was Tamayo forcing me back into the place I wanted to avoid, but I’d also be going without some sort of food offering.

I might as well have signed my own death certificate.

Once we made it back, I helped unload everything and then slowly made my way back into the forest to get the wood. As soon as I stepped out of the clearing, a shiver ran down my spine.

Then the clicking started. He’s here.

“Y/N L/N.” The way his echoing voice spoke my name made me want to run, but my feet stayed planted.

Once he emerged from the shadows, his tall, broad figure just as terrifying as I remembered. But this time, there was no sharp smile or perked-up ears. Instead, angry, glowing eyes and a scowl that would scare any man.

I stepped back as he approached.

Just as I was about to speak, his tail wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer.

He leaned in and sniffed me. When he pulled back, his whole demeanor changed. His eyes darkened.

“You disobeyed me,” he growled.

“I had to. If I didn’t go, Tamayo was going to kick me out—”

His grip tightened, and his ear twitched with annoyance.

“You could have stayed here, with me. You don’t need her approval. The only person you should wish to please is me.”

His glare was piercing.

Stay with him? What is he talking about?

“I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t want to go.”

“I cannot believe you would deliberately disobey me. You even smell like him,” he hissed.

“Who?”

His clicking intensified with his agitation.

“Shinazugawa.” He growled fiercely.

“You left me to fall into his company? He is a vile, horrible creature. You dare to choose him over me?” His eyes flashed with anger.

I felt my heart racing as his words sank in. My mind scrambled for something to say, anything that might diffuse his rage.

“No, it’s not like that! I didn’t choose him over you,” I pleaded. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His grip loosened slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on me, burning with anger and something else—betrayal.

“You always have a choice,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You chose to leave. You chose to put yourself in his path.”

I didn't know what to say. I hadn't even interacted with Sanemi Shinazugawa, yet somehow his scent was all over me.

I looked up at him, my eyes pleading. "Please, Rengoku. I would never choose anyone other than you."

His glowing eyes bore into mine, as if trying to gauge the truth of my words.

Suddenly, he pulled me closer, his large, clawed hand grabbing my face roughly.

"Prove it to me then. Prove you're loyal to me—not to Tamayo, not to Shinazugawa, to me."

"How? How can I prove it?" I was practically shaking. I would do anything to get out of this life-threatening situation.

His intense gaze lit up, his sharp smile returning. He leaned in close to me.

"Become my mate, Y/N L/N. Prove your loyalty to me, and become mine." His echoing voice suddenly sounded less sinister and more sincere.

Become his mate?

I felt my face heat up. There’s no way. There’s just no way Kyojuro Rengoku, a cryptid, a Hashira, one of the most dangerous beings to roam the earth, is asking me, a human, to become his mate.

“What? What do you mean?”

His smile only widened at my curiosity.

“Become my mate, Y/N. Stay with me, love me, and I’ll protect you for all eternity.” His ears perked up.

I didn’t know what to think. Am I actually considering this? I’ve always found Rengoku oddly attractive despite his terrifying nature, and yes, I do enjoy coming to see him. But was becoming his mate really what I had to do to survive?

And how exactly would I hide this from everyone?

As I looked into his eyes again, they flashed. Something in me felt different. Why was I suddenly feeling more attached to him?

I remembered the first time I looked into his eyes. I could tell he was influencing my body and emotions, but this time it was different.

Everything I’ve felt for him just felt amplified: fear, intimidation, attraction, lust.

Was I seriously about to bend to the will of this monster just because my twisted mind was genuinely attracted to his horrifying appearance and oddly charming personality?

If it’s going to keep me alive, then Yes. Yes, I was.

“Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll become your mate, Rengoku.”

His eyes widened, his smile growing larger as his grip on my waist tightened.

“If you agree to this, you must know I’ll never let you go. No matter where you run, I’ll always find you and bring you back to me.”

That sentence startled me, but I never expected to succeed in any escape attempt. I knew I couldn’t outsmart a monster like him.

“I understand. And I agree.”

That seemed to be all he needed to hear. He pulled me closer, our distance vanishing. His animalistic nature began to show as he sniffed and licked my skin.

“I’ll erase every trace of him on you. You’re mine,” he breathed.

I couldn’t help but feel my cheeks grow hotter, my body reacting to his possessive words.

In an instant, he was on top of me, pressing my body against the grass.

I struggled to breathe, his weight nearly suffocating me.

His eyes were locked on mine, his glowing red stare seeming more passionate than threatening now.

Suddenly, he pulled back and tore the clothing from my body, his hands groping and feeling my exposed skin.

My heart raced. I knew what was about to happen, and it terrified me. But I was also strangely excited.

He was quick, his claws shredding the remaining scraps of fabric from my body, leaving me bare beneath him.

I couldn't believe what I'd gotten myself into. This terrifying, mythical creature was about to claim me as his own. And the thought of it drove me wild.

As his large, clawed hands gripped my waist, he positioned himself between my legs.

His eyes looked at me, hungry.

"Y/N L/N."

"Yes?"

"You're mine."

I felt a surge of excitement run through me as I nodded.

"Say it," he growled.

"I'm yours."

His clicking started up again and he positioned his face between my legs.

I can’t believe it, is he really going to—

"Aah!" I cried out as his long, rough tongue began lapping at my sex.

My back arched as he lapped and teased, his sharp teeth nipping and tugging at my sensitive flesh.

I could barely catch my breath, the pleasure almost overwhelming.

I could feel my legs shaking, and my body begin to tighten as his tongue flicked against my clit.

"R-Rengoku..."

His glowing eyes peeked up at me.

“Kyojuro.” He corrected.

“If you are to be my mate, you will not address me so formally anymore.” He growled, sucking marks onto my thighs.

He returned to licking and teasing my pussy.

I can't believe this is happening.

I felt the heat building in my stomach, the pressure building as he lapped at my sensitive spot.

"Ahh... K-Kyojuro, I'm close," I moaned.

"Perfect," he rumbled, his echoing voice vibrating through me.

His grip on my thighs tightened as he pushed his tongue deeper into me, licking and sucking at my throbbing sex.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

"I'm gonna cum... I'm gonna cum," I moaned softly.

He growled continuing his assault on my clit.

His voice, his touch, it was all too much.

I cried out, my body shuddering and spasming as the intense waves of pleasure crashed over me.

Kyojuro held me in place as my orgasm washed over me, his tongue never slowing its pace.

The pleasure was so intense I couldn’t think straight. My body had never felt so used like this.

As my mind started to settle I couldn’t help but crave more. And by the way he was looking up at me between my thighs. I could tell that wasn’t enough for him either.

Once he arose up in front of me, I took in his body. The ripped muscles beneath his blonde and red fur. His tail and ears, and now…

Now for the first time I’m finally looking all of him. His cock was the biggest I’d ever seen. It was thick and curved and had a large knot close to the base.

my body shivered with pleasure, I wanted more. I needed more.

As if reading my thoughts, he smirked and positioned himself between my thighs, his cock teasing my entrance.

"Tell me what you want," he taunted.

"I... I want you, Kyojuro. I want all of you," I panted, my body aching with desire.

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He grabbed both my ankles holding them with one of his large hands above my head.

I’d be lying if I said this position wasn’t slightly embarrassing, but at this rate I didn’t care. I don’t know if it was the cryptids influence or if I was just fucked up in the head, but I was willing to let this monster use me in any way he wished.

With one smooth motion, he pushed his thick cock inside of me.

I moaned out as he stretched and filled me.

He paused, letting me adjust to his size.

"My mate," he growled, his eyes locking onto mine.

I panted, feeling his cock twitch inside me.

He started moving slowly, his cock rubbing against my walls, sending sparks of pleasure through my body.

"Oh god..."

I couldn’t hold back any longer.

I gripped the grass below me tightly as he slid in and out of me, his knot pushing against my entrance with every thrust.

The pressure was building, the heat spreading through my body as he picked up the pace.

"Oh fuck," I moaned, my body trembling with pleasure.

He clicked and growled in pleasure, his glowing eyes staring into me with a mixture of passion and possession.

He was relentless, his hips pounding into me with a primal fury.

"Fuck, Kyojuro," I cried, my body surrendering to the ecstasy.

The pleasure was so intense, it was almost painful.

His eyes flashed with desire, his pace never faltering.

I felt his cock twitch inside me, his knot pushing into my entrance stretching me even wider.

It was painful but I didn’t care, the high of my orgasm made it bearable. His cock was buried so deep inside me I thought my mind was going to blank with every thrust.

even after I came he still kept going, chasing his own release.

His rhythm grew more erratic, his breathing labored.

"Mine, my mate." he growled.

"Yes," I panted.

My words sent him over the edge.

He let out a roar, his teeth digging into my neck as he spilled his seed inside me, filling me with his thick, warm cum.

I cried out in pain and pleasure, feeling his cock pulsing inside me, his cum not spilling a drop due to the thick knot inside of me.

I was breathless, my body exhausted and sore, but my mind was completely satisfied.

"My beautiful human." he whispered, his voice heavy with lust and possession.

I held onto him, my body still trembling.

He released his grip on me, his clawed hand releasing my ankles.

I couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed as he pulled his softening cock out of me.

As the warmth of his body faded, the chill of the evening air set in, sending shivers down my spine.

But before the cold could sink in, he covered my body with his own, his warm, heavy frame keeping the chill away.

His face nuzzled into the crook of my neck, where he had bit me. his nose taking in his scent on my skin.

What have I done?

Next>>

[theres-a-body-here]

hey um trans dude here um looks at u w my big round eyes. could you do some characters of ur choice reacting to their trans male partner wanting to/getting a phalloplasty? im working to get one myself which inspired me to send this ask

I love my trans followers

TW: A homophobic slur, Mentions of surgery and Dysphoria/Dysmorphia

Characters: Ramattra, Asgore, Mohg, Wendell

Wendell is more of a crackpost

Ramattra

When you tell him, he'll be quiet as he thinks for a while

"I'll be back," he says as he abruptly stands and leaves the room

Your heart sinks as you fear the worst

He comes back within minutes and drops a book into your lap before sitting next to you

Confused, you flip it open only to yelp and drop it

It's a dick catalog

An Omnic dick catalog to be exact

He chuckles as he likes it back up

"There are a few exquisite models here, pet. Let's get you one."

He flips to a page and shows you

It's the model he has

Your face burns, hiding your face in your hands as you lean on him

"You're awful," you whine

You peak through your fingers

"Do they have glowing ones?"

"let's see"

Ramattra will be there throughout the surgery, making sure nothing goes wrong

If you ever feel dysphoric, he'll immediately start to comfort you

"Sweet, beautiful boy, I'm so proud of you"

Asgore Dreemurr

He's so happy for you

Be prepared to be pulled into a crushing bear hug

He's with you every step of the way

He'll sit down with you and plan out everything. From the days before the surgery to the aftermath and recovery

However, he'll be sure to mention any monster magic options for you to consider

Whatever you pick in the end, he'll support you

Plenty of kisses and cuddles throughout the process

He knows surgery is scary for humans, so he's sure to make you comfortable every chance he gets

Tea, snacks, and massages galore

After you get your surgery, Asgore will be a nervous wreck

Doting on you like a mother hen, he won't leave your side for a second

Mohg, Lord of Blood

The moment you tell him, he'll have his followers work on finding ways to give you a dick

Riiiighhttt after you give him a few heirs

Unless you don't want to

He'll be pouty but ultimately respects your decision

Him and Varre are your biggest support pillars before and after the process

Mohg literally doesn't let you do anything by yourself

He carries you around everywhere you need to be

"You shouldn't waste your energy, dearest"

Varre will be even worse

"What size would you prefer your phallus to be, lambkin?"

After the surgery, Mohg will keep you in his bed for a long time

Even when you're fully healed, he'll insist you stay resting

Cage his arms around you and nuzzle close like a clingy puppy

Wendell

He's a bit confused, but after explaining it to him, he'll definitely be your number one supporter

"Is there a dick store we go to or...?"

Yeah he's still a bit confused

He'll cling to you during matches and ask you tons of questions

Even during gunfire

"OMG, can we get matching dicks?"

Please be patient with him

If there's time between the storm moving, he'll be sure to give you lots of attention

"MY BOYFRIEND'S GETTING A DICK!"

He screams out in the empty building you two are stocking up in

Or so you thought

"You homos make me sick," a voice calls out, the clacking of heels hitting the floor echo through the area

You two turn to the voice

"INTERNATIONAL POP SENSATION ARIANA GRANDE?!?!?!?" You both exclaim in unison

"Yuh," she says, whipping her hair as she aims a bazooka at you two

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Falling Behind

Patrick Zweig x Fem Reader

cw: like one use or y/n

(loosely inspired by Falling Behind by Laufey)

This Ask!

The doorbell rang, echoing through your quiet Syracuse apartment. It was an unwelcome sound, one that signaled the arrival of someone you had been trying to forget. The last person you expected to see was him.

“The Toxic Ex” as your friends called him. the ex who had left a trail of heartbreak and confusion in his wake.

You opened the door hesitantly, your heart pounding. There he stood, looking disheveled and desperate, a far cry from the confident man you once knew. His baby blues, usually so piercing, were now filled with a pleading sadness.

"Can we please talk Y/n?"

He asked, his voice rough with emotion.

You crossed your arms wrapping them around yourself covering your tiny night-set, leaning against the doorframe.

"What do you want, Zweig?"

You scoffed.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

"I need to apologize. I know I messed up, and I can't stop thinking about you. About us."

As he spoke all the memories of your relationship flooded back the highs, the intense connection.

But also the lows, the manipulation, and the constant feeling of falling behind.

You had spent months trying to piece yourself back together after he left.

"Why now?"

You demanded, your voice wavering.

"Why show up after all this time?"

He stepped closer you fought the urge to step back instead staying leaned against your doorframe his eyes never leaving yours.

"I was scared, scared of losing you, scared of my own feelings. But losing you was the worst mistake of my life. Please, give me another chance."

All of the memories played in your mind, a haunting reminder of how you felt during your time together.

Always trying to keep up, always feeling like you were never enough for him.

But here he was, begging for forgiveness, a broken man.

"How do I know you won't hurt me again?"

You muttered your defenses slowly crumbling.

Patrick's gaze softened, his hand trembling slightly as he reached out.

"You don't. But I promise I'll spend every day proving that I'm worth the second chance. I'll never take you for granted again."

You shook your head, trying to keep your stance on this situation.

"Patrick, you hurt me. You made me feel like I was constantly chasing after something I could never catch."

His eyes were filled with genuine regret.

"I know."

His voice cracking.

"I know I hurt you, and I can't change the past. But I love you. I've always loved you, and I can't let you go without trying to make things right."

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. Part of you wanted to slam the door in his face, to protect yourself from the pain he had caused.

But another part, a smaller, quieter part, longed for the love you once shared.

"Do you really think you can change?"

You asked your voice barely above a whisper.

Patrick nodded, determination shining in his eyes.

"I've been working on myself, trying to understand why I did the things I did. I know it won't be easy, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I want to be the man you deserve."

You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deceit.

All you saw was a man who was truly sorry, who was willing to do whatever it took to win you back.

Maybe it was foolish, but you wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that people could change, that love could conquer the deepest wounds.

"Okay," you said softly. "But this is your last chance, Patrick.

If you hurt me again, we're done for good."

You said now standing up straight from your doorway.

He nodded, tears of relief glistening in his eyes. "I won't let you down. I promise."

As he pulled you into his arms, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you could find your way back to each other. Maybe you could heal and grow stronger together.

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, you felt a strange sense of peace. Falling behind was no longer an option.

This time, you would walk side by side, facing whatever came your way.

Later that evening, as you both sat on your cream sofa, the silence between you was comforting rather than oppressive.

Patrick held your hand, squeezing it gently. "Tell me everything,"

He said softly.

"I want to know what you went through, how I made you feel. I need to hear it."

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of release as you began to speak.

The words poured out of you, each one a step towards healing.

Patrick listened intently, his eyes never leaving yours, absorbing every painful detail.

As the night wore on, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders.

Maybe this time would be different. Maybe, with honesty and effort, you could rebuild what was broken.

In that moment, you realized that sometimes, falling behind can lead you to a place where you can finally catch up, together.

[allinthemagicshop]

Not How I Wanted to Meet Your Parents

Bangchan X Fem!Reader

wc: ~3000

Angst, fluff at the end

Again, this makes me cringe a little bit looking back at it but also I think I see some potential to grow from this so here's yet another from my vault

No warnings that I can think of, besides pet names maybe? Insecurity, crying also present. Some cursing.

I do not own the rights to Stray Kids or anything related to them, this is a work of pure fiction and just for fun

Channie💕: hey babygirl, I’m so sorry. I have to stay late at the studio again. I’ll just go back to the dorm instead of waking you up so don’t wait up. I’m sorry.

I crumpled into myself. Texts like these have been coming daily for the last three weeks straight. Every single date night was canceled, always for the same reason. I can’t bring myself to think of it as an excuse. That would be he is trying to find ways to avoid me. Unless he finally realized that I’m just holding him back from creating more, creating better. Maybe I am just a pawn to find inspiration in, like a learning experience more than a loving one. I lay my phone down on the nightstand and glance over at the sweatshirt Chan left the last time he stayed the night. It’s been nearly two months since then, his scent long gone. Instead of replying, knowing I wouldn’t get a response, I leaned over and shut my lamp off. Maybe in my dreams he would love me again. 

●●●

The morning light shines through the small crack in my curtains. I sit up, rubbing my eyes as I lean over to grab my phone. No new messages. My heart sinks. This is the part I was dreading the most. Never had Chan canceled a date night and not immediately tried to reschedule. So this is it then. Taking a shaky breath, I shut down my phone. It’s no better than a paperweight right now when all I’ll be doing is waiting for him to reach out first. It’s childish of me, I know I could reach out first, but that brings more brewing of hope that it isn’t over if he responds. Or worse yet, if he does respond and confirms that it’s over. 

Letting my despair guide me, I shuffle towards the bathroom. Turning on the shower, I peel myself out of the clothes I wore to sleep in and step under the cold water. I don’t want warmth, that’s what he was. I just want to hide in the rain and gloom as these thoughts take over my body. It’s not like I can pack up and move out, we don’t share an apartment. Changing the code to my apartment is a possibility, but then I have to let all my friends know the new code and explain why it had to be changed. The only other option I can come up with is going back home for a few days. I moved to Seoul for school, but my family was back in the States. It’d give me the distance I need, and maybe some home cooked meals would heal the hole in my heart. I know Dad would pay for it, he’s been asking me to come home for a couple months now.

Taking a deep breath, I shut the water off and wrap a towel around me as I step out. Sighing, I walk back towards my bed and sit down at the edge. Bracing myself as I start my phone back up, I immediately call Dad as soon as it allows me to. “Hey! I know I’ve been delaying coming back home but I really miss you guys. I have the next two weeks off and was wondering if that would work for you and Mom?”

  “Darling, anything works for our little girl to be back in our arms. Give me a second to look at flights. How long would you need to pack? We still have plenty of your clothes here, you know.” Laughing a little as I struggle to keep my composure, I glance around the room. “I can be ready to go as early as tonight then.”

“Really? There’s a flight that leaves at 5pm, your time. You’d have a couple hours to pack. Is that enough time?” His giddiness is almost palpable through the crackling speaker. A genuine snort forces its way out. “Sure, Dad. Thank you, I love you and I’ll see you soon then.” I stand up as he replies, “I love you so much, honey. Your mom is going to be so happy to have her baby back home for a while.” I hang up a little after a little more farewells are exchanged, insisting that I need to start packing. I make the mistake of glancing down at the screen before I get changed.

Channie💕: good morning, sweets. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can attempt to reschedule. It’s so hectic here with the comeback so soon and the album not being near ready enough. We’ll talk soon

Dread coils my gut, nearly knocking me over. That’s two messages without the words I need most. With shaking fingers I finally respond back, Oh okay. I love you. I throw my phone on the bed and walk away towards the closet, changing quickly. I refuse to look at my phone again until I have a suitcase packed. 

●●●

Almost two hours later, I finally find the courage to pick my phone back up. Checking the time, I notice two notifications: one text and one email. Unlocking the screen, my heart shatters. Both are from Dad. The email is the flight information, informing me that I have around an hour to get to the airport.

Father Dearest: y/n, I forwarded the email with all ur flight info. Oh, honey, I can’t explain how excited I am to have u home with us. If u haven’t finished packing yet, good luck. Love u!

Sighing as tears finally fall down my cheeks, I order an Uber to take me to the airport. I know I should text Chan, but I can’t bring myself to allow even the possibility of going unanswered again. I’ll let him know before the plane takes off, using the cushion of the flight to allow me the escape I’ll need.

An agonizing 20 minutes pass before I’m climbing into the Uber. I spare a glance  up at my apartment as we pull away. A part of me hopes he’ll show up to find me gone before I can even text him. It’s selfish and petty, but I just want Chan to feel a part of the agony I’ve been feeling. A simple conversation might be able to solve all of this, but we haven’t been able to have a solid 5 minute conversation in the past month, let alone one long enough to require what needs to be said. He couldn’t even get time off for a quick phone call on our one-year anniversary last week. Tears are slipping down my face before I know it. I quickly rub my sleeves over my face, not wanting the driver to ask questions. 

We finally pull up to the airport and I climb out, thanking him for the ride. I barely feel present in my body as I walk through the motions of the airport. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in my seat staring out the window. The announcement comes that phones need to be turned off soon. Taking a deep breath, I prepare the text for Chan.

Hi, Channie. I want to start off by saying I’m not mad, I completely understand. You’re an idol and I knew this was going to be difficult when I agreed to be your girlfriend. I guess I misjudged exactly how difficult it would actually be. I want to thank you for the last year. You were such a blessing in my life, crashing into me and claiming your spot in my heart. I don’t know if you feel the same, I can’t talk to you anymore to confirm or deny my suspicions. The distance between us recently has said more than we’ve been able to. I’ve decided to make it more physical for a little while. I’m headed back home for a couple weeks. I know the timezone difference is going to be hard to communicate, but we’ve gotten so used to it that it shouldn’t feel any different. If this is goodbye, all I ask is that you just remove your stuff from my apartment before I get back. I’m sorry I couldn’t be stronger. I do love you, Chan. I just miss you too much to keep this up.

I hit send just as we begin our take-off. Shutting my phone and my feelings off, I lay my head back and drift to sleep, keen on waking up only when I can step off the flight into my parents’ arms. 

●●●

I didn’t last the whole flight, but the last few hours were filled with reading the book I had packed just in case sleep evaded me. It was enough to not think about Chan, but never enough to dull the ache in my chest. We finally landed and shuffled off the plane, all heading towards baggage claim. Refusing to turn my phone back on, I felt like a robot on autopilot as I followed the crowd. I grabbed my suitcase and squared my shoulders as I prepared to face my family. They knew about Chan and I’s relationship, but I don’t want this trip to be about my broken heart. I walk out the doors and it takes me only a minute of scanning before I hear my name being shouted seconds before Dad barrels into me, lifting me off my feet in a hug. Mom wraps her arms around me as he sets me down, tears falling down all our faces.

“Oh my baby! You’re finally home! I’ve missed you so much.” Mom sobs into my shoulder, holding me tighter than should be humanly possible. I hug her back before tapping her shoulder, in need of oxygen. She pulls back with a relieved smile. “I have your favorite dinners planned for the whole time you're here. How’s Chan?” 

My own smile falters for a split second before I straighten myself out. “Oh, you know, he’s just busy with his comeback. I had plenty of time to myself to make an impromptu trip,” partially the truth, just not the whole story. I can work with that easier than an outright lie. I smile at both my parents as they nod in understanding, Dad grabbing my suitcase to put in the car while Mom pulls my hand to get us going. The ride home is full of small talk about how work is going, how school was this last semester, how they are enjoying Dad’s new bonus from work. I fall into a comfortable silence as they keep the conversation flowing between them. 

●●●

After dinner I finally find the courage to turn my phone back on, it’s been nearly six hours since I landed. It’s early morning back in Seoul, close enough to a full day since I sent the text to Chan. As my phone turns on, I’m bombarded with notifications. Missed calls and texts, nearly all from Chan.

Channie💕: Baby what?

Channie💕: You didn’t actually leave did you?

*two miss calls from Channie💕*

Channie💕: Y/N please answer me. I can’t stand this, don’t leave me. I love you so much

Channie💕: I know I haven’t seen you in a bit or been able to talk to you but I don’t want to lose you

Channie💕: Baby please be at home, please let this be some cruel prank

Channie💕: You’re really not at home. Oh my god, baby please come back to me. I can’t lose you please don’t do this I love you

*four missed calls from Channie💕*

Channie💕: I get it. Baby, I understand it’s hard. I should’ve tried harder for you. You mean so much to me. I fell into my typical work pattern and left you out, I’m so so fucking sorry. You’re a priority too and I neglected that. I need you

Channie💕: you went back home… for fuck’s sake I screwed up. I just saw the date. Oh my god y/n im the worst. I didnt even take off for our anniversary. You were waiting for me to even acknowledge it and i couldnt even do that. I fucked up so bad

Channie💕: Babygirl… i feel like i cant even breathe right now, my heart’s been ripped out and flew across the world with you

*eight missed calls from Channie💕*

Channie💕: okay okay, I know this is getting excessive and I get that you’re on the plane but you should’ve landed by now. Just let me know that you’re alive. 

Channie💕: My sweet girl, I will fix this. Fix us. I can’t imagine going through life without you in it. 

Channie💕: I hope what I’m about to do doesn’t further break us, I love you so much, to the moon and stars beyond

The last text sent my heart into a stuttering stop. What did he mean by that first part? A wave of relief followed by anxiety floods my system. The last text was sent almost four hours ago. Tears welled in my eyes as I listened to the multiple voicemails he left. All practically the same as his texts, only I could hear the voice breaks and sobs between words. My heart cracked open and pain seeped through me. 

Chris what are you doing? I understand that you’re busy, you don’t need to apologize, I’m the one who couldn’t handle it. We can talk when I get back, just focus on the album. Maybe with a longer time to plan we can sit and have a proper conversation. I still love you.

I chewed on my lower lip nervously as I waited for his response. After staring at the screen for nearly 30 minutes with no reply, I sighed as I assumed he just had to go back to work, blocking out the relationship that was sinking underwater. I quietly changed and crawled into bed. One last glance at my phone showed no new notifications. Tears flooded my face as I turned over in my childhood bed, resigned to sleep until the pain subsided.

●●●

I woke up to my mom shaking my shoulder. Blinking, I turned over to her, my face swollen from crying until I passed out. “Oh honey, I’m sorry to wake you up but there’s someone here to see you,” Mom bit down on her lips, like she was trying not to smile. I sat up and grabbed my phone, realizing that I’d slept for nearly 14 hours. “Okay, who is it?”

Mom shook her head and finally let the smile break free. “I think you should check for yourself, they said they’ve been wanting to see you for a while.” I cocked my head, confusion etched across my face. She just smiled brighter as she backed out of the room. “Just get dressed and I’ll send them up in a couple minutes. They’re finishing some tea up with your dad.” Tea? Dad doesn’t even like tea, he’s a die-hard coffee lover. Confusion still clouding my mind, I walked to my closet, ignoring the suitcase on the ground and threw on a sundress I had left here. I didn’t know who was waiting or how formal I had to be. I quickly threw my hair into a braid before checking my face in the mirror. The puffiness wouldn’t be able to go away in time, as I already heard rushed steps up the stairs. It finally dawned on me that whoever it was was being sent up to my room. Who would my parents have me meet in my room instead of downstairs with them?

As soon as the thought finished, my door was practically kicked open. I had less than 2 seconds to process who it was before arms were around me and squeezing me almost as hard as Mom had at the airport. Instantly the familiar scent hit my nose and I reeled back, surprise taking over the confusion and tears welling up faster than ever before.

“My sweet babygirl, you think I could handle two weeks with you in another country across the world after what I did?” Chan smiled as tears streaked down his face, clearly wary of my reaction. “I- fuck. I’m so sorry for everything,” he fell to his knees in front of me. “I didn’t expect to meet your family like this. Hell, your dad’s first impression of me was with tears streaming down my face and blubbering out what I did before I was even invited in,” Chan laughed at himself a little. “Of course, then I was immediately brought to the kitchen where he had me sit down and explain everything. I felt like such an idiot saying it all out loud. I wouldn’t have forgiven me if I was him. But then he said it wasn’t up to him, it’s your decision on if I should get kicked to the curb.” I stood in silence, staring down at him. He wrapped his arms around my legs, shaking from the sobs he was clearly holding back. “Baby, my y/n. I don’t even know where to begin. I screwed up so tremendously. The company couldn’t even stop me before I had booked a flight and had Bin race me to the airport. Felix called me a moron before I left,” at that he leaned back and rubbed the back of his neck.

“He’s not wrong.” I sunk down to my knees to be level with him. His eyes widened and tears still silently slid down his cheeks. I shook my head as I pulled him to me, finally hugging him back. “You’re a moron for coming here when you should be working on the album. But I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more. We can get through this. I just- it sounds so selfish- but I needed to truly see if you still wanted this. This was more than I ever expected.” I pulled back to look him in the eyes, bringing my hands to his cheeks to wipe the tears away. I leaned forward and connected our foreheads, breathing in his presence.

His words were barely a whisper as he breathed them into our shared space. “I thought I lost you. I swear on my career that I will change for you. You mean too much to me to watch you slip away again. I love you more than words can express. To the moon and stars beyond, my angel. Always.” I closed my eyes at his confession, breathing in the love he was giving back to me.

“How about we go back downstairs and reintroduce you to my parents. Since, you know, you’re meeting them now.” I giggled softly as he stiffened. 

“Can we hold each other a little longer first? I look like a mess and it’s been long overdue to have you in my arms again.” I fully laughed at that. “Of course, love. You’re mine, they can wait to see the best version of you while I piece it back together for a bit.” He pulled away and stared at me. Without another word, he launched into a tackle, hugging me like he would never let go. 

[yoonia]

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot! The world forgetting, by the world, forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d.” — Alexander Pope, ”Eloisa to Abelard"

———

“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway. Maybe one day years from now, we’ll meet in a coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot.”

“You can erase someone from your mind. Getting them out of your heart is another story.” — Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Minds

⟶ Character | Hoseok x reader ⟶ Genre | Past Lovers!AU, Lawyer!Hoseok, Artist!reader, New Beginning, inspired by Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Minds (yes, the movie) ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; appropriate warnings will be applied on each story whenever necessary.

— Read:

Scene One.

⟶ Title | Spotless Minds ● 36k words ⟶ Summary | He was a man who had wanted too much, and you were a woman who had lost so much. Once the wounds from the past come in the way for you to embrace your future with the man you love, the option for a new beginning comes in the form of erasing the painful pages of your past to allow yourself to heal and to begin again. Even if he was also a part of it.

———

Scene Two.

⟶ Title | Eternal Sunshine ● 39k words ⟶ Summary | You had always felt that meeting him was a chance of fate. He had always been the missing piece of the puzzle that you had been searching for, the beautiful stranger who had somehow become your home. But when your soul seems to refuse to stop searching, you begin to find scraps of the past that had somehow gone missing, erased and forgotten, hiding the pain that would have tainted the perfect life that you have built together. Suddenly, you are given a chance to open the pandora’s box, to collect the missing scraps of your past. Would you dare to open it and risk what you have with him, or would you leave it alone and move on, just the way you had decided to do it a long time ago?

———

Bonus Scene.

⟶ Title | Sunset Glow (coming soon!) ⟶ Summary | Summer getaways have always been your favourite escape. A chance for you to step away from real life and all of its troubles, away from the hectic hours that you must endure every day, and you have always enjoyed the precious time that you get to spend with your lover. But as you accidentally stumble upon a reminder of the past that you have been slowly walking away from, you finally get to see Hoseok losing his resolve for the first time. It is now your turn to become his rock, and help remind him the reason why he has always been yours.

— Alternate universe: 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

— Trivia:

⟶ Audio commentary: Writing process talk ⟶ Spotless Minds & Eternal Sunshine - behind the story (coming soon!)

— Press play: Björk - Jóga | Daughter - Medicine | Se So Neon - 긴 꿈 A Long Dream | Sunwoo Jung Ah - It's Raining | Gotswim - Okoto (Moonracer Remake) | Lana Del Rey - If You Lie Down With Me | G. Strizzolo - Broken Feelings | PLAZA - Love You Again | Lana del Rey - Summertime Sadness | James Arthur - Say You Won’t Let Go

— Cross-post: AO3 | Wattpad | Inkitt — Fic talk & feedback: Spotless Minds ● Eternal Sunshine ● Sunset Glow — Mailbox

© All rights reserved. 2016-2024 @yoonia​ — Unauthorized use and/or duplication of these works, including reposting, translating and modification in any form, is strictly prohibited.

[writingforfishes]

Otto and Atticus Part 10: Back Inaction

HAS IT BEEN A MONTH?!

Heck.

Well, here's a little something that I've been busy over-producing from when I lifted something wrong a few weeks ago and had to baby myself back to well.

Just imagine if I'd had a dorky tall dude to push away the affections of due to my inadequacies, instead of doing it all by myself anyway.

I'm just letting this story go so I don't obsess over the words anymore. It may be clunky and wordy, but if I stare at it any longer, I'll probably keep making it worse.

Atticus is in an arousal haitus during this. (I also just got done with one of those.)

CW

Fast hiccups.

Otto getting annoyed by his hiccups.

Adjacent talk of Otto's recovery struggles.

Back pain.

Rejecting comfort.

Procrastination and issues with time management.

Massage (non kinky)

Detailed body talk (not related to genitalia)

Otto being a grumpy sleepy boy.

Atticus being a grumpy sore potato.

Being serious for a second.

Inadequacies with being taken care of.

Frustrations at growing old and being seen as old (so mild agism and something that could possibly be seen as ablism, though not intentionally).

Lots of teasing to cope.

Otto being a nerd.

Atticus being a dork.

Author trying reeeal haaard to let this go without another edit session!

Atticus hissed as pain shot from their buttox to the base of their spine. All they had done was pick up a can from a grocery bag on the floor and put it in the pantry. Seemed bad posture had caught up with them. The can was a metaphorical straw that broke the camel’s back. Atticus, in the role of the camel, was not amused.

Otto paused in putting away groceries to shoot them a questioning look.

“You good?” he asked, blindly putting the last frozen item in before closing the top door of the fridge and coming over to his partner’s hunched form, their hand latched onto the door jamb of the pantry and taking shallow, then deep, breaths.

“Mm...not so much…” Atticus replied. They hobbled away toward the couch and sat down on the cushions gingerly.

Though initially Atty had allowed Otto to help them that day, all of Otto’s attempted administrations of care had been brushed off every day after. (Though not in an unfriendly way. More in a “nah, I’m good, don’t worry about me, I got this, ooh look a bird!” way.)

Atty had taken copious amounts of Ibuprofen throughout the week. They applied heat and ice and did stretches and exercises, but the muscle strain was taking forever to heal on its own. They had even started adopting some of Otto’s Pilate’s exercises after seeing the similarities of them to the physical therapy recommendations online.

Still, the pain persisted.

What Atticus really needed was rest. But with an upcoming deadline and having to write furiously to get it done on time, rest was in short commodity. Otto realized this and respected the reason Atty was denying his offers of care. Though, admittedly, he felt a bit helpless for it. Watching his partner in pain while writing at his desk in a chair he was well aware was not exactly ergonomic was mildly distressing.

But, with teeth gritted, the writer charged through the story using the pain to inspire and empathize with their characters. Finally, after 5 days, the writing piece was complete. And, with a heavy-handed tap on the send button, Atticus collapsed back in the ill-fitted office chair they’d occupied during the spree. They’d only taken breaks in their furiously charged writing spree to attempt to use the bathroom, ice, heat, and stretch their back. (And, at Otto’s insistence, they also took breaks to eat. Though they frequently brought food with them to the desk.)

“Really loving this procrastination for my personal growth journey, but I could do without the stress it causes!” they exclaimed.

Otto, from the direction of his work bench, chuckled.

“You done?” he asked, hopefully. Perhaps now he would be allowed to care for them more than making food and giving monologues on various topics he’d distracted them with while they’d attempted to ease their pain.

Atticus gave a whimper and a nod in response.

The writer’s eyes were closed. Their hands clutched their lower back while still sitting in Otto’s office chair. Their fingers gripped the soreness that had only abated enough to withstand during the week they’d tried to ease it amid their furious attempts to make up for lost time in writing a manuscript they should’ve had done a week ago.

Atticus startled at Otto’s voice that had somehow gotten so close that it was right behind them as he spoke.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked. He didn’t miss the wince that came from the jump of their body and felt a bit guilty for causing it.

Atty opened their eyes to look back and up at Otto, his kind face giving a warm smile down at them.

“‘Sokay,” they lied.

“Mm,” Otto said a bit curtly. “So...if I asked you right now to walk to the kitchen, bring me something from the bottom cabinet, and walk back here you’d be perfectly fine and pain free?”

Atticus considered it before lying again, “Yup!”

“Go ahead, then,” he said, crossing his arms.

A beat passed between them, a bit of a stare down.

“Pssh! Dude! You have two legs and are up. You go get it!” Atty said, attempting to diffuse with humor.

Instead of laughing, though, Otto circled to face them and bent down to lock eyes with his partner in front of them. It was a stare that almost made Atty squirm. There was a deep honesty in those eyes, an intense interest and even more intense emotion.

There was also seriousness in those eyes that Atticus usually tried to avoid at all costs until they could no longer ignore it. It wasn’t for lack of wanting to be genuine or truthful that they avoided the seriousness, but for lack of wanting to reveal themselves out of instinctual protection.

Atticus did trust their partner. They didn’t trust themselves.

“Atty...” Otto started.

Atticus could’ve lost themselves with just that nickname and how it was said. Otto had an alarming ability to coat the simplest of words in an emotional subtext that could drown a sane person. For a person like Atticus, who considered themselves by no means, sane, it just made it a little harder to breathe. Otto had their attention.

“You have cared for me more than once when I was at my worst. It’s obvious you’re in pain. Why-why won’t you let me care for you now? Is it pride? Do you...not trust me?” Otto asked. The ‘why’ was a stutter, not a hiccup.

The clock maker took the tips of his fingers and ran them along Atticus’ hairline. He shifted an errant curl up into its usual place. A soft breath was drawn from the writer as he found the buzzed part of their undercut and pulled the pads of his fingers over it softly.

“Noooo…” they said like a whine when he asked about trust, “I do.”

Atty countered those dark brown eyes with pinched brows and narrowed eyelids. They held their lips tightly against each other and sighed.

“I’m just...embarrassed,” Atticus finally admitted under his scrutiny.

Otto, still on his knees in front of them, scrunched his eyes up and shook his head, incredulous.

“Why?” he asked genuinely. His eyes widened as he asked, and his brows edged up his prominent forehead in confusion.

Atticus had seen the clock maker in ways so much worse than a strained back, so Otto was truly befuddled at the reason for the embarrassment.

Atticus sighed, perhaps a bit dramatically.

“I-I don’t like needing to be cared for. I...feel like a burden, y’know? I don’t know how to act like someone who...who needs to be helped! My mom never...I loved her, and she loved me but...my mom didn’t really know how to treat me when I was sick. I’d feel...guilty for it happening. I don’t know why, so don’t ask me!

“And...I threw my back out while picking up a can! Less than a pound! It’s just...all so demoralizing and insulting and stupid and...I’m ooold and I don’t want to-to need anyone and...I—ugh!” Atticus exclaimed and buried their head in their hands.

Otto slowly coerced Atticus’ hands from their face and cupped their cheek in his hand in replacement. He was smiling again, soft and sweet. He was annoyingly understanding. Atty was always prepared to be a terrible person, but Otto never let them. His patience was very frustrating in that way.

“I get all of that. Trust me. But...I guess there have been too many instances in my life where I literally didn’t have a choice but to let people take care of me,” he said. “The number of times I’ve been at my worst have been more than I would ever want to admit. And, I guess, through that I learned some humility? Which is annoying. It doesn’t really help the guilt and shame go away but at least I know what it feels like to think you’re a burden on someone, and then find out that you’re not. A lot of people have convinced me of that. Margie. Mark. You,” he said, with a nod to Atticus. “And...it doesn’t always stick. I still have moments where I have a really hard time letting people take care of me. But I guess I’ve sort of had to be taken care of more so...I have more practice? Kind of?”

Otto shook his head with a sardonic chuckle and a shrug.

“But, throwing back one of your very apt observations from your birthday on which, remember, you were right because it was your birthday,” Otto continued, “allowing me to take care of you is a gift to me. It isn’t a burden, but something I look forward to providing, okay? And...so...I want to provide it!”

“Dammit,” Atticus ground out through their teeth. “I hate how good your memory is.”

Otto did laugh in amusement this time.

“Yeaaaah,” he drawled, “it’s a real drag, huh? It’s your fault for being so damn poignant.”

“Ugh, I really wish I was less insightful!” Atty agreed, grateful that they were back to lighter dialogue.

Otto smiled and held each of Atticus’ hands in his own.

“So, can you please let me care for you now? Cause, man, watching you suffer through this week has been a special kind of torture. Not to mention that chair hurts my back, let alone what it must feel like for you!” Otto said.

“Yeah, what the fuck is up with this chair? We need to get you a new chair…” Atticus mumbled before turning back to Otto’s waiting face. “Okay, fine. Take care of me. Or whatever.”

“Ooh, reign that enthusiasm in, Atty!” Otto said, smiling.

Atticus rolled their eyes in response.

Otto had obviously been planning to be Atticus’ knight in shining khaki ever since they’d hurt their back. He had a plan. The first part of that plan was a long bath soaking in Epson salts. The clock maker had even gotten a small bath pillow for Atticus to lay their head on while they luxuriated in the tub. He lit a candle, of all things, that smelled of lavender and vanilla. The writer didn’t even know that Otto had allowed a candle in the house; his nose was so sensitive to perfumes and powerful scents. As such, the candle was successfully mild in its odor, just enough to flavor the air.

Otto left Atticus to soak while he went downstairs and fixed dinner. Just as the water started to cool and Atty was about to get up Otto arrived with a towel and helped them from the tub. And, as their back gave a spasm from the change in position, Atticus was extremely grateful he was there.

“You okay?” Otto asked as he supported them.

“Yeah. Just one fucking back spasm away from chopping the whole spine out,” Atty grunted. They huffed at the edge of the tub until the pain ebbed.

“Mmm, don’t recommend it,” Otto said with humor.

“I dunno,” Atty continued bitterly, “politicians seem to do fine without one for the most part.”

“Wow. Okay! Pain makes you even more cynical than normal. Good to know. Afraid you’re stuck being a writer, though. Suffering for the art and all,” Otto said watching Atticus gingerly towel off as he handed them underwear, a white shirt, and their favorite pair of grey sweatpants.

“Yeah, choosing honesty over deception has been a real drag,” the writer said.

“Tell me about it,” Otto had agreed before walking his spouse downstairs.

To their credit, Atticus only faltered once, having to let Otto support them. However, every step triggered shoots of pain up their lower back and in one butt cheek. Being a pain in the ass and having a pain in the ass were two very different experiences, they were realizing. They quickly decided they preferred the former.

The writer took a moment to muse how on earth they’d scaled the steps without Otto behind them as support before now. Was that a testament to tenacity or idiocy? Both, at this point, seemed likely.

Dinner had been prepared. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. As much as Atticus and Otto’s childhood had differed, they both had memories of their parents preparing tomato soup with a grilled cheese sandwich. It’s why Otto had ordered the same meal at the food market in the Antique’s Mall a month ago. Happy memories were spare for him and marrying them with moments he wanted to find joy in was very therapeutic.

Comfort food was also essential when someone didn’t feel well; Atticus more than appreciated the gesture. They spooned the warm liquid into their mouth noting the spices floating on top that their mom’s Campbell’s brand fare never contained.

“Ooh, it’s a little spicy,” Atty had said after taking a few spoonfuls.

“Too much?” Otto asked with some worry.

“Nuh-uh, nope. Just unexpected. Mm, do we have crackers?” they asked.

Atticus allowed Otto to retrieve the Ritz crackers. They allowed Otto to do the dishes. They allowed Otto to put a Tiger Balm brand menthol patch on their back to ease their pain. They allowed Otto to give them a massage on the couch. Or, more accurately, Attics allowed themself grace from doing things that would cause pain, and Otto was more than willing to support that decision.

This last one, allowing Otto to give them massage, Atticus saw as extremely self-indulgent. Otto was more than happy to oblige, though. And Otto was, innuendo jokes aside, extremely skilled with his hands. He had actually hoped Atticus would request a massage. The writer had massaged him quite often after more intense or longer hiccup attacks. Disregarding even that, both of them were very familiar with when the other would benefit from the easing of muscles by proffered massages, kink moments aside.

For his part, Otto enjoyed Atticus’ body. He enjoyed the freckles that powdered along their shoulders and down their arms. He loved feeling the soft sides of their waist and lingered admiringly at the dimples above their butt. There was nothing sexual about this kind of touch. No arousal happened from either one of them during the massage. (In fact, Atticus was in a bit of a hiatus from their arousal reaction from hiccups, so not even the regular forms of excitement would be happening this night.)

When Otto had first given Atticus a massage at the time they had started to explore each other’s bodies, he was terrified he would hurt them. Atty was slight beneath his hands which seemed so large compared to their body. But when the writer scoffed as he tentatively ghosted his fingers along their skin, that he didn’t need to treat them like some porcelain doll and that they were tougher than they looked, Otto took note. What he discovered, quite surprisingly, was that they were right.

Their body may have been small, but it was made of denser muscle than it seemed. The softness of their curves gave way to cords of knotted muscle that actually took some effort to break through. Atty was also communicative if he’d pushed too far. This gave him confidence and he treated his partner less like a breakable commodity and more like a person with autonomy who was simply a different shape and size. The novelty of them being such wildly different sized bodies faded quite quickly after this realization. (Barring when they attempted to kiss each other while standing, Atticus needing something on a high shelf, or cheap shot jokes about height during banter.)

The couple ended up one on top of the other on the couch. Otto had reclined against the couch’s arm with a pillow underneath him and offered Atticus to lay with their back top of his belly and torso, their legs between his, and a pillow at their lower back. The writer sighed, sinking into the softness of his midsection and relishing the feeling of menthol on their back from the patch. Otto offered a small pillow to put at their neck so it would have support. Atty melted in even further at the comfort. When Otto kissed their head, his spouse made a very contented noise in the back of their throat that encouraged a chuckle from him.

“You feeling okay?” he asked. Otto had brought out a book to read above them and raised his glasses at the small face leaning back to look at him.

The soft sounds of an orchestral record took the space of sound between their words.

“Mmhm. Yep,” Atty said.

“How’s your back?” Otto asked.

“Feels tight but it doesn’t hurt as much. I smell like an old man, now. The Tiger Balm. But it feels really good,” Atticus admitted.

“Good,” Otto replied, smiling.

“What’re you reading?” they almost cut themselves off with a sizable and audible yawn. They felt Otto stroking their hair affectionately.

Atticus had not been getting the best sleep. They had been tossing and turning in the loft bed instead of their shared bed because they didn’t want to disturb Otto with their movements. None of it had made for consistent or fulfilling rest.

“‘T’snot Melville again, is it?” Atty followed up with before Otto could answer.

“No…” Otto said in faux offense, “Hawthorne.”

“Nerd,” Atty teased.

Otto snorted with a laugh jostling Atticus’ body.

“Oh crap, did that hurt?” Otto thought to ask after watching Atty readjust themselves after his laughter.

“Nah,” Atticus responded, but caught the doubtful eye of their husband above them. “Seriously, this time. Just kinda bouncy and soft. I promise you didn’t hurt me. Go back to reading your fancy novel. I’m gonna...not fall asleep.”

Otto watched the writer pull the blanket from off of the back of the couch and shrug it onto their shoulders, adjusting again against his body with a small grunt.

“Are you comfortable?” they suddenly asked him. Otto smiled.

“I’m good,” Otto responded, easily. He’d propped himself up on the pillow, it supporting his neck and back. Holding the book aloft wasn’t much of a challenge as he’d rest it on the back of the couch while reading. Though he might get a little warm having Atticus laying on him, it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience if Atty was able to get some good sleep out of it.

“Kay,” they said lazily and turned their head again to get more comfortable.

A long while after Atticus had fallen asleep Otto marveled at how incredibly still they had been. Usually, they’d have turned at least once by this mark. This was probably an indication of how tired the writer was. They’d been asleep for a little over an hour without so much as a twitch.

Atticus had even fallen asleep with their glasses on. But as their head never turned enough to knock them askew, Otto decided not to remove them for fear of rousing them.

Otto was happy, also, that the heat from Atticus’ body wasn’t too overwhelming. It’d helped that he’d laid down in his boxer shorts and white t-shirt. He was only a little warm, but he hadn’t even started sweating. It was a relief not to have to deal with the heat, though he would’ve stayed regardless.

He suddenly felt gas rising up his chest and worked hard on letting it out as softly as possible to not disturb his spouse who slowly rose and fell with the movement of his body’s breath. He’d had the hiccups once today. It wasn’t anything special. Atticus teased him a bit on some of the sounds, able to be more natural with the occurrence during their break from feeling arousal from them.

The hiccups had been a little forceful, but sometimes they were like that. And, as usual, they’d lasted around ten minutes after his first sip of coffee before trailing off. That had been hours ago now.

But feeling his body jerk with a shock he started second guessing his culinary decision to spice the tomato soup he’d made as much as he had. He wasn’t lucky enough to have that be a single and, as many of his cases went, it started rapidly.

He tried to muffle the sounds by closing his mouth and putting a hand over his mouth but realized by doing so he was increasing the movements of his body which was visibly, at this point, jostling his partner. Otto tried letting the sounds out, then, but:

“Hup!-hu’up!-hulp!-huck!...hulp’m!-mk!-mmp!-MMP!” Otto groaned. It was a no-win situation. As expected, Atty shifted on his stomach.

Atticus became conscious to the feeling of a soft insistence of attention at the base of their spine. Fluttering thumps hit their body rapidly as their head seemed to jostle backwards. They blinked their eyes open and took a deep breath trying to make sense of the stimulus.

“S-sorry,” Otto’s voice vibrated on Atticus’ head through his chest as he spoke through the volley of hiccups that attacked him. “They-hup!-they jus-huck’m!-just started. Mk! I guess I-hick’m!-guess I should’ve b—been lighter hup!-lighter on the spice. Hip!”

“Aww,” Atticus cooed sleepily. “You have them again.”

Atty remembered the case from the morning. It was a pretty forceful attack from what they recalled. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d gotten them again, especially after the spiciness in the soup. But it’d been a few weeks since he’d had anything more than his morning cases, and even those had been sparse.

However, the day after they’d gotten back from the Antique’s Store had been littered with short cases. His diaphragm had apparently been quite offended with Otto’s antics in inducing and worsening the case and it wasn’t done grumbling from the first day of events. It had been a somewhat exhausting day for both of them. Atty’s new vibrator had gotten a pretty good workout, to be brief.

But now, in a hiatus of arousal, Atty simply rubbed Otto’s thigh in sympathy of the hiccups he had now.

“Y-you okay? Hmp!-I’m not—not rocking h’uck!-rocking you too much? Hm’k!hmk!hup!-uh,” Otto asked placing his hand softly on Atticus’ chest. The writer put their hand on top of his and rubbed it affectionately.

“No, I’m fine. It’s kinda like a...massage chair. Like a soft pillow hitting my back randomly. Not unpleasant,” they mused.

Otto laughed, shaking his belly with it and increasing the speed of his hiccups. He waited a few seconds before talking, but the hiccups had only slowed down a little.

“Glad I can h’mp!-b-hup!-be of huck’m!-of se—service.MMK!-uh!” Otto said and felt Atticus’ hand stroking his again and sighed as much as he could.

Atticus then breathed in a yawn and stretched, joints popping a little as they reached their arms up past Otto’s head and back down as the clock maker dodged the wayward hands with a smile Atty couldn’t see.

As the writer woke up a little more, they squirmed against Otto’s body, satisfied that their back was not near as sore as it had been previously. Still feeling the enthusiastic hiccups from behind them, they started to be more aware of where their body was and how that might affect their partner.

“Hey, are you okay with me here? On your belly, I mean? I’m not making it worse, am I? Or painful?” Atticus worried.

“I don’t-himp!-I don’t think s—so. Hmk!huck’l! Th-mk!-they aren’t pul-hup!hup!-ling thei-hnk!-their punches but hmp!-but you—re not m-making it wo-hurp!hup!mk!hmp!-worse! Shit. Sorry,” he said, covering his mouth.

“You need to get up and cure them?” Atty asked. They pulled their head back to look at the vision of the upside-down head of their husband as it jolted with more hiccups with a look of concentration. The head shook ‘no’ in response and gave Atticus’ forehead and little peck before being jolted back again with another spasm.

“L—let’s see if hmk!hmk!-if they go hup!-go away on—on their own first. HU’UP!” he said and covered his mouth again at the loudness of the last hiccup.

Atty couldn’t help but laugh a little followed by a sympathetic face.

“Welp,” they said with a huff after a moment of riding the spasms of Otto’s diaphragm, “I need to pee.” Their back was fine, but their bladder was definitely being tested by the movements.

“You hup!-you n-need me to huck!-to help get hyup!-to the restroom?” Otto asked as he provided assistance to them sitting up, noticing the strain on their face.

“Nah,” they said with a grunt when they were finally upright. They gave his stomach a little pat and rub. “Poor guy. Um-no, I’m gonna use the guest one down here.”

Again, with some effort and help from Otto, Atticus finally found themselves standing, more or less. It was more of a near standing position as they leaned forward a little before slowly straightening their spine with a breath.

“You-huck!-you in hlmp!-in any p-huck-pain?” he asked.

“No,” Atty grumbled back. “Just stiffness more than anything.” They hissed. “And, okay, a little pain. I’ll grab an Ibuprofen after going to the bathroom.”

“I’ll ge-HUP!-get another pa-hilp!-patch,” Otto said, getting himself up with a hiccuping grunt from being in one position for so long.

“Sounds good,” Atticus said with a nod and an awkward hug to their husband who was now standing beside them.

“Calm down,” Atty whispered through Otto’s stomach to his diaphragm. They felt the motions of Otto chuckling in response and his hiccups quickening in response to that. “Stop that. I’m not that funny.”

At this, Atticus proceeded to scoot along to the guest bathroom as Otto desperately tried to hold in more snickering at their slow progress. The amusement tickled him unexpectedly. The way Atty held their back as they tried to stand up straight by activating their core was too reminiscent of the quintessential elder and, though Otto was hardly amused by the struggles of the elderly, the glare Atticus gave him served only to increase his mirth.

His hiccups, obviously, increased because of this and Atticus pronounced their lips with a harrumph.

“Forget what I said, diaphragm! Do your worst!” they said, entering the bathroom with a flair of attitude that sent Otto into more giggles and sacrificing him to the shortness of breath that came from rapid-fire hiccups.

When Atticus exited the bathroom, they could hear Otto’s hiccups from the kitchen and made their way, albeit slowly, to see their husband with a large white patch, destined for their lower back, on the surface of the kitchen island. He was bent over to his phone, which was also sitting on the island, reading something off the screen. One hand scrolled as the other pressed against his chest buffering against the barrage of hiccups he was still experiencing.

It was only at this point did the writer notice it was dark outside the windows. It made sense that it had gotten late, but it threw them off a little to suddenly notice it was nighttime.

“Hey-hmph!” Otto said, finally noticing them. “S-sorry, was just hup!hup’k!-just ch-checking some hmk!-some appointments.” He jolted with another cluster of two, silently.

Despite their chagrin at his teasing earlier, Atticus gave him a look of sympathy. It might not have been the worst case of hiccups Otto ever had, but they still looked pretty powerful.

“C’mon,” he continued, gulping another hiccup down and holding the patch by its edges. “Let’s hup’k!-g—get this on. Hmk!”

Atty was silently grateful that they weren’t aroused enough to physically react to the attack. The kind of hiccups Otto was letting out were the exact kind that got them the hottest. They couldn’t imagine the pain if their back had felt like clinching or arching in arousal.

“Then I can hum’k!-I can hel-mk!-help you do-hup!-do some light stretches, hmk-hmk!-uh, if you want HUP’K!” Otto said, blowing some air out of his mouth with mild frustration amid a few more hiccups.

Having a kink made it impossible not to be completely unaffected by the subject of the kink no matter the libido level at the time. But Atticus’ arousal stayed at a low buzz instead of spiking and, as that was the case, Otto’s arousal never blossomed to either increase or interact with his hiccups.

As such, Otto seemed to react to his hiccups in a way that seemed more likely how he interacted with them before. He was mildly annoyed when they interrupted his speech, and he got a little frustrated as he had to navigate his words and breath around him. He was still mostly unbothered by his hiccups regardless his arousal level, or Atticus’, but it getting near bedtime was making them seem a bit more of a nuisance than normal.

“Doing light stretches might help, if you’re up for helping me,” Atty responded. They gave a soft smile as they watched him carefully peel the paper from the side of the patch protecting the adhesive.

The writer then stood with their shirt hiked up as Otto lowered to his knees to have a better angle at placing the patch where it needed to be.

Amid sounds of hiccups, Atticus heard Otto fussing behind them. They felt his fingertips ghost their lower back, then leave. Atticus felt the plap of the menthol infused patch against their skin and then it was removed again.

“Shit,” Otto whispered as he stifled another cluster. Four hiccups hit him and quick succession as he once again had almost lined up the patch to his partners back before “hmk!huck’m!hilp!mlk!” caused the patch to go askew again as his hands lost their steadiness.

If he hadn’t been on his knees he might’ve had a little more control over the situation. Or perhaps not. For the most part, his hiccups were pretty par for the course, but those deep ones seemed to come out of nowhere and jerk his body more than he expected.

Thank goodness he hadn’t had these when working earlier today. He might’ve had to abandon any repairs until he could cure them.

The more frustrated he got the more disruptive the hiccups seemed. Though he always got a little grumpy come bedtime, the hiccups were exacerbating it.

“Cra-hu’uck!-crap,” he muttered as his hands jolted again and folded the patch in on itself. “C’mon...HUP!-uh...”

“You good back there, bud?” Atty said over their shoulder. They couldn’t turn too far to look behind them due to pain and stiffness, but Otto saw their profile and a glimpse of their eye from the corner of their glasses.

“Yeah j—just can’t get hu’up!-get this th-hip’m-thing on str-hmp!hmp!-straight-HMPK!-ugh!” Otto groused.

Atty wasn’t sure if he’d groaned because of the hiccups or because of the issues he was having with the patch.

“You know, as long as it’s in the right vicinity I don’t really mind how it looks. Also...we don’t really straight in this house so slap that baby on however it goes, huh?” Atty said, hoping to lighten the mood.

The writer got a scoffed laugh as a reply and, they thought, that might have to be enough. Regardless, Atticus finally felt the soothing coolness of the patch cover their lower back and heaved a sigh as they felt Otto’s fingers smooth it out and reveled in the delicate touch. They turned around to face him as he stayed knelt on the ground in front.

“You tired?” Atty asked softly as their arms propped on his shoulder and their hands encircled his neck.

“A little,” he admitted as his head was thrown back in a “hrmk’l!hrk!” and he rubbed his eyes. “Sorry hrmk! I know I g—get grouchy. HUCK’M!hmk!hlp!mmk!-huck!”

“Those things aren’t helping, I guess,” Atty noted to his hiccups. “They starting to bother you?”

“Uh-HUP’K! Heh! Sorta. They’re j-hulpk!-just annoying. HMMK!-Mm, not painful, th—though,” he said a little sheepishly.

Atticus pulled him closer with that admission and hugged his head to their chest as they rested their head on his.

“My poor guy,” they cooed. Then their voice got a little deeper and sharper. “That’s what you get for laughing at your poor partner at how they walk when they’re in pain!”

“Ah!” Otto exclaimed, laughter muffled into their body, “Tou-hup!hup!-t—touch-hip!hmp!-touché! Dammit!”

Atticus was back to rubbing his back in their embrace, him on his knees making the writer feel more than adequate to envelop him in their arms.

“Okay, I’m gonna take some Ibuprofen and maybe you should try and get rid of those? They sound like they’re getting worse.” Atty suggested.

“Yeah g—good idea HUP-uh,” Otto said and grabbed onto the kitchen island to pull himself up with a wince. “Oh! Hoop!” He grabbed his knees, the tissue around his patellae offended by the pressure put on them.

“Nuh-uh!” Atticus announced as they watched him struggle from their place in front of the cabinet the couple kept medicine in. “None of that! Only one of us can be down for the count at a time with old people pain! I already called lower back. You can have knees next week.”

“Heh hup!” Otto said with a small smile. “I’d hurmp!-I’d rather n—not. Hmk!-uh. I think I’m-hmp!hmp!-I think I’m good.”

Atticus watched him as he put the back of his hand over his mouth to cover a small burp followed by another cluster and finally lower that hand with a sigh onto his chest as he reached for the apple cider vinegar.

Ever since Rose and Bill had introduced them to the potential magic of a gulp of apple cider vinegar, as opposed to the three-step solution they’d used before, it was always a first line in curing Otto’s hiccups. If that didn’t work, then sugar, salt, and lemon resumed their position to be one of the more reliable cures. And if that didn’t work, which it usually did, waiting it out was the only other option. It was rare that they had to wait, but it had happened.

Atticus leaned against the counter as they watched Otto take a swig of the vinegar and wince, shaking his head, before swallowing it.

“Good?” Atty said, trying to keep the humor out of their voice. They smiled in amusement, though.

“I can still...sort of f—feel them. Yeah,” he sniffed, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and sighed, jolting a little with another silent hiccup. “But I don’t think they’re go—O—nna last for much longer.”

“You sure?”

Otto nodded assuredly, the curls that had started to frizz on top of his head bobbing a little with the enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” he said, stifling a yawn that ended in another silent spasm. They had certainly calmed down, so Atticus nodded. “Hey, you want me to—to help you stretch before bed, n—now?”

“Yeah, let’s try that,” the writer agreed.

Otto unfolded the bench from his Pilate’s machine and helped Atticus on it.

“I wanna try some pa—assive stretches with me assisting. You game?” Otto asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“J—just don’t let me push past the point of—of pain, okay?”

Otto handled one of Atticus’ legs and folded it up, their foot on his abdomen, as he leaned closer and pushed it toward their torso gently.

Atty chuckled. At Otto’s questioning look and pause in movement they shook their head.

“I’m fine, it’s just I can feel your tummy flutter on my foot when you, um, hiccup. It’s funny,” they said.

“Guess my diaphragm i—is giving you a food massage, too!”

“It’s working overtime,” Atty noted.

“Tell me ab—about it!” Otto groused with a shake of his head.

By the time the stretches were over, though, Otto’s hiccups had finally given up and Atticus’ back felt better than it had all week.

“Hey, what do you want to do for your birthday next month?” Atticus asked as Otto led them back up the stairs so they could sleep with Otto for the first time in days.

“I dunno. Haven’t really given it much thought…” he admitted.

Otto helped Atticus into the bed as he turned off the lights and settled in, himself.

“Hm. Well I’ll have to think of something amazing on my own, then,” Atticus said.

They snuggled into their husband as he laid down next to them. Then they hissed in discomfort at being on their side and relented to sleep on their back, instead, Otto’s arm moving to embrace them.

“I trust you will,” Otto said. “But...you know...it’s definitely not going to be as good as a banjo clock.” It was obvious he was teasing.

“I knooow. You really fucked up the precedent with that one, you know? Damn your kind heart,” they said.

“It really is a heavy burden to bear,” he said, dramatically.

“You’re so brave,” Atticus agreed.

“I know,” he said with a smile and kissed his partner on the forehead as they cuddled as far into his body as their back allowed them to squirm.

[its-jaytothemee]

Tonight...And Every Night - Chapter 7

Pairing: Astarion x Tav, Halsin x Tav; Astarion and Tav POVs

Word count: 2,000; Chapter 7, Tav POV

Rating: Mature

Read on AO3

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Summary: Tav fails to convince Astarion to reject the Rite of Profane Ascension and refuses to help him complete it. He leaves her and the party, but regrets his choices later. Angsty and fluffy, POVs from both Astarion and Tav.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Spawn!Astarion, Angst w/ Happy Ending

Author's Note: This was inspired by my playthrough where I somehow failed all of the persuasion checks for Astarion after the Cazador fight, leaving me obviously devastated. Much longer chapter incoming!

Tav stood completely still, barely breathing. She blinked a few times, worried that this may be an illusion.

“How long have you been there?” She asked, releasing her held breath.

“Long enough.” Astarion paused. “Did you mean what you said?” He asked quietly.

She continued staring at him, saying nothing.

“When you said you could forgive me.” His voice was soft and hopeful.

“That depends on what you say next.”  Her pain seeped into every syllable of her words. She was barely able to get them out before the tears came back into her eyes. Her fingers dug deeper into Halsin’s hand.

“Fair enough.” He took a deep breath before continuing.

“Tav…I’m…” He paused for a moment and let out a large sigh, “I am so sorry. Words alone will never heal the suffering I caused you today. What I said was unforgiveable, even more so because it was you. You didn’t betray me, I betrayed you. I was blinded with my desire for revenge, I don’t know what came over me…I…” He started to stammer, his eyes darting between her and the ground in front of him.

“You were the first person in two hundred years to show me a shred of compassion, and I was grateful. But I never dared to dream that you could love someone like me. To be perfectly honest, I didn’t even believe that love was real. To me, it was just a fairy tale to help everyone sleep better at night, to keep them hopeful. Then…there was you.” He paused, looking down at his hands, still stained with Cazador’s blood. Tav watched him carefully, watching his expressions and listening closely to the tone of his voice.

“I understand if you never want to see me again,” he continued, lifting his head back up to look into her eyes, “but if you’ll give me one last chance, I promise you I will work to be the person you see in me. I…I want to be someone you can be proud of; I want to be someone who deserves you, Tav. I want to learn to live again – with you if you’ll have me. And if I can’t have that, I would happily start over with you from the beginning, as friends, as travelling companions. I cannot fathom the idea of no longer having you in my life. I’d rather live a thousand years having you as an acquaintance than live another day knowing I could never see your face again.”

Her bottom lip was quivering as the tears kept flowing down her cheeks.  She still couldn’t bring herself to move.

“But know this Tav,” he continued, “if you ask it of me, I will leave. I will find my way back into the shadows, and I will not trouble you again. It would be nothing less than what I deserve. I simply could not have lived with myself if I did not tell you how I feel.” The next breath he took was much shakier, and Tav could see that he was crying now.

“I…I love you, Tav. You didn’t take everything from me, you are everything to me.” When he looked back up to her, his soft, red eyes were a silent plea. The tear streaks on his face tinted with dried blood. She desperately searched his face for any signs of deception, but as far as she could tell he just looked terrified.

Suddenly, a memory came creeping back to her, the dark air around her transforming into swirling shadows.

The camp was silent, Tav couldn’t sleep and had decided to check the fires around the perimeter of camp. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the eerie darkness of these shadow cursed lands. A small whimper from somewhere behind her caused her to jump as she adjusted a torch. Grabbing the dagger at her belt, she slowly worked her way toward the sound. To her surprise, the sound was coming from Astarion’s tent. She stowed her dagger, and quietly pushed her way inside.

“Astarion?” She asked gently, reaching her hand out to rest on his back. Her fingers lightly ran across the slightly raised skin that made up the infernal scars on his back. He startled awake at her touch, breathing heavily.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” She tried to keep her voice as soothing as possible.

Even so, the look on his face was one of pure agony. She gave him a moment to process his surroundings. As his breathing slowed and he seemed to recognize that he wasn’t in any danger, he was finally able to speak.

“Oh, hello darling.” He said, still slightly out of breath. “Is something the matter?”

She looked at him, confused.

“No, everything’s okay, I just heard sounds coming from your tent and came to check on you.” She said, trying to avoid upsetting him further.

“Ah…I see…well…” he leaned back, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts, “as you can see I’m perfectly…fine.” He paused for a long moment before the word ‘fine.’ She watched as his face fell again, and she realized that he was afraid.

Tav tentatively reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He ever so slightly leaned into her touch. She still wasn’t sure how much intimacy he was comfortable with. She didn’t want to push him, but she was aching to hold him, to let him know he was safe. While lost in her thoughts, Astarion suddenly lunged at her, throwing his arms around her waist and squeezing her tight. She returned the gesture, happily. He cried into her shoulders, taking ragged, gasping breaths. His arms were shaking, he desperately clung to her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to this plane. She softly stroked his back and his hair, doing whatever she could think of to try and calm him.

“You’re…you’re alright.” He sobbed into her shoulder.

“Of course I am, I’ve just been in my tent trying to rest.” She continued to hold him tight against her, still slightly confused.

“It…it was Cazador. He had you…” He took a deep gasping breath. “He made me watch as he carved…you were screaming.”

“I’m alright, my love. It was only a dream...” She held his trembling body close to her until his breathing returned to normal.

 Astarion hardly talked about Cazador. From what little she knew, it was easy to tell that he was a masochistic lunatic. What she didn't realize was that even without being able to control him, he was still able to torture Astarion from afar. He haunted his dreams even while miles away, unable to touch him. She knew he had suffered greatly at his master's hands, but just now realized how truly tormented Astarion's soul was as he held her tightly. He didn’t only fear for his own life, but that of anyone he dared to care about.

It was now that she realized that this was going to take a significant amount of time to heal, and that the healing couldn't truly start until Cazador was dead and gone. He would carry the scars of his torment for the rest of his life, constantly reminding him of that time. A pain stabbed at her chest, suddenly anxious that she couldn’t truly help him, that maybe he was too far gone. What could she possibly offer to offset two hundred years of pure malice? She laid him down next to her on the bedroll and held his head to her chest, still stroking his hair.

“Will you stay?” He managed to croak out between his shallow breaths.

“I’m right here with you. I’ll always be right here with you.” She whispered the promise into his ear. She also made another promise, silently. I’ll help you get through this, my love. You’ll live freely again, I promise.

Tav was suddenly back at their camp, the cool evening air was causing small bumps to rise on her arms. She found herself looking back into Astarion’s pleading eyes and faced with another choice.

Her mind was spinning. She never expected that he would actually come back, but was it enough? She kept her gaze locked on him as she thought through their time together. He had come so far, but still had so much further to go. He had used her and manipulated her for his own gain. But he had also dove in front of arrows for her, he stood up for her when others sought to cross her boundaries even though he couldn’t set any of his own. Despite everything, he still followed her, helped her, and believed in her. She knew that he had never known an ounce of leniency or forgiveness in his long life, yet here he was. Trusting and hoping that she would be the first person to give it to him. He knew all too well that she could crush him right here and now. He knew there was a possibility that she would be the proof he needed that he wasn’t worthy of redemption. He had to know that there was a very good chance she would send him away forever. And he still came back.

Yes, she was angry, she was still hurt, but in that moment, she was also so godsdamned proud of him. She thought back to her silent promise, her worry that she had nothing to offer him. Now what she could see as easily as the familiar lines on his face, was that he needed to feel forgiveness. He needed to know that he wasn’t alone, and if he would allow it, he would never have to be again. Halsin’s words rang in her ears, she didn’t want to think of her kindness as a weakness anymore.

She let go of Halsin’s hand and took small steps forward, slowly closing the gap between her and Astarion. Only a couple of steps away now, she was still not fully convinced that this wasn’t all some elaborate illusion. She hesitantly reached out her hand to touch his cheek, just to prove that it was really Astarion standing in front of her. The familiar feel of his cool, smooth skin greeted her fingers. He turned his face into her hand, closing his eyes. With that, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

Tav grabbed Astarion by his cloak and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. It took him a moment for him to hug her back, almost as if he didn’t believe it was happening. She cried into his neck, digging her hands into his back and his hair, trying to pull him closer. He cradled the back of her head, his other hand wrapped around her waist as far as he could reach, holding her as tightly against him as she could be. He lifted her up off the ground slightly as she clung to him.

“You came back.” She choked out between her sobs.

He pulled away slightly so he could grab her face in his hands.

“Of course I came back, my dear. And I’m here to stay.” He crashed his lips into hers, kissing her deeply. She broke away after a moment and pressed her forehead to his.

“Never scare me like that again.” She whispered.

“Never again.” He promised, as Tav wiped away the tears running down his cheeks. She kissed him again, holding his head in place against hers.

She nestled her face back into his neck and stood there in his arms for a few more moments, drinking in his scent. Tav knew there would be difficult conversations to come. They would have to face their spurned companions and even after all his help, she still wasn’t sure about Halsin’s feelings towards Astarion now. For a moment though, she purged the thoughts from her mind and relaxed into him. She allowed herself to be grateful that he found his way back into her arms, hopefully never to leave again.

[thrashkink-coven]

One thing I love so much about Father Lucifer and Lord Leviathan…. you know what, Prince Cerberus and Faviel too… is their pure patience and understanding of the human condition. It’s something that organized religion never allowed much space for in my experiences. We are always expected to make the best choice. To be pure and clean, to be better than yesterday.

Right now I’m working hard on improving some skills. I am disabled, I suffer from neuropathy and a chronic migraine disorder. These last few years I’ve been struggling with it really bad, but thanks to some new meds and some good habits I’m more or less coming out of my bad rut. My spirits have been greatly aiding me in getting back on my feet (literally).

But some days, like today, I just… don’t care. I wanna smoke weed and be lazy all day. I want to jerk off and eat like shit and let the dishes pile up. I want to be a nothing person, just for a little bit while I work up the motivation to do better tomorrow, and if not tomorrow then maybe the day after that. Whatever, I don’t care, at least not today. I don’t want to be mindful, I don’t want to be enlightened. I don’t want to make art or be inspired. I just want to be a slob.

And you know what? That’s OKAY!

Working alongside these powerful entities can sometimes feel like I have to be on the ball all the time. I have to be this living God who is always improving and learning. But I don’t, and they don’t expect me to be.

As much as they want my initiative and commitment, the truth of the matter is that I’m human. I’m not an angel or a God, that’s a good thing. It’s amazing that I get to witness and learn from these incredible spirits whilst still having the comfort of my human limits. I’m a human, not a machine, I can’t be great all the time. Being hard on myself won’t make me grow faster, it’ll just make me miserable during periods of rest.

Lucifer encourages indulgence but not depravity. Today I came to him and basically said “Father, I’m sorry I’m so tired. I’m sorry I haven’t been reading. I know I should be doing better. I don’t know what’s wrong with me… I honestly just want to crawl back into bed right now. Show me how to get rid of these feelings.”

and his response to that was “There is nothing wrong with you. Get some rest. Indulge in your pleasure and heal, human. If the moon can wax and wane then the human spirit can certainly do so as well.”

which honestly was not the answer I was expecting. I was expecting “discipline yourself”, “repeat this affirmation”, “get off your lazy ass, you’re better than this”.

Lucifer is always quick to put me on the right path when I’m swaying into bad habits or depressive states. But he assured me that that’s not what I’m going through right now.

“A lack of progress is not equivalent to failure.”

It affected me deeply to be called “human” by him like that, like he branded me with a definition. Feeble human who wants to be so much but can only do so much. Little human with enormous dreams and aspirations. Oh you, little human, don’t you know that you’re so small? Don’t you know that you are of the world? Can’t you just rest for a day? Can’t you just accept that? Don’t you know you are human?

It’s an interesting thing to think about when sitting before someone like Lucifer, who is always so beautiful and perfect in every way. Unnaturally so, inhumanly so. Making that sharp distinction between me, human, and him, God made me feel… understood…

Lol, something about that is so characteristically fatherly of him. It immediately made me feel so much better.

Within Christianity there’s this hard emphasis on being as much like God as possible, and as little like a human and possible, because humans are naturally bad and sinful. But I have to keep reminding myself that Im not stuck in that worldview anymore. I don’t have to be like God because Im not a God. Im a human. That’s a very very good thing. Being a human means that I get to witness God without the burden of being one. That’s incredible.

So today, I will probably just do a lot of nothing. Maybe I’ll go on a walk later and feed some crows. Whatever I do, I don’t have to feel guilty about it. I’m only human, after all.

Thank you, Father Lucifer. I love you.

[duckiemimi]

this was submitted as a submission! i kept their username hidden just in case they wanted their privacy! also, a heads up—i’ll be talking about death and ideation here.

what is a punishment for a monster?

this’ll be a little soft and embarrassing, but who am i if not soft and embarrassing? i think that’s a good thing. i hope you think so, too.

“punishment for a monster” is a very personal story to me. to this day, i’m not quite sure what prompted me to write it. i can’t really pinpoint a specific event in my life that inspired the structure and the story, but i do know that it felt like a long, overdue hug. it felt it was waiting for me, too.

you ask how i came up with the concept.

if i could pick out a more concrete moment of inspiration, it would be after watching Mike Flanagan’s “Haunting of Hill House”! i won’t spoil you too much,

***(skip this part if you’d rather watch it first!)***

but there’s a character in the show who goes around talking to his dead wife on an every day basis, like she’s there but not really there. at first, we’re led to believe that it’s a classic case of a haunting, like the title implies. by the end of the story, it becomes less clear, more murky. it seemed to me like he kept holding onto the memories of her, like he’d built a moving image of his late wife with every moment of her he could remember. so, yeah: she was there, but not really there. memories are building blocks, i think.

***(spoiler over; you’re good!)***

i’ve always had an interest in death and the afterlife, what it means for the people who keep going and what it means for the people who rest. it’s not particularly religious in nature; hell, i’d consider myself far from religious. i don’t know. i guess i wanted to know why some circles close and why circles don’t. why does the pen stop moving?

my cousin died earlier during the pandemic, and it was also during the time i was put on watch. actually, i think i wanted to go before she actually went. i’m older than her, but i guess that didn’t really mean anything in the end. i’ll always be older. and anyway, it’s selfish to want to go when someone’s already on their way, isn’t it?

in my culture, when people die, sometimes they come back as dreams. they’d come back one last time to say goodbye, and that’s when you know they’re happier. i never saw my cousin in my dreams. i guess i wouldn’t call us close. i hope she visited my sister, though. she wouldn’t tell me, but i don’t pry. it’s something between them only.

you ask about the title.

i’ll be honest, i didn’t really know what to title the story. pinterest is a treasure trove of ideas. all i knew was that it had to be a quote about “punishment.”

“It’s a fitting punishment for a monster. to want something so much—to hold it in your arms—and know beyond a doubt you will never deserve it.”

that’s the full quote from a book titled “The Wrath and the Dawn” by Renee Ahdieh. i’ve never read the book before. i’m sure it’s beautiful, and i know that even by this one line. maybe i’ll read it some day.

it’s a sweet irony, i think, to title a story about healing and second chances “punishment for a monster”, to title a story about forgiveness and metamorphosis something so punitive and cruel. but i guess it works in both geto and gojo’s cases. who is the monster here? who is being punished? but i think people can change. i think love transmutes.

you ask if i was as broken as you as you read it.

well, maybe. i tend to realize things in hindsight. at the time, i was only focused on geto and gojo, where to put my commas and spaces, what words to use to talk about loss. i only realized later on that i’ve typed up most of me into it, too. but isn’t that all art? isn’t art just a giant portrait of who we are at the time? i’m rewriting “honesty corner” and i considered rewriting “punishment for a monster”, but i think i want to keep that picture of me from then. if i ever muster up the courage to read it again, it’ll be like looking through a photo album.

i would write more of how i conceptualized geto and gojo in the story, but i think we’ve connected well enough for you to know what i meant. i read every single comment and so many of you have such personal tethers to the story. i won’t get in your way; you deserve to mourn the way you want, too. and anyway, grief is never-ending. it’s a lifetime thing and it isn’t always linear, and though you carry it for life, it doesn’t define you. love defines you.

(though you could say grief is an extension of love. how’s that poem go again? grief is love in a heavy coat?)

thank you so much for liking a story i wrote of my two favorite characters. i don’t think life is made up of straight lines. one day, when we’re both ready, let’s have some clementines at the table.

[dramalets]

2024 Watch List pt1

Here we go again!

To sir, with love - This is a lakorn so it's appropriately dramatic. The mothers are absolutely foul and do an awful lot of scheming and yelling. Jam/Film are intensely watchable and make wet fish kisses look terribly romantic. Tongtong Kitsakorn as Yang was a revelation. I'm sad he's pm just a lakorn actor/pop star because he is so watchable. I loved that, though they were evil and insane, the mothers all felt fleshed out and realised. You understood why they were yikes. 3½/5 (2/1/23)

A Boss & a Babe - I quit this at episode 2 and then decided to go back to it. I don’t regret doing so. This isn’t top tier but it’s also not shit tier. Cher, the very dictionary definition of toxic positivity, and Gun, an autism coded cat man, enter into an extremely quick romance (like seriously, it’s taken hard worn lesbians longer to say I love you) the catch being they’re intern and company boss. Honestly in another drama that would have been the the huge hiccup of the series, keeping them apart, but it’s consistently shown to be more of an issue for others that it is for them. This is very low conflict, mostly romcom fluff with two weirdly intense, barely explored side stories for support characters. I didn’t loath Force in this and would actually like him to be given more roles where he’s just a soft simp and not a boring sarcastic one. Book does some good comedy work here. 3/5 (4/1/23)

The day I loved you - I know this won’t work for everyone. It’s a bittersweet ten episode love story between a boy with ASL and the ‘rebel’ exchange student at his school. Pinoy BL, for me, either really hits or really misses and this hit. It does use a questionable model of disability, namely the inspiration model, but I cant nit pick too much when this is only ten 15/20 minute episodes. I enjoyed it a lot, you may also if you’re okay with a bittersweet ending vs an out and out happy one. 3½/5 (12/1/24)

VIP Only - Well this was adorable. Slow as molasses and just as sweet. This probably won’t be for everyone, very slow and not much happens other than character growth and a love story, but it worked for me. The edit is horrendous in places and I do wish Taiwan did longer episodes, but those are my only gripes. 3½/5 (19/1/24)

I cannot reach you - I don’t really watch Jbl. There are just styles and tropes that I don’t enjoy watching that Japan uses a lot of. It’s a taste thing more than it is anything else. So keep that in mind. This is full of a lot of the things I don’t like; over action, randomly running everywhere, sudden non-con. But it’s also endearingly sweet and very well acted, so I did find myself enjoying it. I don’t think this’ll awaken a desire to watch lots of Jbl but it has made me consider some others. 3/5 (20/1/24)

Last Twilight - I had a lot of fun with this. The dialogue and acting were all top notch and, as ever with Aof productions, it was stunning to look at. It weaves the story of two broken people healing one another very well with Jimmy & Sea doing beautiful work as Mhok & Day. I think this came a little unstuck at points in the end. I liked most of the romance movie style ending but I remain a little unsure about Day’s ending. Still, this is a show that I enjoyed every week and will have no issues rewatching. 4/5 (26/1/24)

Old Fashion Cupcake - I’m working on trying out more JBL to get a feel for what I do and don’t like. This? This I like. We don’t have enough stories about older people anyway and this does it well. Togawa’s slow courting of Nozue through shared experiences and casual intimacy is delicious to watch. 4/5 (4/2/24)

Pit Babe - I love when I show wholly knows what it is and doesn’t try and be anything but that. This knew it was a big ol’ fanfic and leaned wholeheartedly into that. Whether it was the breeding program subplot or the consistently dumb toothpaste and sausage ppl it handled them both with equal aplomb. It’s also worth noting that was largely really well acted too! Pavel, Nut & Sailub particularly impressed me but there was nobody bad. 4/5 (9/2/24)

Our Dining Table - My journey into JBL continues and this was the best one yet. Soft pining between two sad boy leads with a gorgeous found family story woven in. The treacle slow courting between these two won’t be for everyone but it was wholly for me. 5/5 (17/2/24)

Cooking Crush - The edit on this was criminally bad at points, sometimes I truly felt I’d skipped a part and I hadn’t at all, but it still served up a good little story. If you’re visiting this for the romance it’s not really that, the story is in the friends and their lives more than it is in Ten & Prem’s romance. I loved the comedy in this, it hit those notes well and was never over the top. (Lots of puns that I expect are super good if you speak Thai.) Nobody is bad in this, everyone delivers, but OffGun are as watchable as they always are and the few kisses they do have are perfect. 3/5 (18/2/24)

The Novelist - When I say I don’t love JBL it’s usually because the tropes are just too tropey for my tastes. Apparently I’m a lying liar who lies because this is extremely Japanese and I loved every moody second of it. Kijima is a sad, lonely, messed up man who doesn’t think he’s deserving of anything good and it’s wildly compelling to watch. 4/5 (18/2/24)

Mood Indigo - Fucked up 4 Fucked up. Two broken, sad, lonely men mess up repeatedly, and erotically, that’s it that’s the show and I ate it up with a spoon. Deeply flawed assholes being toxic together, when it’s well written and well acted, is so disgustingly watchable to me and this certainly was. 5/5 (18/2/24)

The Novelist: Playback - Continues where The Novelist ends. I watched the clean version of this, it was what was available to me, and was still deeply entertained. So if you think people watch this series for the heat then you’re incorrect. This is another instalment of Kijima Rio being a horribly broken fuck up of a man. I loved it. 4/5 (21/2/24)

Tokyo in April is… - I love a good destined to be together trope when it’s done well and this is done beautifully. Kazuma and Ren fall in love as teenagers and are separated before finding one another again as adults. The pacing on this is a little rough, I get what they were doing with the sub-plot but it felt mildly unneeded and time would have been better given to exploring our leads generally or even Ren’s painful family issues. This is still a lovely drama that I wholly recommend. 4/5 (21/2/24)

[speedyslothboi]

I spent an hour making a flower crown today. I'd never made one before. It didn't turn out very good; clumsy knots and and sticky fingers and broken petals but I still put it on and smiled. I never got that kind of childhood. I wondered if this is what healing feels like: sitting on a picnic table, gently warmed by the sun, breathing in the world. I have so much to do (an ap psych test in three days, ethics bowl nationals and science olympiad state to prepare for, a read through for the play on Monday) and instead I went outside and listened to the birds.

Then I got home and cried. Because 30,000 people will never get to make a flower crown again (and how many never had? It took me 17 years. That's more time than many of them ever got). I haven't breathed clearly in 6 months; a weight on my chest and a pit in my stomach but for one hour, I felt like I could breathe, the smell of grass unfamiliar but comfortable (and how many died in that time? Trapped under rubble? The weight on their chests real).

I feel like I've been sitting Shiva for strangers halfway across the world but I'll die before I finish mourning (575 years is a lot to ask of this body). I'm not doing a very good job. But what else can I do but remember? I don't know know what to do with myself. I'm heartbroken and horrified and I am so angry. I go to school and hear kids talk about tik tok drama and I want to grab them and shake them and yell "how can you think about anything else? How can breathe around your guilt well enough to speak?" I feel like I know to much and too little, never informed fast enough. I feel like I'm grieving and like I have no right to grieve. I'm tired. I'm not doing well (I can't remember the last time I brushed my teeth and I still need to schedule my fillings and do my laundry and change my sheets) but I feel so selfish doing anything to make myself happy, like I'm stealing joy I don't deserve. And I know that I'm burnt-out (years into it) and that I have to take care of myself too but I just don't know how to carry all this grief. And this isn't about me (I'm making it about me, aren't I?)

This will be the first presidential election I get to vote in and I can't vote for him, I can't. And I'm scared. People keep saying it's selfish not to but I'm the one who will face the consequences. I'm one of the "vulnerable" people (does that make it self-sacrificial? Does that make it okay? To risk my communities if I am at risk too?)

Paul Alexander died three weeks ago. I can't stop thinking about him. (Most of the articles won't tell you why though; that one of the most vulnerable members of society was abandoned to a disease that has killed 3 million). I keep seeing inspiration porn articles about how he didn't let his disability "stop him" (I feel like I'm "letting" mine stop me). None of them mention "I love the sun, but I haven't felt it in a long time. It's lonely." (I feel lonely all the time but I didn't feel lonely at the park, with dirt in my fingernails. I don't really believe in heaven but I hope it exists so Paul can sit in the sun again). I think of Paul and I am filled with rage. 5,000 people die of covid every week; that's one person every five minutes (how is that okay? how could you abandon us for "normal"?) and I'm one of three people out of 2200 at my school who still wear a mask. I got the most recent booster two days ago (the one only the "vulnerable" can get as if long covid isn't becoming an increasingly documented mass disabling event. And the genocide is one too. And what about the countries we blocked from getting vaccines with patents. How dare we condemn the global south to suffer without vaccines only to stop getting them). And I need to buy more masks (yet another expense to exist while disabled) and they aren't free anymore so it's another 3 hours of work. Cases keep rising despite the lack of testing and wastewater doesn't lie. And whats the new variant? News isnt reporting on it anymore because "no one cares" (I care. I need to believe others would care if they knew. Maybe thats just wishful thinking) I still have at home tests but their negatives feel like taunts (a positive is a positive though, I remember)

I don't really have any friends. I have acquaintances and people I work with for projects but I don't want them to be my friends. My mom and my therapist keep telling me to reach out and do things with them (I know it would be good for me to socialize but doing so would put me at risk. They can't even wear a mask, and I'm supposed to choose to spend extra time with them?) Neither my mom or therapist wears a mask. (My mom fought for me when doctors didn't believe anything was wrong. Fought for 7 years to get a diagnosis and now she won't protect me.) I go to the doctors and even they aren't wearing masks (didn't you learn your lesson?).

I've seen people complain about "boycott fatigue" and I'm just wonder how you are surprised? I lost faith 2 years ago when people decided that disabled people's lives weren't worth discomfort (I used to value the nuance, how it isnt that simple. Now my compassion is shot. My empathy used up on three million deaths. But it is, isnt it? Simple that is. You just dont care enough). When the accessibility we begged for for years that had been "impossible" was suddenly "easy" when everyone needed and then taken away just as quickly. The second you could leave us behind, you did. So how could I be surprised people would do the same for Falastin? I love theatre, and I'm excited for too much light. But half of them will walk in with Starbucks on Monday (and none of them will be wearing a mask) and I know these people will never truly be my people (I resent them and love them but mostly I'm disappointed.)

I've been crying alot. I never used to cry. Sometimes I feel like that means I'm healing (some of the time I wonder if I have the right to heal right now). It's like this grief keeps overflowing but the world keeps turning (and how can everyone keep living right now?) and homework keeps coming and the genocide keeps happening and I need to get back to making my magma composition notes. (I left the flower crown at the park. I felt guilty about picking the flowers; that must be bad for the environment, right? How selfish, to kill things just to make a silly crown, and I didnt even do it very well. It fell apart within a minute. An hour of work crumpled in my hands. A moment of enjoyment stolen at the cost of life, what a bad vegan I am. Anyway, i left the flowers there, to decompose where they were born)

[opheliawillowbrook]

Since it’s stormy and cold I’m going on a binge read marathon for all your works and I’m having such a great time haha this is the highlight of my college semester

Random question - what do you think ravens sign is ? I’m really into astrology and I always wonder which people and characters have what sign, and I’ve been wondering about ravens sign. She seems like she’d either be a Scorpio (secretive and intense) or maybe a Pisces (compassionate and empathetic) ?

Another random question- can you tell us your sign 🥸 I’ve followed you for so long and I love all your fics haha and I kind of wonder what’s your sign ?

Keep being awesome !

Aww that so nice. I'm glad I could aid in making your college semester better.

So my knee jerk reaction is that Raven is a Scorpio, but I know too many of them to really feel like that's her. That being said I see her as being more of an Aquarius personally.

Aquarians are highly intellectual and creative, Marked by independence, they don't like to be instructed what to do.

While they can be social, they are not likely to participate in social interactions unless they truly want to. Aquarians are "ideas people," never suffering a drought of inspiration. They're known to be progressive thinkers who can see patterns in things others might not notice.

Aquarians can be seen as unpredictable, sometimes even moody and often strike others as unique individuals.

Part of the reason I feel this way is because I'm in my every day life I'm a hair stylist (I know this makes me super qualified lol) and use a theory based in feng shui to narrow down people's personalities. If you're not familiar, feng shui, is based on the elements: earth, fire, water, wood and metal. I've found a lot of individual personalities reflect their zodiac sign in their elemental personality as well.

That being said, yes Aquarius is an air sign, and air is not based in the theory of feng shui. But I digress. However, Aquarius reflects multiple elements, more specifically Metal with hints of water and fire, making it a very balanced sign overall. From a feng shui stand point I would say Raven is a combination of Metal and Water. She's strong, firm, level head, self contained, and slightly unmovable, even stubborn sometimes. While also being quiet, flexible and a healing so who's more concerned with the well being of others. Water personalities are not typically selfish, and since metal is drown from earth metal also tends to be selfless, yet cold and sometimes impersonal. So draw from that what you will.

As for myself I'm all Aries. My feng shui personality is fire and metal. So I love to hate what I hate and I love what I love lol. Even my Chinese Calendar pegged me as a Dragon so more fire. My toxic personality flaw is that I hold stuff in like a wood stove until I flip out and let everyone know how much I hate something 😂

My husband is a Virgo lol and, he's a combo of fire, wood and earth. So he definitely calms me down, but my metal also has a habit of "cutting his wood" which brings me to the theory of how these personalities interact.

Wood feeds fire, fire burns wood, metal traps fire, fire melts metal, metal cuts wood, wood drinks water, water puts out fire, fire boils water, water feeds earth, earth smothers fire ect, ect.

Hope that answers your questions. I wrote this on my phone, in a restaurant to kill time. So I hope it makes sense 😂

With Love Ophelia.

[bosskie]

Family Drama

I felt like drawing something silly to amuse myself since I have been feeling quite awful lately... So, I got inspired by one of those unreleased Slig news related to Molluck's trial, having Molluck and his mother, Lady Margaret, about to have a face off with boxing gloves.

Frankly, it has bothered me how badly I did draw her last time, at least in my opinion, so I liked to try it again too. Still not sure how her head should be drawn but I'm trying my best.

I really don't know if I should write this stuff or not... But well, I tend to spend like all my time alone with my thoughts... I have just been thinking that how difficult for me it is to see me having any skill/talent... How difficult for me is to feel like I 'deserve' any love... During my worst moments I can wish that everyone hated me so I was perished, erased from this world... But at the same time, one side of me wishes to be loved... It just made me cry when I looked at my newest self-insert sketch a moment ago, how loving Molluck seemed... I'm just only able to give love to myself thru him...

It's still just so difficult to see myself having future... I feel like I have already failed in life way too badly... I just keep having doubts, feel like no one probably wants me, to be with me, pay for my work etc... Even when it's said that I did great job, I just doubt it... It's driving me crazy... I just cannot even enjoy my 'achievements' when I feel like they were just luck or mere 'lucky mistakes'... I just don't believe in myself.

I'm not even sure if I'm healing well enough or at all actually when giving up has felt more tempting now... I just see no reasons to fight anymore, life makes zero sense to me... In my mind, I still see Molluck looking at me and telling me beautiful things, loving me... I don't know if I'm just crazy/nuts, to keep living just for a fictional character, when my mind just tells me so intensely to leave the real people, how I'm just wasting their time, resources, even love... Molluck ain't real, so I cannot really waste his time 'n' stuff, and that's why my mind accepts him better than real people.

I just live with mental pain every day, for some other reasons too I'm not telling. It's draining me, been living with it for over a decade... Back then, I thought that I wouldn't be even alive to this day but here I am, for whatever reason. I just don't know how to achieve happiness, haven't felt such a thing for so long, haven't been able to enjoy my life this whole time... My life is good, I have basically gotten all I have wanted but still, I feel so depressed, thinking that I don't deserve this all, that it would be better for everyone that I never even existed or that someone else was born instead of me... I'm just unable to see how I bring joy to the others, unable to feel loved... I never remember feeling such a thing, even as a child, even I have gotten so much love... It just makes me feel like there is something wrong with me, that I'm broken, too broken... I only know that I'm loved but why I cannot feel it... I only remember a few moments when I have been able to feel such a thing, or at least one, but it was me feeling like how Molluck loves me...

Man, why must my mind be like this... Well, I keep watching the show of my life... At least I have found some happiness when I found Molluck since he is the character I have been looking for all these years, he is the one that feels like the right one. Though, yes, it does also depress me that he is just fictional but well, technology can help me! Gotta just get rich so that I can only just be and live in my virtual world... Yeah, that's the only way to 'live' with him... Man, I don't know what I'm doing with my life, so I'm just wasting it on Molluck... I just don't really feel like doing anything with my life, so yeah, Molluck is fine.

Yeah, this Gluk just means so much to me... I have already heard so many times that I'm odd, so gotta just embrace the odd!

[ellievickstar]

Climbing Out (Chapter 3)

A/N: Hello loves <3 This series has received so much love and I am so grateful for all of you I love you guys so much I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Ship: Azriel x Reader, archeron!reader

Official Masterlist

Climbing Out Masterlist

Requested? No. Inspired? Yes! This series is inspired by Just Another Stereotype but the storyline is slightly different.

I stayed in my room for the rest of the night. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, to know the effect of what I had done, what I had said. A soft knock on my door as dawn approached interrupted my racing thoughts. I took my time to open the door, dreading whoever may be on the other side of it. I opened the door and brilliant hazel eyes met mine.

Azriel.

The shadow singer looked at me without sympathy as he studied my still tear-stricken face. “You overreacted,” He deadpanned. I froze. Overreacted? How dare he! “I don’t think you-,” “You shouldn’t have faulted Feyre like that, she is healing, the only reason for you to ever react that way was if something happened to you,” He cut me off. I looked at him, anger was roiling in my veins as I clenched my fist at my side, oh how I wanted to punch that look of his stupidly good-looking face.

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what happened to me, you have no idea how I have suffered and you don’t get to-,” Again he didn’t let me finish. “What? Someone told you your dress wasn’t pretty? Did poor you have a meltdown because you couldn’t handle the attention?” He mocked as he raised his voice a few pitches to impersonate me. “I’m Y/N and I am a spoiled brat who likes to be the victim so that other people can’t heal from their own wounds,” The words stabbed me like a knife in my heart and my anger escaped its leash as I slapped him. I barely registered what I was doing until a red handprint was already across his face.

“I have my own experiences,” I breathed. “And you do not get to judge me because you don’t know about them, you do not get a say in how I react because I’m different from you or Feyre,” My gaze shifted to his eyes as I met his burning gaze. Then it snapped.

Like a tether that was just merely nothing moments ago, the bond thrummed to life. But he had no reaction. Just me the, I realised. Mother was cruel after all. I slammed the door in his face before my shadows worked to sound proof the room, my magic shielded me, trapping all air as I screamed. The floorboards beneath me broke as I let out all my anger and frustration into that small space I had sectioned off for myself. Azriel….my mate, my equal, my enemy.

Azriel POV:

As the door slammed in my face I heard a scoff from behind me. I turned to see Cassian leaning on a wall in the hallway

“You love her so you insult her?” He asked, eyebrows raising. But as I looked at the closed door, I replayed that moment when she looked at me when gnat bond thrummed to life, as now I had to fight off every instinct to barge through the door and claim her as mine. My mate. However, a wave of fury and sorrow crashed into me through the bond. It was her. Her mental shields must have come down in her break down but I heard nothing from her room.

Enemy, enemy, enemy, mate is enemy. The words thrummed and echoed, repeated as it chorused again and again. She knew, that we were mates, but what I had said to her, she would never forgive me. I had wanted to scare her away knowing I would never be enough for her, but she was my mate. And I had made her hate me.

The image of her hurt expression as I mocked her — mocked her dammit — for her experience that she never shared, probably could not bring herself to. There was nothing I could do but keep the facade, to not seem like I only changed because of the bond. I could only make her hate me now.

Y/N POV:

The day became progressively awkward as the inner circle looked at me with some kind of pity, even Amren when she heard what had happened. Nuala and Cerriddwen were awfully quiet as they dressed me.

We were all waiting on the reply of the Mortal Queens, I hadn’t bothered to go see my sisters, when Azriel decided to annoy the ever-loving hell out of me.

He was in charge of training me since Cassian was busy with Feyre. I lunged at him, dagger in my hand. He dodge, a sweep of his feet. I almost stumbled. Almost. With a growl I attacked his side that was left unprotected and pinned the bastard to the ground.

“I win,” I panted as I held a dagger to his throat. He snarled and in a flash I was beneath him, his sword pressed against my gut. Terror roiled in my veins at the reminders of how Amarantha had killed me but I swallowed the bile that rose up my throat. “Never leave your guard down, princess,” He smirked as he got off of me. In my anger I flung a dagger straight at him, he caught it mere seconds from reaching his chest.

Hissing at him I disappeared into shadow as I reappeared behind him, my dagger at his throat. His eyes widened.

“How many god damned powers do you have!?” He complained before seizing my wrist twisting as he disarmed me and flipped us around so he could pin me to a wall.

“You can’t do that in a battle field, there are no walls,” I remarked as I struggled against his iron-like grip. “No, but there is plenty of ground,” He grinned before he let me go. I had lost, again. Storming off the training ring I almost didn’t hear Feyre as she called for me. “We’re leaving to meet the mortal queens in a hour,” This would be fun. I smiled wickedly to myself as I entered my room, and decided what kind of dress would horrify Nesta and Elain the most.

A/N: Surprise surprise bitches she can winnow (not yet but like she can it’s like a Feyre kinda situation)

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