#how far away am I from the tag cap?

[frappes-random-reblogs]

And shadow milk cookie, didn't get to add him to the tags

hmmm he's horrible and very sad. i'll take him.

[kaiijo]

ROMANCE TROPES — [HAIKYUU]

characters: hinata shoyo, miya atsumu, bokuto koutarou, sakusa kiyoomi content: gn! reader, the msby four, rich sakusa (i am a rich sakusa truther until the end), bokuto picks you up, sakusa is implied to be taller than you notes: omg i lowkey want to do a fuller version of sakusa’s part 

hinata shoyo ✶ love at first sight

slouched in a plastic airport seat, hinata’s leg bounces anxiously as he awaits his flight. rain beats down the side of the windows and he prays to whatever universal force there is that the flight leaves at the right time. he couldn’t fly with everyone else earlier since he celebrated his grandmother’s birthday with family but it put him on a late night flight that lined up with an incoming storm. 

he scrolls mindlessly through his social media feed, double-tapping a photo of oikawa’s reunion with his high school team and tanaka’s anniversary post for kiyoko. 

the speaker system crackles to life. “attention, passengers of flight 7644 to sapporo, due to inclement weather conditions, the flight has been delayed an estimated two hours. we apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience.”

hinata curses under his breath, already on his way to pulling up the black jackals’s group chat to tell them. he pulls his cap off, running a hand through his hair with a long sigh. his phone begins to buzz with texts, no doubt from his coach telling him to keep them updated. 

he rests his forearms on his knees, slumping forward and skimming through the messages. then, he feels a cautious tap on his shoulder and a soft voice asks, “excuse me, do you have a charger i could use?”

when he looks up, hinata thinks the greater powers that be answered a different prayer of his. because holy shit he has never seen anyone as beautiful as you. you’re in a comfy-looking pullover and sweatpants and hinata only realizes he’s just been staring silently for a few seconds when your expression turns apologetic. “i’m sorry to bother you, i’ll ask someone else!”

“no, no, i’m sorry,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth. he scrambles to unzip his backpack, rummaging through until he triumphantly pulls out his charger. he hands it to you and you thank him. before you can leave, he blurts out, “i’m hinata.”

“oh!” you stick your hand out and tell him your name with a small smile and when you do, hinata knows that he’s gone. 

miya atsumu ✶ brother’s best friend

osamu’s not sure how atsumu managed to weasel his way into his plans. it was a bit of a blur, atsumu practically crashing through the door of onigiri miya as osamu closed up shop to go get drinks with you, begging to be included. he supposes to reason was pity and atsumu’s pleading look as well as the fact that you work far away that had him agreeing to his brother tagging along. 

it was in your last year of high school that osamu figured out his brother had a big, fat crush on you. honestly, it should have been more obvious, especially with the way atsumu flaunted himself and often paraded around the house shirtless when he knew you were coming over. it bothered him at first, thinking bitterly that ‘tsumu couldn’t let him just have one thing to himself? but over time, the annoyance faded as he saw atsumu prove that this wasn’t just a flight-of-fancy, and osamu has already made peace with the very real possibility that you could be his in-law someday. that is, is atsumu could even tell you in the first place.

it’s a little disturbing, osamu thinks, watching the way atsumu flirts with you and wondering if he too makes the same googly-eyes at someone he’s crushing on or if that’s the way he sounds. you giggle when atsumu tries to take a sip of your margarita, telling him, “order your own then, ‘tsumu!”

“nah, yours tastes way better.”

“can’t take this scrub anywhere,” osamu says, earning a laugh from you and a glare from his twin.

you pat atsumu’s shoulder and osamu can’t believe you don’t feel how atsumu melts into your touch. “i’m actually glad both of you are here,” you say, “because i wanted to tell you guys that i’m moving back to tokyo! my boss promoted me so i’m back at main headquarters! isn’t that great?”

“that’s awesome,” osamu says, speaking for both himself and atsumu, who looks like he just won the lottery. 

bokuto koutarou ✶ opposites attract

whenever akaashi introduces you and bokuto as a couple to new people, he always gets pulled over to the side and asked in a whisper, “how did those two get together? he’s so… and they’re less…” 

akaashi can’t say that he wasn’t surprised when you and bokuto started dating back in high school, given that they two of you were on very different trajectories. obviously, bokuto was the captain of fukurodani’s volleyball team while you were student council president and vice-president of chess club. bokuto’s grade sat at the lower end of the spectrum while you were always within the top five students in your class. bokuto liked loud, screaming parties while you preferred a quiet night with a few friends. 

so when bokuto grabbed him by the shoulders one day and shook him, saying that he needed to tell you how he felt, akaashi was taken off-guarded. he didn’t even know you knew each other beyond having a mutual friend, him. 

maybe back then, akaashi would have agreed with the person asking him but now, he just tells them to observe the two of you. because when akaashi does, everything falls into place. like right now, as he and bokuto sit in the stands, watching your final chess match. if you win, you’ll hold onto your spot as a national champion and go on to compete internationally. 

out of the corner of his eyes, akaashi watches as bokuto sits at the very edge of his seat, chewing on his bottom lip. it’s clearly killing him not to cheer and it’s a testament to both his devotion to you. your hand hovers above the bishop before you switch quickly to the queen and move the piece with confidence, setting it down and announcing, “checkmate.”

the crowds erupts into the cheers and you’ve only barely finished shaking your opponent’s hand when bokuto flies out of his seat and barrels towards you. he sweeps you off your feet, spinning you once and setting you down before planting a big kiss on your cheek. you’re beaming as you’re handing your trophy, and bokuto steps back to let you soak up your spotlight. akaashi can’t help but notice that bokuto is beaming too and clapping the loudest. 

as the crowd starts to disperse, akaashi and bokuto join you again, ready to take you to your planned dinner. before you leave, bokuto says, “i was going to do this later but i can’t hold it in anymore, babe.” and he gets down on one knee with a ring box akaashi is all-too familiar with. 

sakusa kiyoomi ✶ reunited childhood sweethearts 

“try not to look so dour, sweetheart,” sakusa’s mother tells him as she fixes his tie. sakusa wants to grumble some choice words but he knows better than to complain to her. besides, he’s only partially paying attention, eyes darting about the crowd and back towards the venue’s entrance. 

he settles on adjusting his mask with a barely audible sigh and mumbles a quiet thanks as she flits to fuss over his older siblings. he glances again, disappointed as a different group of people waltzes in. he knows his older sister wouldn’t be so cruel as to lie to him that your family will be in attendance but the anxiety is making his antsy.

the two of you were inseparable as children with you being one of his only friends growing up.  you spent you days squirreled away in some nook reading or outside playing volleyball. your mothers always cooed that you two would get together one day, and as he got older and learned what that really meant, sakusa found himself hoping too. but then your parents took you and your siblings abroad, leaving him alone and heartbroken. he cut you off, hoping the distances and time would make your departure hurt less, but it didn’t.

sakusa doesn’t recognize the voice that calls his name but his head snaps towards the doorway. you’re standing in between your older sister and younger brother, waving at him. his heart skips a beat. your social media postings don’t do you enough justice; you’re even more attractive that the pixels he’s spent hours staring at. 

you still have that ever-present smile on your face and you quickly break-off from your family to bound over to him. without even thinking, his arms close around you as you embrace him tightly. you feel so familiar and he doesn’t want to let you go as you part. evidently, you don’t either as you keep him close still, only leaning away to look at him. “you’re so tall,” you laugh, more shyly you add, “and very handsome.”

this time, sakusa thinks his heart stops. 

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 8

Source for pic

Trouble 8

Word Count: 5093

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: I am DYING to write the next chapter... just you wait...! Now I need to know each and every one of your thoughts on this, please!

Masterlist

“Roronoa.”

“Cap.” Zoro matches his long strides with Mihawk’s. The hospital beeps sound faintly from the rooms they pass, and nurses hasten their steps to answer some wailing woman two rooms down. 

Mihawk stops abruptly in front of a room, and his amber gaze pierces Zoro's eye. “I know you just got back and barely had any time to rest, but I thought you might want to be present when we interrogate him.”

Zoro nods. It's another one. Another man has shown up with missing limbs and a note. A crime of passion seems far-fetched now. This case and Lucci’s are definitely related. They're too similar to be a coincidence. 

Besides, Zoro doesn't really believe in coincidences. 

“Has someone talked to him already?” Zoro asks as Mihawk’s hand sets on the handle. 

“The doctors haven't let anyone near him yet. And they say he's heavily sedated, so we might not get much out of him for now.” Mihawk is directly involved now, and that alone tells Zoro they are about to treat this case with the level of respect it demands. 

“After you, Cap.”

The door swings back as Mihawk pushes it, and both men stand near the hospital bed. Zoro recognizes the man immediately. He's the store clerk of the grocery shop he usually goes to. 

“Hello. I'm Captain Dracule Mihawk, and this is Officer Roronoa. The nurses told you we were coming, right?” 

The man nods, his eyes glazed over and out of focus. Then he raises his arm as if he’s going to run his fingers through his hair, but groans when his stump hits his forehead instead. 

“I have nothing to say.” He sounds slightly frightened as his voice wavers, with shaky breaths escaping his lips. 

Mihawk ignores him, a scowl forming on his lips. “What do you remember about the person who did this to you?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“Any detail is important. Height, build, voice, distinctive features–”

“I have nothing to say!”

Mihawk inhales deeply. Zoro knows his Captain is a very patient man. If he were the one doing the interrogating, he would be shaking the man by his collar right now. Couldn't the man see they were trying to help him? 

“So you were threatened.” It's not a question. It's a mere statement. The man's eyes fill with tears as his chin trembles slightly. 

“What am I supposed to do now? My hands were my job. I can't do my job without my hands!” He sobs, his shoulders sagging. “Not just my job… How am I supposed to live like this? He ruined everything.”

Mihawk places one hand on his shoulder, his hawk-like gaze losing a bit of its edge for a moment. “It's not all lost. You're alive, and that's more than many people can say. We're trying to help you. We want to catch the bastard who did this before they can hurt somebody else. But we need your help to do it.”

The man closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Then he starts talking. He says that it was a man who did this - massive, bulky and really tall. He had a mask covering his face, a hoodie and gloves on, so any detailed description is off the table. He also had a rough voice and immediately threatened him if he shared the details of what happened with the cops. 

“After he… when he… he said to never touch what's his again. I didn't understand what he meant. I was in shock, I guess.” He sighs, his head falling back. “Can you call the nurse? I can't take this pain anymore.”

Mihawk nods, and Zoro turns, ready to leave, but the man isn't done yet. “He had maniacal red eyes and seemed amused by my suffering.” 

The clap of the notebook his Captain had been scribbling on signals they’re done, so Zoro takes another step towards the door while Mihawk thanks the man for his help. But when they’re halfway through the door, he speaks again. 

“I should've listened to her. She said someone was coming for me.”

Her?

“Who are you talking about?” Zoro speaks for the first time, his stomach churning with unease. 

The man shrugs and shakes his head, his chin trembling again as, most likely, the threats the criminal spewed fill his mind. “It's nothing. Nothing. Forget it.”

“Who is she?”

“I said fucking forget it. Leave me alone, I'm done!” 

Zoro grits his teeth, his instincts driving him towards the hospital bed, ready to drill the man with more questions until they get what they came for. But Mihawk’s firm grasp on his shoulder stops him. 

“We'll leave. Rest. Thank you.” They both leave the room, and Zoro growls as soon as the door clicks behind him. 

“He knows more!”

“And you should know when to stop. Let him rest. We'll try again another day.” Mihawk starts walking, and Zoro follows, staying silent when his Captain asks the nurses to check on the man. “I have a feeling this case is just getting started, anyway.”

Mihawk’s foreboding words echo in Zoro's brain all the way back to his car. The creep who's doing this is leaving him uneasy. A feeling of dread tightens his stomach and constricts his heart. 

All he can think about is keeping you safe, and he can't exactly pinpoint why. 

Though it's quite a coincidence that Rob Lucci ogles you and gets his eyes removed, and the store clerk hits on you and gets his hands chopped. Quite a coincidence indeed. 

And Zoro doesn't fucking believe in coincidences. 

-*-

You take your car to Robin's, even though Nami offered to pick you up, knowing how unreliable your old car can be sometimes, because you want to avoid having Zoro bring you home. And, gosh, you want nothing more than to spend time with Zoro, but if you can help it, you'll do whatever’s in your power to keep him from touching you. 

No matter how hard that might be. 

You don't even know how you’re going to get into the right mood to party with your friends. They all have so much energy, and you… don't. At least not right now. 

Briefly, you wonder how many times you’re going to use the ‘I'm just tired’ excuse today, but a buzz from your phone distracts your thoughts. 

Unknown: Remember, Kitten, no one touches what's mine.  Unknown: Behave, be a good girl for me, and I won't be upset.  Unknown: I'm always watching. 

You stuff your phone into your pocket before forcing a fake smile onto your lips and buzzing the doorbell of Robin's apartment. She opens the door with a smile that quickly turns into a frown upon setting her eyes on you. 

Not even all the makeup in the world can disguise the massive bags beneath your eyes, the redness in them, or the frayed look. And even if it could, Robin is your most perceptive friend. 

Still, she doesn't address the matter directly. She simply gives you a tighter hug than usual and whispers in your ear: “You need anything, honey? I won't ask questions, even if it's murder.”

The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is completely genuine, and you feel a little lighter. “Oh, trust me, Robin, I know you're the one to ask! But I'm okay, just tired, I guess.”

That's one. 

“Are you sure? You know I know ways to get rid of a body without getting caught…”

“Nico, I'm right here. I have no qualms about taking your ass to jail, you know?”

He's teasing Robin, but his piercing eye is set on you and you have to bite your lower lip to stifle a sob. Zoro's mere presence exudes safety and all you want to do is rush into his arms and forget everything. Forget about feeling scared, trapped, helpless and useless. 

He's right there. 

“Hey, Troublemaker, making trouble?” Robin smirks, shoves Zoro playfully, and returns to her home, leaving you two alone in the doorway, where Zoro leans casually. You notice his piercing gaze assessing the dishevelled state of your hair, the lack of care with your chosen outfit, the way your hands fidget with the hem of your jacket, and surely the way your lip trembles. 

“Hi. Not today, Zo.” You give him a soft smile along with your chill greeting, but the slight buzz in your pocket alerts you, and reminds you not to push it, so you quickly erase it from your face. 

Zoro's eye widens, and he crosses his arms as his brows scrunch. “Is everything–”

“I'm just tired.”

Two.

“See you inside, I’ve got to go greet our friends.” You try to get past him, but he stretches his arm across the doorway and blocks your path. You inhale a quick breath and are inundated with the smell of steel and his musky scent. Safety. Protection. 

… Home…

“Hey. Talk to me.” He mumbles, reaching and tilting your chin slightly so he can look into your eyes. “You look like you haven't slept in days.”

Bzzzz.

You shake your head both as an answer to his question and to deflect his touch. A quick step away brings your back against the doorway, his arm right next to your face and he leans in, seeing you're trapped. 

“Yeah, I know. Too much farm work, I guess. I'm just–”

“Tired?” That's three. 

You nod. Bzzzz. Then you flinch, and Zoro arches his eyebrow. 

“Talk inside, okay?” And before he says anything else, or does anything else - because it's starting to prove impossible to stay away from him - you duck beneath his arm and scurry inside. 

-*-

What the royal fuck? 

Tired? That's not tired. That's exhausted. You look like you've been through hell and back and, apparently, you don't want to tell him why. 

What's going on? 

Zoro follows you inside and closes the door behind him. He watches as you force a smile on your usually cheery face and greet the rest of your friends. Then he watches as Luffy hugs you tighter than usual - probably noticing your frayed state - and watches you push him away, your hand flying to your pocket. 

You stare at your phone, eyes darting back and forth - reading - then you close them shut with an almost imperceptible shudder, and put the phone back in your pocket. 

What is going on? 

He watches you when you think nobody's watching, and he sees the way your hands tremble as you reach for a sandwich you only nibble on, giving the rest to Luffy. He sees the way your eyes dart around the room and the way you avoid windows, preferring to sit in the middle of the living room and on the floor. 

He's especially interested in whoever is texting you, because you can't seem to let go of your phone. Though the texts don't make you happy. They seem to upset you. 

He also sees the way you avoid the Cook and all his flamboyant attention. He realises that your actions are so thought out, so careful, that you're not even your clumsy self. He sees you struggle, trying to smile and to engage. 

To pretend. 

But mostly, he watches as you actively avoid him all night. 

Something is definitely going on. And he's going to find out what. 

-*-

Unknown: The Vinsmoke is too flirty. Get away from him.  Unknown: You're doing so well, Kitten.  Unknown: Avoiding the cop all night. Look how well-behaved you are. 

The hundredth involuntary shudder assaults you. You're trying. By all that is sacred, you really are trying to be good. 

But you feel watched. Not that usual uneasiness that comes from the creep watching you, no. Sadly, you're already getting used to that dreadful feeling. What you're feeling right now is the piercing gaze of Zoro. He's watching your every move. And all you want to do is gravitate towards him. 

He's right there. 

With a heavy sigh, you collect the empty plate of the food you never touched - thank God for Luffy's unending appetite - and go to the kitchen to set it in the sink. 

“Need help?” Fuck. You just saw Zoro snoozing on the couch. Does he have superpowers or something? Now you're both alone. 

Your heart starts hammering away in your chest as you rinse the plate and set it aside. With a deep, steadying breath, you turn, holding a dish towel in your hands as you dry them. “Thanks, Zoro, I'm all done.”

The smile plastered on your lips feels as fake as the little plastic birds Robin has adorning her windowsill. But you try to sell it as you drop the dish towel and start to move to get away from him as fast as you can. 

“So you're running from me again?”

Shit. 

“What are you talking about, Zo? I'm just heading back, you can come too if you want.” But he doesn't move. And he's blocking the door. 

“Stop lying to me, Trouble. You've been avoiding me all night.” Does he actually sound hurt? “What's going on?”

“I'm just–”

“Don't even think about giving me that crap about being tired. You're not tired. You look like hell.”

Bzzzz.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.” You try to make light of the matter and get past him to go to the living room, but he grabs your shoulders, his fingers digging into your flesh. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

You flinch and shudder, your eyes closing with a gasp. 

“Stop. Talk to me.” You sigh and close your eyes. You want to tell him everything. “Are you still getting those weird gifts? Is that what this is?”

Yes! And so much more! “No, Zoro. The gifts stopped, the person must have given up.” You sigh, the lies coming easier than you would’ve liked them to. “I'm tired. I hate being alone in that big house, and I miss my dad. That's all.” Some truth mixed with the lies might just help you sell them. 

He nods, and his hands squeeze tighter. “I get that. But that doesn't explain why you're running from me.” Bzzzz. You flinch again and roll your shoulders, trying to evade Zoro's touch because you know that's what the texts are sure to be about. “See? Why are you avoiding my touch, Trouble?”

Shit! 

“I'm not.” Wow. That lie wouldn't fool a child. 

“Prove it.” What? You raise your brow, lips curling into a dumbfounded expression. “Let’s finish what we started. Let me kiss you.”

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

No. God, no. 

You want to. You want this nightmare to come to an end. You want Zoro to kiss you, and to hold you, but mostly, you want him to protect you. To help you crawl out of this miserable rut you got yourself into. 

But you can't. Because you know the texts that await you are all threats to his safety, and you can't risk him. You just can't. 

“I… Zo… I'm not feeling well, another time, maybe.”

You can't bear the hurt in his eyes so you look down, but he doesn't relent. “I thought… I thought we had something. I thought you wanted…” His hands cup your cheeks and he forces you to look at him.  “This.”

You do. God you want all of it. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

Zoro leans slowly. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Your throat feels dry, your phone doesn't stop vibrating and there's not enough air in the world to fill your lungs. 

“I did. Before.” You leave it at that and he's so surprised by your answer that you take advantage and slip past him, trying to hold back sobs as you quickly make up an excuse to your friends and leave. 

You shouldn't have come. This was a mistake. You just managed to hurt Zoro. 

Fuck. 

-*-

You don't quite know how you made it home, but you did. Tears kept streaming down your face, and you blinked them away furiously, but reaching home and locking the door behind you doesn't bring the sense of safety it used to. 

Everything is tainted. You don't feel safe anywhere. 

The phone burns a hole in your pocket with its incessant buzzing. Someone called you on your way over, and you bet it was Zoro. You don't dare to look, as you already know there are dozens of texts from your interactions with Zoro tonight. 

He almost kissed you, and he was so adamant in trying to find out what’s wrong with you. Your friends noticed something was up, but the tired excuse worked perfectly with them, whereas with Zoro… 

He didn't buy it for an instant. 

Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. 

“God, just stop!” You screech, your hand clawing at your pocket as you take the device out and turn it off without even glimpsing at any text. You place it with force against the kitchen table and slump in the chair, holding your head tight as sobs claw up your throat. 

You're tired, you are. But it's not just physical. What he's doing to you is much worse. It's torture, and it’s bringing you closer and closer to despair. 

A melodic sound comes from your phone, and you hold your breath, removing your hands from your face as you stare at the bright screen. It turned itself on. 

What? 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Kitten, don't shut me out. You don't want to anger me any more than you already have. 

You stand up abruptly and widen your eyes, a hand pressing against your mouth as a way to trap the whimper that threatens to escape. Then you turn off the phone again, setting it back down on the table as if the thing were on fire. 

You can count the time passing by the accelerated thrums of your heart hammering against your chest.

The melodic sound chimes again, and you freeze as the screen lights up once more. Its obnoxious light fills up the room as the harbinger of doom itself. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: That’s strike two, and I’m not amused. Don’t shut me out. I’m not–

This time you turn it off and shove it inside the kitchen junk drawer, amidst corks and can openers, hoping against all hope that this nightmare comes to an end, because how can it continue if you push it out of your sight?

Your stare burns a hole in the drawer, but you don’t hear the melodic jingle of the phone turning on, nor any buzzing. Is it… over?

The sounds of the old house seem amplified as you train your ears on any noise.

Can it actually be this simple?

BANG!

Your scream comes as unannounced as the loud bang that rattled the front door. Grasping the edge of the table with all your might, since your legs gave out from under you, you stare in the direction of the front door.

Then you hear it, clear as day, loud as if it were right next to you: footsteps. Heavy footsteps thump on the porch in a slow, taunting march. It’s him. It has to be him. You feel all your limbs locking up, constricting your breaths.

BANG! 

This time, you press both your hands against your mouth and stifle your cry. He’s right there. Your breath comes out of your nose in loud, rapid bursts, and your head feels light. It’s over. He’s come for you and there’s no escape. 

The footsteps cease, and you take a deep breath as tears drip down your face. Did he give up? 

You're not quite sure how you get the courage to do it, but you approach the front door with very light steps, avoiding the creaking boards of the floor and standing on your tiptoes to try and see through the peephole, even though you’re already dreading what you’ll find once you press your eye against it.

Darkness.

You can’t see anything. Should you turn the porch light on?

BANG!

This time, you can’t contain your loud cry as you fall to the floor. The door rattled right against your touch and your stomach tightens at the thought that there’s just a door separating you from whoever is out there. 

You crawl backwards, deranged sobs leaving you as you curse and plead, not quite sure what to do.

And then, as your back hits the kitchen counter, you know what he wants.

Getting up on shaky legs, you can still hear the pacing outside the door. You’re terrified. Fear makes your limbs congeal, and you shake your hands to try and stop them from trembling. Your fingers fumble with the drawer, and you have to clasp your phone with both hands as you turn it on. 

The melodic ring resounds all around the kitchen, and, as soon as the phone is connected, it buzzes.

Unknown: Good girl.

-*-

Another restless, sleepless night. 

You can’t shake away the fear that he left behind, no matter how much he assured you over texts that he would never hurt you, he just needed to make you learn. You’re a fast learner, he said. You can be good, he added. You just need to be reminded of this now and again.

He kept calling you his, kept saying you’d learn to love him, to call for him, to need him. 

You were so shaken up from the whole ordeal that you threw up whatever meager food you had managed to eat at Robin’s. Then, you locked yourself in your room again, trying to drown out any thoughts of heavy footsteps or threats. 

There was no rest or sleep.

Just paralysing fear and helplessness. You can’t see a way out of this hell. Maybe there really is no escape.

-*-

Saturday comes and goes, and though your friends call, you ignore them. 

Except Zoro doesn’t relent. He calls, and you don’t pick up, so he calls again, and again, and again until you do. 

“I was about to march in there and see if you were alive.” He’s growling, but he still sounds a bit hurt, and you grimace, making yourself smaller against your couch. You’re sitting on the floor, somehow it seems more secluded, safer.

“I’m fine, I’m just sick. I think I caught a cold.” You cough a bit, trying to sell the lie, but at this point, you doubt Zoro actually believes anything you say.

“Right. So, you’re not coming with us to the movies today?”

“Not today.” You sound defeated, exhausted, shaken, and scared. You hope he just thinks you’re as sick as you claim to be. 

“What if I go to you and we watch a movie at your house? I can get the Cook to make you some soup.”

A whimper almost leaves your lips, and you have to take a few extra seconds to compose yourself before answering. 

“It’s okay, Zo. I’m fine. I just need some rest, okay? See you soon.”

And you hang up on him, like the coward you are. 

Bzzzz.

Unknown: Kitten, that’s enough indulging the cop. You don’t get to answer any more of his calls. He needs to know you don’t want anything to do with him.

You read the text and drop the phone on the floor next to you, your head falling against your knees as you hug them tighter. You’re numb to all of this now. He controls you, he owns you, and there’s no escape. 

You’re trapped in your own home, cornered in your own life. 

You’re barely surviving. You’re just existing.

And it’s painful as hell.

-*-

The week goes by, and you fall into a numb routine. You get up, throw away whatever gift is waiting for you - sometimes they’re fresh flowers or candy, other times there are dead animals or crumpled flowers - you feed the farm animals, then try to eat something.

The afternoon is spent cowering in fear until you do the rest of the chores. Then, you try to eat something else for dinner after you lock up every inch of the house. You curl into bed in your locked bedroom, cry yourself to exhaustion, and start all over again the next day.

The stalker’s texts are relentless. He praises you and your beauty, your behaviour, and how good you are to him. Then, sometimes, he says you still need to learn, to accept that you’re his, and to understand you will love him back eventually.

And then, there’s Zoro.

He calls, he texts, and he comes knocking at your door. Every single day.

You pretend not to be home when he comes, even though he says he knows you’re home, but you don’t open the door or say anything. And then, he always gets a call from the station, something urgent that comes up, and he needs to go.

You know it’s him orchestrating Zoro’s life as well as yours. And the noose tightens around your neck. 

-*-

Friday comes, and you’re not even strong enough to get out of bed. You’re drained. You ask Ace to help with the animals and stay curled up in bed for the majority of the day. Your phone is strangely silent.

No Zoro.

No stalker.

You fall asleep. A restless sleep born from weariness and depression. Then, you wake up drenched in sweat. It’s almost dark outside, and an ominous feeling grips you in its hold. You try to listen, to hear if there’s anything out of place, any foreign sound that doesn’t belong, but all is quiet.

You check your phone, and there’s nothing there.

Everything feels peculiar and unusual. 

You get up on light feet and have to take an extra minute to steady yourself because your head feels light, and you feel faint from not eating all day. Then, you slowly make your way downstairs. It’s too quiet. Too eerie. 

Something is definitely wrong.

It takes you an extra minute to notice, but when you do, all the breath is knocked out of your lungs. 

There’s a huge, beautiful bouquet of fresh roses in the middle of the kitchen table.

He was inside your home. 

He was inside while you were asleep and vulnerable. He could have been in your room, he could have touched you, he–

Heavy gasps disturb the eerie silence of your home as fat droplets of tears stream down your face. You can’t take this, you can’t. It’s too much, and you’re not strong enough. There’s no way you’ll be able to survive this alone.

You grab your phone and press Zoro’s name, placing the phone against your ear with trembling hands. It’s time to tell him everything.

Except the call doesn’t go through.

“Come on!” You whine, your legs giving out as you fall to the floor, the red from the roses still burning your retinas. You try again. And the call doesn’t go through.

It’s his doing. 

The police. You dial the number and press the phone against your ear, but it disconnects before even ringing. 

“No!” You scream and throw the phone to the floor, getting up hastily and bumping against a chair before your trembling fingers grasp the landline phone. Sobs and hiccups leave your lips, and you don’t even care, You’re so tired, you just want this nightmare to end.

The line’s dead.

A broken, desperate scream climbs up your throat, and you lose track of time as you curl up into a ball and cry some more. 

There’s still someone who can help. Even though asking for his help is the last thing you want to do, maybe it’s exactly what you need to get out of this.

Ichiji.

Determination and a newfound purpose seem to stop your tears from flowing freely, and you grab your phone again, taking a seat on the couch this time, not wanting to stare at the roses anymore and not daring to touch them yet.

The call goes through, and you sigh in relief.

Two rings, and a familiar voice churns your insides. “Well, hello, Doll. This is… unexpected.”

“Ichiji, I need your help.” There’s no use beating around the bush. “I need you to spare me one of your bodyguards.”

The idea hit you like a truck. Ichiji has tons of bodyguards, he can be persuaded to share one, you’re sure of it. Even if you have to owe him something - and you know he’s going to collect - it’s much better than living in this constant fear.

The silence prolongs for a while before he sighs heavily into the phone. When he speaks again, his voice is clipped and monotone. “I would love to help, Doll.” Somehow, you doubt that very much. “But I’m a bit understaffed at the moment.”

“Cut the crap, Ichiji. You have dozens of bodyguards. Each one is better than the last.” It’s true. They’re all elite. Might as well just say he doesn’t want to help you, that you can understand.

“Had.” Another heavy sigh. “I had dozens of the best bodyguards. My best one left around the same time you left me. And half of them followed him out.” He chuckles dryly as the information sets into your tired brain. His best bodyguard?

You remember him vaguely, though the name eludes you, you talked to him on several occasions. Ichiji’s events were boring and dragged on, so you made small talk. He seemed to like what he did and was the best at it. 

“Do you see the chaos you left with your departure, Doll?” This time, you’re the one that sighs. 

“I just need one, Ichiji, please.” How low have you stooped, to be begging the asshole who broke your heart? 

“I can’t. What I’ve got left are mediocre soldiers and a footlong list of threats. I barely feel safe leaving the house. But if you feel so unsafe, maybe you can crawl back to me, Doll, I’m sure I can make arrangements.”

“Goodbye.” You exclaim dryly into the phone before turning off the call. 

A bodyguard was your last hope. The small flicker of light that had turned on. And now you are truly alone. No Zoro, no police. Just you and the stalker.

You turn your head back into the kitchen where the bouquet stands, taunting you with its beauty. He was inside once. He’ll be inside again. 

How long before he hurts you?

You don’t even know when the tears started to flood again, but soon enough, your face is completely wet, and your shoulders shake with every ragged sob. You have never felt this helpless.

You’re trapped.

There’s no way out.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

And he’s come for you.

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @lycoriskalmia @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache

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|Chapter 9|

[ikwon1c]

Inked (2)

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: all you wanted was a quiet night, not an idol with a staring problem but when jiyong finally worked up the nerve to talk to you, it was kind of… adorable.

tags: idolverse, fluff, light romance

warning: alcohol consumption, s**ngri mentioned. this fic was dated back in 2009’s.

—

It started to become funny after the third time you caught one of them looking over. Not just Jiyong, though yeah, mostly him but the whole booth was doing a terrible job of pretending they weren’t very obviously talking about you.

Not that you minded.

It was…endearing, actually. Like watching a bunch of teenage boys psych each other up to talk to a girl at a school dance. You were too far to hear what was being said, but you didn’t have to be close to read the dynamic. The little smirks. The punches to the arm. The way Seungri clapped Jiyong on the back like he’d just sent him off to war.

And Jiyong, poor guy, he looked like he was dying inside.

He hesitated at the edge of the booth, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, weight shifting from foot to foot like he was considering turning around. You watched him pretend to fix his cap, then adjust the sleeve of his bomber jacket, then check his phone even though the screen wasn’t even on.

Then he looked up.

Right at you.

Your eyes met again, just like earlier, but this time he didn’t look away.

He started walking.

You turned back to your drink, pretending not to notice how your pulse skipped. It wasn’t nerves, it was… amusement. Because Jiyong, G-Dragon himself, looked like he was about to pass out from stage fright.

He stopped just short of your space, his shadow brushing the bar.

You looked up slowly, lifting one brow like you hadn’t been waiting for him the whole time.

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking down and then back up again, and offered you a crooked smile. “Hey.”

Oh, wow.

His voice was softer than you expected, deeper, too. Smooth, but with a nervous lilt, like he wasn’t sure how to be himself just yet.

“Hey,” you echoed, taking a sip of your drink. “You lost?”

He blinked.

Then laughed, short and a little stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to joke.

“Uh—no. Just… um. My friends were kind of…” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the booth, where the other members were very obviously watching. You could see Seungri ducking behind Daesung’s shoulder like that somehow made him invisible.

You smiled. “Sending you into the lion’s den?”

He tilted his head, smile turning shy. “Something like that.”

He looked nervous. Like, genuinely unsure of himself. And considering who he was, the persona, the ego, the swagger you’d seen on stage and in music videos, it was almost surreal. This wasn’t G-Dragon. This was Jiyong. Just a guy. A little awkward. A little flustered.

A lot cute.

“You gonna tell me your name?” you asked, setting your drink down, head tilted. “Or am I supposed to guess?”

He looked relieved to have a prompt to answer. “Jiyong.”

“Not G-Dragon?”

His ears turned pink. “I mean, yeah. But… I’m off the clock.”

You laughed softly, the sound making his shoulders visibly relax.

“Well, Jiyong,” you said, drawing out his name, letting it settle in your mouth, “since you’re off the clock… what did your friends dare you to say to me?”

He groaned and dropped his face into his hands for a second. “God. Was it that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

“They said I should come up and ask for your number,” he admitted, then quickly added, “But I wasn’t gonna just… do that. That’s weird.”

“I mean,” you said, pretending to think about it, “It’s a little weird.”

He looked so embarrassed, eyes wide, lips parted like he wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

You grinned.

“But… kind of charming.”

He blinked again.

That made him smile, really smile, the first one that reached his eyes. You saw something shift behind them then. A flicker of confidence breaking through the nerves, the smallest taste of that stage presence rearing its head.

“Yeah?” he asked, voice lighter now. “You think I’m charming?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you teased.

He laughed. And you knew, right then, that you were both a little doomed.

—

Jiyong leaned one elbow on the bar, finally starting to breathe normally again. You could practically see the gears turning in his head as he searched for what to say next without tripping over his own nerves. It was cute. And rare.

Most guys who tried to talk to you came in too hot — all fake charm and pickup lines they’d practiced in the mirror. But Jiyong? He looked like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to impress you or melt into the floor.

You decided to let him off the hook — just a little.

“So,” you said, turning slightly to face him, “what would you have said if they hadn’t dared you?

He blinked. “Huh?”

“If you weren’t sent over like tribute,” you said, motioning vaguely toward the booth, “what would you have said? On your own.”

“Oh.” His hand curled around his glass even though he hadn’t ordered anything yet. “Um… probably something dumb.”

“I like dumb.”

He grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching with new boldness. “Okay. I probably would’ve said… something like…” He paused dramatically. “Do you believe in fate?”

You snorted. “Wow.”

“Told you it’d be dumb,” he said, laughing with you now.

“No, no,” you said through your smile, “that was awful. But I’d still give you points for delivery.”

He tilted his head and gave you that look — the slightly smug, sideways grin that said I know I’m ridiculous, but you kind of like it.

You did. You really did.

“Okay, your turn,” he said, eyes narrowing playfully. “If you were walking up to me, what would your opening line be?”

“I wouldn’t walk up to you.”

“Ouch.”

“Not in a mean way,” you added quickly, holding back a grin. “I just… don’t chase idols.”

His expression shifted, just for a second into something unreadable. You worried you’d overstepped, but then he gave a small, almost grateful nod.

“That’s fair,” he said quietly. “I like that.”

You felt something real pass between you then. Like you’d just accidentally touched the center of him.

Before either of you could say anything else, there was a sudden burst of shouting from behind Jiyong.

“Oh no,” he muttered, not turning around.

You peeked over his shoulder just in time to see Seungri holding up a phone, very obviously taking a picture of Jiyong at the bar.

“YA!” Jiyong yelled, whipping around, but it was too late.

Daesung ducked under the table, Seungri cackled, Taeyang clapped once like a proud uncle, and TOP was pretending to be very deeply invested in the drink menu, deadpan and completely unbothered.

“Do they always act like this?” you asked, eyes wide with mock horror.

“Worse,” Jiyong muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“I thought idols were supposed to be mysterious.”

“I’ve never known peace.”

You giggled and leaned a little closer, and he noticed.

“Want me to give them something to really talk about?” you asked, lips curling.

Jiyong choked slightly. “Uh—what?”

You raised your brows and slowly, deliberately reached out to tug his sleeve straight. He tensed, then relaxed, letting you smooth the wrinkle you’d invented. You let your fingers linger just a second too long.

“I mean,” you said casually, “if they’re going to act like you’re making out with me at the bar, might as well give them a story worth telling.”

Jiyong just stared at you, stunned and clearly short-circuiting.

“Relax,” you added with a wink. “I’m only messing with you.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a full minute.

“You’re evil,” he muttered under his breath.

“You like it.”

“I really do.”

You both laughed a little too loud, a little too in sync and it felt easy. Strange, but easy.

But you’d never seen someone look so done and delighted at the same time.

Jiyong glanced back at the booth like a man being hunted. Seungri was now fully standing on the bench seat, pretending to cry into a napkin. Daesung clutched his chest like he’d just watched a tragic drama. Taeyang casually mimed shoving an imaginary bouquet into his hands.

TOP sipped his drink and gave a single, slow thumbs-up. You weren’t even sure if it was sarcastic.

Jiyong groaned and turned back to you. “I swear they’re not like this with strangers.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so I’m not a stranger?”

He blinked. Then gave you a crooked, bashful smile. “Not anymore.”

You smiled back, heart beating just a bit faster.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything. You’d come out for a drink, for a distraction. You didn’t plan on running into the most famous idol in the country, much less this version of him. The one who kept fiddling with the hem of his sleeve, who couldn’t stop glancing back at his friends like he was worried they’d literally drag him away.

You kind of hoped they would. Just to see what he’d do.

“So,” you said casually, resting your elbow on the bar, “you gonna ask for my number like they dared you to?”

He blinked. Again.

The blush that crept up his neck was immediate.

“I mean, only if you want to give it,” he said, voice suddenly more careful, more sincere. “I’m not really… good at this.”

You studied him for a second.

That was the thing, wasn’t it? He wasn’t good at this. Not because he was bad at flirting, but because he was actually trying. Not selling an image. Just… showing up as himself.

You reached into your clutch and pulled out a pen.

“No phones?” he asked, confused.

You held up his hand gently and scrawled your number across the back of it with a little flourish.

“Retro,” you said.

He looked at his hand like it had been tattooed with something sacred.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“You better not wash it off.”

“Never,” he said, and he meant it. “I’ll sleep with my hand out of the blanket like this.”

You both laughed again, but this time there was a pause that lingered. Something softer tucked into the moment. Something real.

Then—

“YA! HYUNG!”

You both turned.

Seungri, hands cupped around his mouth like a megaphone, called across the bar, “YOU GONNA PROPOSE NEXT OR SHOULD WE ORDER A CAKE?!”

The entire booth collapsed into hysterics.

Jiyong closed his eyes and silently cursed his life choices.

“I’m going to murder them,” he muttered. “Just—one by one. Clean kills. Quick.”

“Can I watch?”

“I’ll sell tickets.”

He exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair, then looked at you like he didn’t quite want to go.

And you… didn’t quite want him to go, either.

“Guess you should get back to them before they start planning our wedding,” you said.

He grinned, then sobered. “Can I text you later? When I get home?”

You nodded. “You better.”

He looked down at your number again like it was proof that this night wasn’t just a really good dream. Then, with a deep breath and one last glance, the kind that lasted just a second too long, he turned and walked back toward the booth.

The moment he slid back into the seat, the group erupted like he’d won the lottery. Seungri shook him by the shoulders. Taeyang offered him a toast. Daesung wiped fake tears with a coaster.

TOP just looked at him and said, “You lasted longer than I thought.”

Jiyong didn’t say anything. He just sat back, hand still held carefully in his lap like he didn’t want the number to smudge. And when his eyes found you again across the room, still standing at the bar, finishing your drink, smiling just a little — he smiled back.

Small. Honest. Quietly victorious.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter 6: Pink Camellias - Longing For You

Summary: Andy stops by on a particularly stressful day, and a different favorite customer gives you a bit of a rude awakening.

Word Count: 2442

Author's Note: Hey my lovelies! Thank you all so much for the positive feedback I've received from so many of you since the last chapter. Enjoy this chapter, this one and the next one are going to be on the shorter side to prepare for an upcoming behemoth i have planned ;)

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @wub-wub-wub-wub-wub @padfootblackswh0r3 @axel-the-boy-witch

fic under the cut <3

So far, your day was terrible, which meant it was on par with the rest of your week.

Everything you had detailed on that late night phone call to Andy a few weeks ago had only gotten worse. The date for foreclosure was slowly approaching, your debt nearly canceled out by the sheer amount of customers you were getting recently. You could only imagine it had just become an online trend to… be nice to your partner? Whatever the incentive was, it was helping out the business, but not so much your wallet.

You often brought your frustrations to Andy, and he was so supportive it made your heart ache. Even though he’d explicitly stated often that it was completely fine for you to vent to him like this, you apologized profusely every time. This is how talking to him would start, though after a few minutes they diverged to a million other topics.

This was exactly the kind of conversation you were planning on having when he visited you today. And you couldn't wait. A countdown of the seconds until he walked in was playing in your brain.

One, two, three.

You needed the break from your life that talking to Andy offered you.

_Four, five, six._

You craved the stability, how even if your life was crumbling before you, you would always be able to find him in the rubble.

Seven, eight, nine.

He wasn't your sole motivator to keep going, but he definitely helped.

Ten—

"Hey there.”

Uncharacteristically perfect timing.

You pulled your attention away from the clock on the wall to catch your first glimpse of him for the day. For the first time since you’d met him, he was wearing a hat, a black baseball cap with some logo on it you didn't recognize. His hair was tied back into a bun. Though he had his attempts at being stylish from time to time, today was not one of them, his zip-up hoodie and jeans making it evident that today was not a day where he felt like trying. Maybe he was having as crappy of a day as you were. Just in case he was, you greeted him with more enthusiasm in your voice than usual.

“Hi! How's it going?”

“Pretty alright, actually,” he started, before continuing his sentence with a question that seemed to give you a headache simply by hearing it. “How are you?”

You sighed before you spoke, grimacing just at the thought of your emotions.

“I am so stressed that talking about how stressed I am will only make me more stressed. I need a change of pace. And topic.”

He picked up what you were putting down immediately, something that had become almost like second nature to him. A good distraction.

“There was something I’ve been meaning to ask you, now that you've reminded me.”

Oh no.

The thoughts of what he could possibly have to ask you began to cloud your mind, and some of the various possibilities made your heart beat much faster than it should. When he started so say something again, there was a hint of nervousness in his voice. Unusual for you, since you’d grown so accustomed to him being more confident in your presence, but you let him speak.

“So… ehm… my birthday’s coming up in a couple of weeks. To celebrate, some of my friends and I are gonna go to the pub and I was wondering if you'd like to come along.”

To say you were relieved was an understatement. The wide smile on your face was an answer in itself, but you responded anyway.

“Andy, I’d love to.”

“Great! Grand. I’ll mark you down as saying ‘yes’.”

“There’s no way I’d say no. Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

A smile, almost the same as your own, grew on his lips.

“By the way, this will be a genuine get-together. You’ll get to meet some of my other friends, as well.”

You feigned shock.

“So it's not just me and this Alex fellow you talk about?”

“No. Contrary to popular belief, I do have more than just two friends.”

You both let out your own laughs, almost in unison with one another. To be joking around with someone you trusted and kept so close… for a moment, it helped you believe everything was alright.

“I’m excited to celebrate with everyone,” you said, sincerity returning to your tone. “Get ready for a present for the ages. For the history books, even.”

He shook his head in denial, stopping your excitement in its tracks.

“Y/N, you don't have to get me anything . I’m a grown man, I’ll live if I don't get a birthday present.”

“Well, I’m a grown woman and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't get you anything. So let me-”

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the bell above the door ringing.

You peeked behind him at who had just walked in. You had to look down to meet her gaze, and when you realized you recognized her weathered face, you smiled.

“Violet! Great to see you! I’ll be right with you.”

Andy tilted his head at your exclamation.

“Violet?”

“Remember when I said you were tied for the title of my favorite customer with a little old lady? I wasn't joking. Meet your competitor.”

You watched as he looked over his shoulder, his head turning to be met with a small, older woman with gray hair and possibly the warmest smile you’d ever seen. Clutching onto purse with one hand like her life depended on it, she gave him a small wave.

“I think I’ll shut myself up for now. You have actual clients to get to.”

“Alright. I’ll come by your work tomorrow. Oh, and about your birthday. Just text me the time and the address and I’ll be there. With an amazing present because you can't stop me.”

A small smile, the kind that barely showed his teeth, spread across his face.

“Thank you. I will see you then.”

He waved goodbye, and you could’ve sworn you saw ink smudged on the side of his hands.

Both of you watched as he left, though with different intentions behind your gazes. You pulled your eyes away when he left, almost afraid to keep your gaze on him. Violet's eyes, however, seemed to linger, from shock more than anything else. Once he was out of both of your fields of vision, you returned to facing each other.

Violet had become part of your routine, and you slowly became part of each other's lives. Every time she came in, she talked to you about anything on her mind. Yet for the chatterbox that she was, she managed to be an enigma for you. She came in monthly, on the first day of the month, always ordering flowers as a centerpiece for when her “group of ladies” came around. You couldn't tell if she was in a book club or a coven, but neither answer would surprise you. In as sweet a tone as ever, she initiated your conversation.

“I’ve been here a thousand times, but I don't think I’ve ever seen that man before. Who was that?”

“Oh, that's Andy. He's my…”

You couldn't quite find the words to complete that sentence. Andy was your friend, obviously, but the word felt so odd, almost bitter on your tongue. You couldn't bring yourself to say it. To save yourself any pain, you tiptoed around it.

“He works at the tattoo parlor a few blocks away. He visits me sometimes.”

“He seems like such a sweet young man.”

“He is! He really is.” You nodded.

Violet, despite her years of living and likely unlimited wisdom, found nothing wrong with her next sentence.

“I don't mean to pry, but I had no idea you were dating someone! How long have you two been together?"

Your eyes widened so much you were afraid they would pop out of your skull. What in the world could have made her ask that? Why did your palms get so clammy? Had someone turned up the heat?

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “No, no, no. Andrew and I… we aren't dating. We're just friends.”

The older woman raised a quizzical brow, as if she didn't believe you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, Violet. I’d know if I was in a relationship.”

“Then, is he sure?”

“He's sure. too. We're not dating. We're friends. Friends.”

Were you trying to convince her or yourself?

She shook her head, accompanied by a tsk, tsk, tsk.

“What is it?”

“Dear, I’ve been around for… I’m not even sure how many years. I know a look filled with love when I see it. And the way that boy looks at you is the same look I’ve seen in loves that last lifetimes. It's the same look my wife gives me every single day. One of you should do something about that look.”

Her thorough analysis left you stunned. You attempted to put the pieces together in your brain, trying to mask your confusion as you did so.

“I’d never noticed that before.”

“Youth is wasted on the young. What’s the point of eyesight if you're not going to use it?”

You chuckled at that, though you also used it as a way to ignore the truth behind the statement. Did he look at you a certain way? Were you so deep into your oblivion that you just never noticed before? Or so deep into your own infatuation, too busy staring at him through your own eyes, to pay attention to how you might look through his? With all your newfound. overthinking all you could do was reply with a small, genuine smile.

“Thank you for that. I appreciate the advice.”

Violet was capricious in her conversation, easily distracted if you could get her back on the right track. In this moment, you utilized her fickleness to steer her back on track. Or at least, get the conversation back on the track you were comfortable with.

“Do you have a bouquet request?”

She thought for a moment, giving you a slow nod before she verbalized her answer.

“Well, it is starting to be spring time, and the girls and I just finished reading a Jane Austen novel, so love is in the air. Maybe focus on pink. I’ll let you handle the rest. I’ll be back later on to pick it up."

She placed the same vase she used monthly on the counter. It bounced back and forth between you two, exchanged each time you created a new arrangement. The only thing that changed was the color of the bow on the exterior.

“Sounds like a plan. Have a lovely day.”

“You too, dear.”

One last warm smile crossed her face before she went to leave. She shuffled her way out the door, leaving you room to get started.

Violet’s lenient instructions were perfect; it gave you a guideline, but mostly the creative control was in your hands. The only thing you had to keep in mind was pink.

The first idea your mind went to was pink camellias. They were in season, and with spring on the horizon, they were perfect. And you couldn't turn down adding them in when their meaning was so poetic. Longing for you. It tugged at your heartstrings just to think about it — how people from hundreds of years ago felt the same emotions, the same deep want or need for a person, as people do today. A feeling so strong they couldn't put it in words, or didn't trust themselves to say it. So they let a flower take its place.

Pink camellias had to be the focus.

Using the vase Violet had left behind, you worked the rest of your suggestions, mixing and matching until both beauty and semantics aligned. Pink roses, perfect happiness. Magenta zinnia, lasting affection. Mix in some white carnations for sweetness and innocence to break it up, and it was finished. The ladies were sure to love it, whether they were casting a spell or reading Jane Eyre.

For the first time in a few days, you wanted to feel calm. You had been too many things going on in your life for you to focus on being present.

There was so much stress looming over you recently. You were unsure just how much longer you would have your place of work. Your family and your friends all seemingly wanted you to be more ahead in your life than you were. You had a huge, almost debilitating crush on Andy, and he probably didn't reciprocate.

Andy. He had been there for you whenever you need to talk about all that was on your mind, his kindness never wavering. Even though he was receptive to you, there was still a sense of guilt for spilling your guts to him like that. You were there for him as well, of course, though he didn't have as many complaints about his daily life as you did. All his kindness and his attention only made you like him even more, only making you more nervous and stressed about liking him. It was a downward spiral, and an exceedingly dizzying one at that.

The flower shop was the only refuge you could have. When you weren't in a state of worry over orders or foreclosure, it was the part of your day that provided you the most comfort. You had the opportunity to make these beautiful works and showcase your creativity and here you were, taking it for granted. You needed to ground yourself, to take a breather, to be in the moment.

So in your moment of desperation, you turned to your flowers for comfort.

Being so exposed to the scent of the flowers every day for years meant you got used to them over time. You slowly got accustomed until you eventually couldn't even detect the unique aroma of your workplace.

You took a pause, and leaning over the arrangement, you took a deep breath.

You had literally stopped to smell the roses.

The more shocking part was that it worked. You had successfully grounded yourself by stopping to appreciate your surroundings. Surely that had to be a metaphor for something.

You were snapped out of your tranquility. Of course you were.

You heard a voice, slightly judgmental and maybe a bit concerned, from the other side of the room.

“What was that?”

You perked up at the sound of the bell above the door, and quickly pulled yourself away from the flowers.

“Nothing! How can I help you?”

[olderthannetfic]

Getting this off my chest:

Back from a small fanfic hiatus, and I am absolutely flabbergasted by all of the fic authors now practically begging their readers to READ THE TAGS.

I’ve been seeing this warning written in summaries, in author’s notes, highlighted in all caps in the actual tags. I’ve read so many apologies written by authors in the comments in response to people chastising the author for writing what they wanted to write, for what they tagged correctly — for what essentially comes down to nothing more than having had other people actively ignore their tags or read despite them.

And there seems to be this bizarre, somehow largely accepted idea that it is the creators job and responsibility to beseech their readers to ‘use caution’ and to ‘stay safe’, to ‘be mindful of their health’…

I am beyond confused here.

Since when??? did exercising the most basic form of common sense and acknowledging one’s personal yeas and nays, likes and limitations, become some other random stranger’s burden rather than one’s own? And especially a random person who tagged their work correctly??? Does no one remember how to harness their own powers of discernment and self-regulation???

This little jaunt back onto ao3 has been unlike any that I’ve ever experienced before. What. Happened?????? Who is this new, apparently severely emotionally unstable and obstinately tags-reading resistant audience everyone has come to focus on?

It all feels so out of touch. The basic concept of ao3 is for the reader to seek out what they want, not what they don’t want. And to actually read. But there seems to have been an extremely strong shift away from reading. On ao3. A site built specifically for reading and writing. (And other fandom artistic pursuits, but not my focus, atm; though I’m sure whatever this is has crept steadily into all spaces there.)

Plummeting reading comprehension must be somewhat to blame; the popularity of fanfic amongst younger and wider audiences, as well. But… young people have always been there, as far as my own experiences go, and it was never like this. It’s as if too many readers don’t know how to make good or even practical decisions for themselves anymore, that they’ve lost the skill of choosing, and now believe that they must consume everything that passes before them; — that they have, for some reason, adopted the belief that any turmoil or dislike or discomfort felt within themselves is harm purposely being done to them by the author.

Idk. Idk, idk, idk. It’s just such a bummer to see how much nervousness and distress has entered the community. Authors notes and comments used to be hilarious fun, or a peek into someone else’s real-life world, used to be casual and full of personality, whereas nowadays, there seems to be an underlying hesitancy and distrust, a sort of growing divide between writers and readers, groups which, until recently, very much were not mutually exclusive.

--

Idiots have been around forever. The more you cater to them, the more entitled they get. It's best to shut that shit down fast and use no warnings that indicate a willingness to entertain stupid complaints.

[scnderlands]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ON COLD NIGHTS — jiyan. wuwa

CONTENT WARNINGS + TAGS — sfw, unedited drabble, mdni, nightmares, hints at possible trauma, typical fighting TD’s, mentions of blood and fire, war etc. all lower caps

AUTHORS NOTES — I basically woke up in a cold sweat to write this, no editing or nothing, I couldn’t stop thinking about jiyans story when reading it after unlocking it and now I wanna make this a bigger fic??? but for now it’ll be a drabble of sorts

the sound of the crackling fire surrounded him, the heat burning and melting his flesh, the heat and smoke blinding him. tacet discords plagued the jinzhou as far as he could see, and they constantly fed on the frequencies of his fallen comrades.

beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and made his hair stick to his flushed skin. his breath was ragged and heavy, but there was no time for him to stop and try to regain his composure. wave after wave of TD’s came at him and each time he swung and struck them down with ease.

time and time again, he ignored the faces of his dead friends and soldiers, his only thought being that of protecting the city — he couldn’t let it fall, even if it meant falling himself.

the flames raged on, and so did he. running through the chaos and striking down anything that came near him. jiyan noticed how the screams and crackles faded away, replaced with voices of those he knew.

“that’s a clueless kid! how can we trust him with our lives?”

“you said you would protect us…but why?”

he continued fighting, trying to keep the voices at bay, but they surrounded him, suffocated him.

“jiyan, what on earth are you fighting for?”

he let out a loud scream as he fought, with every hit and cut he took, he took down two more enemies. he was bloody, tears rolled down his cheeks but he knew he couldn’t stop. his body hurt more than he thought possible, his limbs so heavy that he swore at any moment he’d sink into the ground, swallowed up by the earth to never be seen again.

his knuckles turned white from the grip he had on his spear, using it as leverage to push himself back to his feet. and that’s when he heard it, a gentle, distant voice muttering his name. he looked around but couldn’t see where it was coming from, but the voice enveloped him in a sense of safety, security. it was like it wrapped around him and protected him from the oncoming slaughter of monsters and unsavoury voices.

“jiyan…” he jolted awake, unable to catch his breath, sweat dripping from every part of him.

“what am i fighting for?” he whispered to himself as he held his head in his hands.

your hand rubbed up and down his back gently, not wanting to scare him anymore than he already was.

“are you okay?” your voice was quiet and you leant down to try and find his eyesight.

he nodded but you could tell it was hesitant, he was lying but he didn’t want you to know. he didn’t have the heart to tell you how often he was plagued by that nightmare, how many times he’d awoken in the middle of the night in a panic and drenched in his own sweat. but you knew, you could tell.

“you know what? let’s go for a walk…” you wrapped your hand around his and tugged at it, urging him to stand up and come with you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, I think I’ll just—“

“jiyan, come on, just trust me, okay?” he sighed as you spoke and glanced up at you with heavy and tired eyes, but he obliged, how could he not?

the both of you left his tent and walked away from the camp, your hand never leaving his as you guided him through the borderlands and up a hill nearby.

“I remember when you told me something, a long time ago but it’s something I always wanted to do…”

he didn’t reply, but instead helped you up a steep bit of cliff face, not even questioning why you were making him climb in the middle of the night.

“…I remember you telling me that the borderlands might not have the charm of the city, but there is something about it that is just as beautiful in its own right.”

jiyan remembered the conversation. there wasn’t many conversations with you that he forgot, each and every one of them seared into his brain like a cattle brand, your conversations were an escape for him.

“you told me not to worry because you’d protect me,” you chuckled as you both eventually reached the top, and you guided him to the flat grassy land just a bit further ahead, “you said I should accompany you to witness..”

his voice cut yours off, filling in what he had said to you all those years ago, “witness the full moon and twinkling stars that grace the tranquil night skies.”

jiyan squeezed your hand in his, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips as he stared up towards the sky above him.

you sat down and patted the grass beside you, gesturing him to lay beside you and without much hesitation he did. he rested his head in your lap, his hand reaching for yours once again and he sighed.

“thank you…for this.”

“you sounded like you needed it, and well, you were right. it’s beautiful.” you smiled widely as you stared up as well, watching as thousands of stars twinkled gracefully through the inky black skies.

jiyan’s eyes were no longer looking at the sky, but at you instead. the way the moon’s light delicately highlighted your face in the most perfect way, the stars reflecting in your widened eyes, the breeze blowing through your hair.

“yeah…unbelievably beautiful, I know.”

you just wouldn’t know he wasn’t talking about the same thing you were anymore.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: have a good weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stand, still uncertain. You look at the king as he tilts his face up to the moonlight. The silver sheen washes over him with an unearthly glow. He looks lupine, much like your dream.  

“Your highness?” You echo again, hands curling around the sides of your skirt. 

“Will you continue to disregard my order?” He challenges as his gold eyes meet yours. You wince at the way they shine. 

“No, your highness, I am only...” you hush yourself and clamp your lips tight. You turn and search around, numbly walking along the curve of the pond.  

He growls as you reach the line of hedges into the next walkway. 

“You will want to go much faster than that,” he warns as you hear him stand. “I will allow you some advance...” He exhales as you glance back at him, “ten...” he stares at you, his figure shrouded in shadow from far away, “nine...” 

You blanch and tumble backward through the gap. You spin and stagger on your soles, throwing your arms out as your heart pulses madly. Something about his timbre, about his words, has you alight. There is something amiss about him. 

You push your legs against your skirts and hurry blindly into the nocturnal void. The moonlight seeps in around the silhouette of leaves as you keep your hands ahead of you to prevent a collision. You try to see through the dark, like silk across your eyes, making out little more than hazy orbs. 

You crash into a thicket of thorns and pull away from the rosy bunch. Their scent clings onto you as you turn to the left and dive down the next path. You don’t know these gardens, not like Debray. For all you know, you’re going even deeper.  

You hear a step behind you and swirl to face it. You squint, trying to see who is there. Is it the king? Do you want it to be? What does he mean to do when he catches you? What is the meaning of this game? 

You plunge back into a sprint, puffing as you pump your arms. You whimper and whine as you slow, legs heavy and feet dull. Where are you going? You don’t like this. You remember a night like this before, how the cold dew of the forest crept up your legs, feet hitting the earth in quick succession, the holler of men and snort of horses behind you. 

You stagger and spin back. No, you can’t run anymore. You don’t like this. You don’t like those thoughts. That last night before you were taken to Debray, before you dawned the cap of your bearing. That orphan girl running from servitude. 

You walk forward, shaking as you peer back and forth. You wade through the thick grey air. You hear a twig snap and a bush rustle, each noise from a different direction. Perhaps it is a rabbit or a chipmunk. You sniffle and wring your hands. 

You must find the king. You will surrender this game and ask that he takes you back to the castle. You trudge over the beaten path and hear the soft trickle ahead. It must be the pond. The silver light blooms brighter as you come upon a space in the hedges. 

Suddenly, there is only air beneath your feet. You kick out as something rigid wraps around your waist and lifts you. You wriggle desperately and cry out, your eyes tinging but not overflowing. Your fear has you clawing at the hold around your middle. 

“Please, please, don’t hurt me!” You plead as you flail, “please, sir, I’ll go back to the castle--” you choke as the grasp on you slackens but your feet still do not meet the ground. You quiet as you recall your present, that you are not in that forest, that you are far from Debray. 

You are sat upon the bench, the silver moon gleaming down on you as it outlines the broad shadow before you. King Geralt faces you, kneeling as you tremble and hug yourself. You put your head down in shame. 

“Apologies, your highness, I was lost,” you reach to rub your cheek, flicking back your tears with your lashes, “I got confused.” 

“No, it is I who should apologise, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he takes your hand between his big ones, “I only meant to make some fun.” He brushes his touch up your arms and squeezes as you drop your hand to your lap, “little maid, did I hurt you?” 

You shake your head, “I was only... delirious. It is too dark out here. I cannot see,” you bite down and look away, “apologies, I did act out.” 

“Little maid,” he tickles along your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine, “I would not let you get lost or hurt.” He tilts his hand to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheekbone, “what was it you were running from in your head? Who?” 

“No one,” you lie. “Just a memory.” 

“Memories are not just that,” he insists, “but I understand how they can hurt. Forgive me, treasure, I wasn’t--” 

“Your highness,” the sullen voice has the king recoiling. He quickly plants his foot and stands. You rise as well, toying with that word he called you. Treasure. “The queen sends for you.” 

Bryce steps out into the moonlight. You look at him then the ground. How long had he been there? How much had he heard? 

“The queen,” King Geralt grumbles, “what is it she wants? It is late--” 

“She would not say and I would not guess,” Bryce says, “but she screams for it. Like a yowling cat.” 

The king sighs and lowers his head. He squares his shoulders and resets his posture. He steps away from you and gestures to his soldier. The king twists around and marches away. Bryce falls into pace with you as you follow. He is silent, you all are. 

You approach the castle, guards lurking in the shadows, and are let past the front doors by a sombre pair. Inside, you follow the king through the great hall and up the stairs. You peek over at Bryce as you proceed down the corridor. He gently squeezes your wrist, just briefly, and carries on. 

“Your highness,” Bryce speaks as you hear a racket ahead of you; screeching and crashing. “Should I escort the maid back to her chambers?” 

“Cursed woman,” King Geralt mutters as he slows, Queen Jazlene’s door just ahead. He pauses and looks over his shoulder, “the cost of a kingdom...” 

“Your highness?” Bryce prompts once again. 

You echo him and step forward, “I could calm her. Bring some wine--” 

“No, she will have no more of that,” the king declares sharply. “I wed her, I put my name next to hers, so it is I shall attend to her. Sir,” he looks at Bryce, “do as you suggest, put the maid in her chambers and I will put the queen in her place.” 

“Aye, your highness,” Bryce bows his head and points you back, “come, maid, the night wears on.” 

You glance up at the king. His golden eyes are wrought as his gaze holds yours for only an instant. You see the hesitation bob in his throat before he turns away. You mirror him and follow Bryce back along the corridor. 

As you climb to the next floor and continue down another corridor, Bryce slows. He stops as he gets to the door and faces you. He takes a breath as he looks you up and down. 

“It’s treacherous here in the summer kingdom,” he says, “but that will not change on the road. Mouse, you keep yourself well.” 

“Thank you, sir, I am fine.” 

“Aye, you do not take my meaning but you do not take the king’s either,” he puts his hand on his belt, “his favour might do you fine in this moment, but it is dangerous. Let not others notice so they may not envy it.” 

You grimace and shake your head, “what do you mean?” 

“Your little games do not need an audience. It is no tournament.” 

Your chest sinks and your skin speckles. Is he accusing you of something? 

“I... I haven’t done anything untoward. I would not, sir--” 

“You may not,” he intones, “but we are all ruled by the will of the king.” 

“Sir, the king is married to Lady Jazlene--” 

“And we both see how they fare,” he states bluntly. “Carry my words with you, do with them as you may, but I could not leave them unsaid.” 

Your eyes gloss and your nose tingles once more. He’s mad. Truly, he can’t think you and King Geralt. A maid and her master. 

“I would not,” you repeat. 

He huffs and nods curtly. He turns to the door and unlatches it, “go, rest your head while you can.” 

“Sir Bryce--” 

“I am bid protect you by the king,” he pushes the door inward and rests his hand on the frame, “not from him.” He looks past you, as if through, “little mouse, I do hope I am wrong as well but I know better than to depend on that.” 

You shudder and tug at the end of your sleeve. You slump and drag your feet through the doorway. You stop, just inside, “good night, sir.” 

He grunts and pulls the door shut. Your lip trembles as your heart races, just as it did in the garden. He is wrong. He must be. You saw yourself how the king is trying, he even said it was the queen he meant to game with earlier. It was only that she was too unwell. He said it! 

And he goes to the queen’s chamber that night. He is not there. He has not been disloyal. The matter is not your concern. You serve wine, you lace gowns, you braid hair. You are only the maid. 

⚔️

You return to the queen’s service the next morning. The world is a bit more familiar as you help her into her gown and twine her hair into an elaborate coif. Servants pass in and out of her chambers as they prepare for the royal party’s imminent departure. 

“Why can we not keep this capital?” Queen Jazlene whines, “but my husband does insist on return to his frigid homelands.” 

You say nothing as you sift through the old monarch’s jewelry chest. You present to her successor each gem, brooch, and chain. She has yet to turn any away though you wonder if there would be room in her already bustling luggage. Perhaps the cart will be a touch more crowded on your ride north. 

“And yet my husband did come to me,” she boasts, “I think... hmm, well, perhaps this marriage won’t be so turbulent.” 

You show her a cuff and she snatches it. She puts it on her wrist, turning her arm this way and that, as she oohs and aahs. She wiggles excitedly. 

“I recall this piece. One year, when I came with father to court, the queen wore this cuff. You see the emeralds. I remember she was so proud of it even though all the court knew it was only gifted to her by her husband to distract from his mistress,” she trills, “oh, how foolish. But the old queen was so boring. It is a wonder the king didn’t dispose of her, who can blame him for taking an amour?” 

She sighs and looks at the mirror, “and she wasn’t half so pretty as me.” 

You remain silent, continuing to sort with her endless approval. You don’t think there is a single trinket she could ever turn away. You don’t see the need for so many of the same thing. Some stones are brighter than others but why not keep the brightest and do away with the rest. 

“As I was saying,” she goes on, “last night when the king came to me, he was... almost meek. That man. Can you imagine? I admit I was distraught after the day I suffered but he listened and we spoke.” She strokes her fingers as she admires her oval nails. “There are some southern lords who will come north as well, some northern to stay behind. He says it will help us acquaint the two kingdoms into one.” 

She drops her hands and pushes her shoulders straight, “he is wise. I suppose I should heed him if I am to be a good queen.” 

You are want to agree but to do so aloud may be taken as insult. She might have done it sooner and saved herself some trouble. Yet it isn’t your place and you haven’t the wisdom of a queen. You’re merely a servant. 

“Once I give him an heir, he will have to listen to me too. Yes, I will do what mother could never. Give my husband a son,” she drags her hand to her midsection, “I think last night...” she flutters her lashes dreamily. Her suggestion makes you squirm. Her and the king’s relations are hardly your concern. “It was better,” her voice is brittle, “even if...” she peers around and clamps her lips. She narrows her dark eyes, “close the door.” 

You obey. You come back to her and return to your previous task. She reaches in to pluck out a string of pearls. 

“He puts me on my stomach,” she whispers, almost as if she thinks you won’t hear, but she is speaking to you. There is no one else in the room. Perhaps she is only embarrassed that she has only to the courage to tell a maid. “And he behind me so I can’t see him and... he can’t see me but... but if he could...” she toys with the pearls, “if he’d just look at me, he might like it better.” 

You lift a pair of medallions earrings and she ignores them. She tosses the pearls back in the chest and stands. You back away. 

“He won’t let me touch him otherwise,” she mulls as she paces. “But he is warming. It is early, isn’t it? And compared to the first night... I don’t know. It will get better. It must.” 

She quiets and stands by the window. Her anxiety is palpable. It’s uncharacteristic. You’ve never seen her uncertain of anything yet you can understand it. She is soon to set off to a new life and to brave a long road. When she reaches her destination, she will be a true queen. When you get there, you’ll still be a maid. 

“I’ll go to him tonight,” she says and raises her head, “yes, yes, I will go to him and try again.” She spins and smirks at her grand idea, “maid, I must find something to wear for him. Well, nothing very much,” she remarks coyly, “but I will need a robe. Yes, I saw a satin one in the queen’s closet.” She swallows and stands as straight as she can, “my closet.” 

You diligently cross the chamber and search the wardrobe. You find a white satin robe stitched with gold and silver. You turn to show the queen. She giggles and claps her hands. 

“Wine,” she says, “I must find some courage too.” 

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Uriel's subtle revenge

Past =-= Next

Author's note: y'all inspired me to make a Uriel Ventris chapter with the Serf Reader. I hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: A bit of Bully Cato, let me know if I need to add more.

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @bleedingichorhearts @kit-williams @barn-anon @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

Tagged: @i-am-a-dragon34 @egrets-not-regrets , @gra93fruit-blog

‘Sometimes,’ Uriel Thinks to himself as he carefully tracks down one particular Serf that comes from his planet of birth from a farming community near where he'd grown up, “I think Captain Sicarius believes His own hype a little too much.’

While the Captain of the Second company is an exceptional fighter with few who could match him in sword, bolter, and tactics. His personality was something that rubbed others the wrong way, like stroking a cat's fur the wrong way far too roughly.

He spots the Serf dutifully tending to their tasks, their hair pinned up and out of the way as they diligently clean the room. They look up and around, feeling eyes on them. They look into his eyes briefly before they look down and properly Bow to him, pausing their work.

“Greetings, Lord Angel,” They say with very care pronunciation.

Uriel remembers when he had Pasinius were young Aspirants and they’d been with a whole barracks full of boys within the acceptable age range from every planet within Ultramar and the teasing and mockery he and his oldest friend had gotten for their ‘hick planet accent’.

Your particular version of their shared accent is really adorable in his opinion. Even when you are trying to hide it, which is a shame in his opinion.

“Greetings Serf,” he says, allowing his Calthian accent to come through.

Their head shot up and they stared at him wide eyed for a moment. Recognizing their shared accent.

“I hear you come from a place near where I used to live,” Uriel continued. “Have the grox-cheeses in the deep caves aged into the wine-dark musk that I remember?”

“Yes, and the festival of cheese wheels happened a few months before I left, Lord Angel,” you reply, your accent thickening back to what it was before you'd come aboard the space ship.

You knew that The Angels of Ultramar are from all over the planets under the protective Custody of the Imperial Regent. But you hadn't realized that one of the farm boys of Calth had actually managed to become an Angel, from what you can read of his Armor, he's a Captain, which is somewhat high ranking. Although at least as far as you can tell, it is.

Uriel and you talk about the various festivals and celebrations that their towns share, to mark the seasons and other important Holidays and events that are celebrated either for local planetary things, or for more important Imperium wide events.

Uriel is regaling you about one of the times he had done the Space Cooper's-hill cheese rolling and wake, one Of the few that he'd participated in before becoming an Aspirant.

You had started to smile and giggle as Uriel was describing something when a voice called out, haughty, And annoyed, “tch, must you speak in such a low way Ventris?”

Uriel's smile only faded somewhat, but his eyes sharpen at the way that you were slightly edging away from the sharp, sour tones of Captain Sicarius.

Uriel allowed himself to glance towards the older Ultramarine, noticing the way he was fuming and scowling at the pair of them.

Uriel stopped himself from smirking a little bit as he realized just how Annoyed the noble-blooded Ultramarine was.

“Ah, Lassie,” Uriel drawls, thickening his accent further, glancing down at you with an innocuous smile,“th’ Cap is fair steam'd.”

“Speak. Properly,” Cato hisses at his annoying younger brother. “You are the Fourth Captain of the Ultramarines.”

Cato clenches his fists and relaxes them a couple of times. He had been going in this direction for a purpose, but what that way flew out of his head when he had heard and seen Uriel speaking with you.

And realizing one of the things is that had bugged him about you. That deeply annoyed him, throne-Cursed Ventris is also from Calth. And the little snot likes to use that accent, which no one but him and his fellow country Bumpkins can understand.

He is ignoring the fact that part of the reason he's so angry is that Ventris got you to smile and giggle at him. He should go to an Apothecary because one of his hearts had started hurting A little to see you look at a different Space Marine like that. Then the bizarre hurt turned into welcome and familiar rage.

“If you aren't doing anything important,” Cato barks at the pair of Calthians,”stop blocking the hallways and get back to work.”

You started to curl in on yourself As a hot flush of shame has your cheeks turning red. You had continued to work, albeit At a slower pace as you spoke and listened to Captain Sicarius's word.

“I think you need to dislodge your sword from your scrotum,” Ventris snarks at Cato.

Cato feels a vein start to throb in his forehead at the younger Captain’s Words." You and I need to go to the sparring ring. Now.”

“Gladly,” Uriel says, giving you a nod before following after an angrily stomping Cato.

He was glad he was able to speak with you for a little while. There aren't many fellow Calthians that go off planet.

[xxnghtclls]

Flickering Lights

Chapter 5 - Midnight Walk

Chapter 4 I Chapter 6

True Form Sukuna x Reader

NSFW I Explicit I Slow Burn

Infos and tags on Masterpost

Used music is linked in text.

-

The bass of your music makes your earphones vibrate, makes you feel confident, as you walk through the empty neighbourhood. The air grew cold, making you tug yourself even more into your jacket. The bright street lanterns shine upon your cap, causing only you and your shadow to walk these dark streets.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Not far from Shibuya crossing, you notice how the street grows busier. In the distance, you see red lights blinking and shining. 

It’s true. The police is still roaming around.

The pedestrian lights are red, as you finally reach the crossing. You pull down your headphones to listen to your surroundings. On the other side, you can see some policemen standing at the entrance of Shibuya train station. 

Probably because of him.

Pew. Pewpew. Pew. Pewpew.

The masses move and you walk, focusing on the station. The closer you get, the more you can see. It’s not closed, just heavily guarded. Everyone going in and out is being watched, making you ponder.

“Ok Mio.” you whisper. “What will it be?” 

Your heartbeat increases, as you ask yourself if you should hurry to the last train or let fate decide your night, before you peek on your phone.

23:43 p.m.

Another breath and another glance at the policemen, before you open your messenger app and tap on Mio’s chat.

[ Y/N ] At the station now. Police is still out, but everything’s fine 🙏

You send your message and hurry inside the station. It’s crowded. Even more than usual. You scan your ticket app and hurry to the stairs, but the people slow you down. 

Ping!

A new message on your phone, as you hear the last train arrive. Trying to get down the stairs, you gently shove some people out of the way. Wind blows through your hair, as you arrive at the platform. Looking left and right, you see that the whole train is full. Stepping back and forth, you watch how some people push themselves into the wagon, until there’s no room anymore. 

And then the doors close, leaving you and many others standing there with no ride home. You loudly exhale and pause, before you look at your phone.

[ Mio ] Good ❤️ Arrive safely, Peanut.

You bite on the corner of your lip, before putting your phone away and make your way out of the station. Up the street, going for Meiji Shrine.

Fate it is.

It’s Saturday, the shops are closed by now. The restaurants however, are still opened and people still walk the streets. Policemen are patrolling and multiple police cars and ambulances aggressively drive up the street, making you watch the red lights on top of the cars and how they blur in the distance.

What a view. 

After a short walk, you’re back at the Torii next to Harajuku Station. However, everything’s closed up, barrier-tape everywhere. Policemen are walking around, heavily armed and talking on their radio, some even eyeing you already. It makes you feel uneasy, makes you feel watched and anxiety spreads in your gut. You inhale deeply, fiddling with your sleeves, watching the barrier-tape sway in the breeze.

No fateful adventure for me without getting arrested, I suppose.

You huff at yourself and shake your head.

“Whatever.” you mumble, while turning to walk east. “Time to go home.”

What am I doing here anyway?

Walking further and further away from Meiji-Shrine, the surrounding area grows calmer with each step. Before you pass the corner into a emptier street, you turn around and look back. And you wonder if they really got him, shot him.

They probably did.

You keep walking.

Shot him on sight.

Walking backwards.

Killed the killer.

Tap. Tap.

That Strange-

Bam!

Your back harshly bumps into someone. 

Shit!

You freeze, thinking it might’ve been a Police officer, before you quickly turn around and bow your head.

“I’m sorry!” you apologise, before you recognise the sandals in front of your feet.

Badum.

The colour fades from your face and your heart sinks into your stomach, before you look up. Black Haori, tattoos, four arms and four eyes. Sprinkles and traces of blood are spread across his face, mask and hair. The Stranger eyes you up and down with an expression between disgust and surprise and only now you realise, that he’s at least two heads taller than you.

“You’re alive!” you blurt out under your breath, almost relieved.

His eyebrow twitches, but before he can react, headlights start to illuminate his face, making him look over your head. You turn around and see a car approaching, before you turn back to him- only to see that he’s gone.

What the fuck?

A short honk from the car behind you makes you jump and you step aside. You bow and make apologising gestures with your hand, as the car passes by. It was just a resident. And your heart picks up a beat.

Where is he?

You swallow, as you hurry to the next corner, looking right- nothing. Left-

There he is. 

Badum.

The Stranger in the black Haori, almost invisible in the darkness of this neighbourhood, is quietly walking down the street. And your feet want to move, but you hesitate.

He’s a murderer, you remind yourself. But, this force that keeps pulling you in and this bizarre curiosity dwelling inside of you is stronger than your sense of morality.

The need for change. The wish to flee your life. 

Let fate decide.

You take a deep breath, as you watch him walk. And slowly, you take a step. Then another, following him into the shadows of the night. Like a stray cat, you follow him. Watch how the streetlights from above paint him in shadows and light. How his feet move across the asphalt and how his Haori sways with every step. You keep your distance, watch how he would stop every now and then, before he decides to turn corners. Right. Then Left. How he would start to walk slower, then quicker.

And you wonder, if he knows that you follow him-

Ping!

Shit!

[ Mio ] Are you home??

Your eyes look at her message, then shoot back up to the Stranger. 

And you see how his eyes lock with yours for the split of a second, before he passes the next corner on the right side.

Badum.

He knows.

A strange feeling crawls into your chest. This feels dangerous, but not dangerous at the same time. 

If he wanted to, he would’ve killed me already… right?

Muting your phone on the switch, you put it away and check your environment for possible Policemen, before your feet start to tipple after him. Your heart starts racing, before you pass the corner and see- nothing. An empty street in front of your eyes. 

He’s gone. And you’re confused.

Your eyes search left and right for him, as you follow the street. Suddenly a small group of people is passing you by, chatting and chuckling.

They must be coming from Takeshita Street. 

You keep walking. It’s unlikely they saw him, considering how unbothered they were.

Wait-

If he’s heading to Takeshita Street, the Police will-

You pick up your pace, as your eyes still search for him. Passing the next corner, he’s still not there. No Stranger, no Police, no other people. 

And you keep searching, hurry and pass the following corner, before you walk down a couple of stairs that lead into a narrow street. You walk slowly and stop, as you see a pitch black alley to your right. An alley that leads towards Takeshita Street-

“Not a place for a woman to walk alone at night…” a deep, but oddly familiar voice suddenly purrs against your ear from behind. “Isn’t it?” 

The tone of his voice and the subtle breaths of air against your skin gives you chills, before you’re yanked backwards by the collar of your jacket. Your breath is stuck in your throat, as you stumble and see the Stranger glare at you with his crimson orbs, before walking past you into the darkness. However, your hand is quicker than your mind and you grab his Haori.

“Wait!” you whisper urgently and tug at the fabric, making him stop in his tracks and turn back to you, revealing his bloodstained torso and lower arms, that are crossed in front of his chest. And your eyes widen at the countless traces of blood on his body.

His gaze follows a trail starting from his Haori, over to your hands and up to your face, before he lifts his chin.

“How offensive.” he glares and sneers and doesn’t hesitate to raise his right hand, two fingers ready to-

“Don’t walk through that alley!“ you interrupt him with fear in your bones, your eyes dancing back and forth between his hand and his eyes, as you recognise his gesture from earlier. “Not if you want to get caught.”

And he huffs, changing his demeanour in a second.

“Is that your concern?” he coos with a slight grin on his lips, squinting his eyes. His fingers twitch and before you know, the brim of your cap suddenly falls off, cleanly cut, and lands against your feet.

If you loose your head, don’t blame it on me, Mio’s words echo in your mind and you freeze. Your heart is racing, being face to face with the one who could slice you up just like that and without warning. 

This feeling… This thrill…

Like a dose of cocaine running through your blood. Just… better.

You swallow and open your mouth, but can’t speak. Instead, you just stare back at him. Think of how he stepped into your world and can’t help to feel fascinated by him and his appearance. Wonder who he is and where he came from. Want to know him. 

You focus on the drops and smears of blood on his skin and face, how they are glistening in the light of the lantern behind you and you ask yourself, if the man in the shrine was his only victim.

“W-Who are you?” you manage to breathe.

And he looses his grin, eyeing you up and down. His gaze making you feel like you’re an insect that’s crawling upon his lap, begging for attention. 

Degrading.  

“You’re a waste of time.” he yanks the fabric out of your hands. “How embarrassing.” he utters under his breath, before he turns and makes his way back into the darkness. Your heart sinks at his words, knowing your adventure wasn’t an adventure to last.

At least I’m still alive.

But his words make you feel like giving up, make you feel anxious to push your luck. Picking up the piece of your sliced cap and turning on your heels, you walk back and pass around the corner, before you stop. You let out a deep sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

How embarrassing, he said.

You swallow and continue to walk back to the main street, while putting your cut cap into your bag.

A waste of time…

You gnaw at his words, before your vision gets coated in bright light.

Fwop Fwop Fwop Fwop Fwop

The sound of a helicopter grows loud above your head. The rotors make the bushes sway and your hair dance in the wind. Its headlights shine through the streets not far in front of you, searching the area. Your heart picks up a beat and you watch how the helicopter flies above your head, carefully lighting every corner of the street.

“Emergency! Everyone is urged to leave the streets and return to their home!” they loudly announce through speakers. It echoes through the whole neighbourhood and something in you churns.

What on earth has he done?

You decide to follow the main road to Takeshita Street. Less and less people are outside now. The last ones are hurrying down the street in order to get home. Three policemen are patrolling, walking down from Meiji Shrine, but other than that it seems calm, if it weren’t for the constant police sirens in the background and now the fluttering helicopter in the air.

You walk down the shopping street, until you approach the pedestrian light. Right next to the lights, you see a street-sign for Tōgō-Shrine, which is located right around the corner.

Tōgō-Shrine… Shrine… Shrine…

Wait.

“He went to Meji-Shrine.” you whisper. “What if-?”

An idea sparks in your mind and you hurry up the street to your left. 

Just this last detour.

One glance left and right, checking for Police, before you’re quick to walk through the Torii-Gate, as you suddenly hear radio-chatter coming up behind you. 

Shit!

Quickly, you follow the path along the pond that’s leading up to Tōgō-Shrine, trying to be as quiet as possible. 

“All clear.” you hear in the distance and you’re relieved, as you quietly hurry up the way.

Hidden behind trees and bushes, you slowly approach the stairs that lead to the other end of the path. Crouching down, you hide and wait a second. 

Seems calm.

“Mhm.” you ponder, while you look at the Shrine’s area across the street. 

The doors are closed.

The lantern that’s sitting right next to the entrance flickers gently. And you hum at the familiar sight. Watching the light, you faintly notice a slimy, four legged creature slowly crawl up the hood of the lantern. You stare, watch how the light shimmers under it’s figure and how it’s countless eyes are glistening in the light. You wonder if it’s a sign, wonder if he’s here-

And if he is, why?

For the last time, you scan your surroundings, before you walk over the street, keeping an eye on the creature that’s sitting on the lantern. Your eyes wander to the closed gate of the shrine, before you hear a buzzing sound. 

BzzZZZzzzZz-fwp

The giant fly from last night lands on the roof above the gates and starts to rub its front legs. You frown in suspicion, since it’s the second time you see it, but decide to ignore it, before you look at the Chōzuya. It’s lit up by a lamp under the pavilion and the water is running calmly through the bamboo pipes- until it isn’t.

A soft breeze flows through your hair, as suddenly the ground starts to rumble and the pipes start to jitter. The water in the basin starts to vibrate. You hold your breath at the sudden movement.

He’s here.

You take a step further to the closed gate of the shrine, before you hear the water splash and move even more. Turning back to the basin, you notice how the water is bubbling up at the left corner. And you look closer, but you can’t see anything other than the bursting and bubbling water in front of your face. You touch the rim of the basin, feel the vibrations on your skin and suddenly the water calms down. 

In an instant, the water’s surface is flat again, gently rippling through the calm bamboo pipes. The clear surface allows you to see something small, something metallic. It shimmers against the light.

A coin. Not looking like a usual Yen. It looks old, ancient even.

Gently, you reach into the water to pick it up. The metal feels hot against your skin, despite being submerged the cold water. It looks hand forged, the edges uneven, with a hole in the middle. You take it out the water and muster it, move it below the light and see whole centuries of marks and scratches carved into the metal.

It’s beautiful.

Your sight is coated in blinking red lights, as a police-car slowly drives the road up behind you, making your heart drop into your feet. 

Fuck!

Quickly, you stuff the coin into your pocket, quietly turn to the car and watch how it stops in front of you. Two officers step out.

“Excuse me!” one of them calls, making you anxious, as they approach you. “There has been a serious homicidal incident in Meiji Shrine this afternoon. The killer is still roaming around in Shibuya.”

“What? Oh my god!” you act dumb and horrified, covering your mouth with your hand.

“It’s very dangerous to walk these streets at this moment! You should’ve been notified by the air force already. It is important that you go home immediately!“ the other officer urges you.

“Of course, of course! I was on my way home and passing the shrine, until I noticed some noises in the water here.” you lie, pointing to the Chōzuya and the officers eyes follow your hand. “But it was only a little bird taking a bath. It flew away, as soon as I approached.”

“This individual is very dangerous!” one says sternly, while taking his phone and showing you a picture that an eyewitness must’ve taken during the Meiji Shrine incident. “Any chance that you have seen him?” 

It’s him. Undeniably him. 

And you can’t help but wonder, if he’s listening to this conversation, watching you and those officers. You’re sure he’s here somewhere.

“No.” another lie. “I haven’t.”

“Alright. Please, leave the streets as quick as you can!” the officer urges you, while taking a look at his watch. “If you see something suspicious, please contact us!”

“Of course! Please excuse the inconvenience I caused you!” you bow your head. “Thank you for your duty!” you continue, before turning on your heels and tipple back to the main street.

Relief spreads in your gut to have dodged this situation. You feel lucky not to have been arrested. Sometimes you might not know what’s gonna happen in an emergency like this, especially not when you break the rules.

Time to go home, I guess.

You walk and walk, as you remember how the Stranger was reaching for the Saisen-bako at Meiji-Shrine. The box where people usually offer their money, coins, to the gods and now you found this ancient looking one. Vibrating, making the water dance with its energy. Unusual and unique. Just another extraordinary thing adding to the recent events. Reaching for the coin in your pocket, you take another look. It’s still warm against your skin and fascinating in its nature. You look at it closely for a while, wonder if this coin has something to do with him, before you put it back in your pocket and take your phone out.

02:09 a.m.

24 missed calls from Mio

4 unread messages from Mio

“Sssshhhiiit!” you curse under your breath and start to sweat in panic, as you remember how you muted your phone earlier, without replying to Mio. With a pounding heart, you open your messages.

[ Mio ] Are you home??

[ Mio ] Girl??!

[ Mio ] Y/N I’m worried! Please text or call.

[ Mio ] I’m gonna call the Police.

“Not the Police, Mio, please!!” you beg with jittering breath, as you pick up your pace and start to type your apology.

[ Y/N ] I’m so sorry!! I arrived home with no battery and plugged it in while taking a shower and then fell asleep. I’m fine!

[ Y/N ] Did you really call the Police??

She replies in an instant.

[ Mio ] Y/N!! 

[ Mio ] Yes

[ Mio ] I almost had a panic attack

[ Y/N ] Noo! I’m so sorry Mio! 😭😭 

[ Mio ] They said they’re not sure when they can check on you since you’re in Akasaka and all forces are busy in Shibuya but they will send someone as soon as possible.

Fuck!

Zschk Zing!

You finally unlock and rush through your front door, while stumbling out of your shoes, hang up your jacket and hurry out of your clothes. Climbing up the ladder to your bed, you pull your Pyjamas out of the sheets and put them on. A simple white shirt and loose pants with an imprint of little cartoon cats. Back down on the ground you throw your hair over your head and ruffle through them, just in case you need to look like you got fresh out of bed if someone knocks.

And finally, you sink into the chair at your little kitchentable and bury your face into your hands.

“She called the police.” you whisper to yourself, as you slowly shake your head, before your stomach calls you, reminding you that your last meal was many hours ago. And it wasn’t very nutritious either. 

Sigh.

Getting up again, you shuffle to your fridge and open it. Except some bottles of water and a single pricy pack of ready-to-eat Ramen from La Familia, there’s nothing you can choose from. You grab the Ramen and stuff the package into the microwave that’s sitting on the top of your fridge, before closing the lid and setting the timer.

Fwwwwwwwwwww

The microwave starts heating and you sit down again, tapping on your phone.

02:58 a.m.

“They’re not gonna check on me tonight, are they?” you mumble, as you feel your eyes growing tired and heavy, before you type another message.

[ Y/N ] Can you please call them and tell them it’s fine?

[ Y/N ] I don’t wanna sleep knowing there could be someone knocking me awake any second-

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You squeak, as you jump in your seat and, letting the phone fall on the table.

Silence. 

Weird, you think, as you frown in suspicion.

Police usually announces themselves.

After another second of silence, it knocks again.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Hello?” you finally call.

No answer.

You grow anxious and quietly get up to walk to your door.

Brrrr Brrrrr

A message on your phone, but you ignore it, as you lean forward and look through the peephole. And your eyes grow wide at what you see.

What the fuck?

[thelittleangel]

Cowboys are frequently (secretly) fond of each other.

Tags: Dean Winchester x Cowboy! Reader, fluff, flirting, male reader, soft romance.

Warnings: possibly OOC, no use of Y/N, implied violence toward an animal, references to “taking someone home” (I’ll let you interpret that how you want.), romantic-ish interactions between dean and reader toward the end.

Taglist: @agroovygoose @pumpkinhead666

Walking into the bar, I see heads raise.  I try not to pay them any mind.  I know what kind of impression I give off.  I’m tall, shaggy hair that barely kisses my shoulders, dressed like I just wandered off the set of a Clint Eastwood movie.

I know what kind of expectations I'm supposed to fulfill.  People look at me and they see a cowboy.  A man’s man.  A straight man.

I shake my head, trying to rid myself of that entire train of thought.  My dad taught me that if this was the way I was going to live my life, I needed to stop worrying about what others thought of me.  I walk over to the bar and order a beer.  The bartender hands me a frosty bottle.  I put my ring under the cap, tilt the bottle and push.  The cap pops off and I take a swig.  I put my beer on the bar, wrapping my hands around it like it’s a mug of hot coffee.  I look around the bar, watching the people.  

It’s a habit I picked up.  Me and my dad would go to a bar, and he’d order me a Coke and point out all the small details that a quick glance couldn’t catch.  

The woman at the bar had just been divorced, the tan line on her ring finger.  The couple in the booth are cheating on each other, seen by the way they sit.  The man at his table is waiting for his friend, he’s fallen madly in love with him.  

I smile for a moment.  It’s been a few years, but I'm out.  My dad didn’t like that I wanted to leave, but he’d understood.  I got an honest job working at a ranch.  The hours were long, and the work was hard, but I felt like it was a job I could be proud of.

The doorbell rang and a gust of summer air blew into the bar.  I look over at the door.  In walks the most stunning man I've ever seen.  

He was dressed in a suit, with brown hair that almost looked like gold in this light.  Eyes that may have been green, but I couldn't tell from this far away.  Freckles and stubble decorated his face in a way that complemented each other.  

I clear my throat and look away.  A man in a bar like this dressed like that was here for a girl.  But, no.  His posture suggested he was here on business.  

I turn back to my beer.  I didn't need to find a man to glance at for the rest of the night.  I look down at my drink, trying to clear my head.  I sit like that for a moment, savoring my beer.  Someone settles into the seat beside me.  I look over, and he’s smiling back at me.  

My face burns hot, and I hope that the lights are dim enough that he can’t see me.  I turn back to my beer.  I hear him order a drink, his voice strong and deep.  He turns back to me, beer in hand.

“You’re ____, right?”  Dear god, how does he know my name?

“Special Agent Hammett, FBI.”  oh. That explains it.

“Yeah, I am.  Why do you ask?”

“We’re investigating the cattle deaths that are happening at your ranch and we wanted to know if you’ve seen anything strange.”

“Strange?”

“Cold spots, weird smells, crop failures…”

“No, just the cows.”

“And what would you say happened?”

“I just… went into work one day and there was a bull ripped to shreds.”

He nods.  “Could I see it?”

The next day, I was showing Agent Hammet onto the ranch.  The way the sun hit his eyes was one of the most beautiful things I've seen.  Like seeing the way the light hits the trees for the first time.  I look away.  I need to focus on why we’re here.

I led him toward the barn.  Inside a cooler, the bull’s body was resting.  The agent pulled on some gloves and started looking through the body.  I look away from the corpse and try to suppress the urge to vomit.

Eventually, he pulls out a small tooth.  Small and pointed, it was very scary looking.  “It looks like a fang…” He turns to me.  “Is there anything that lives around here that might leave something like this?”

I shake my head. “No, not that I know of.”  He puts the tooth into a tiny bag and pockets it.  

He looks up at me, and he must see the sick look on my face, because he stands up and says, “Let me buy you a drink.”  We both climbed into his car, a nice-looking thing.

“I can’t believe the FBI lets you drive this car around.”  He just smiles, still looking at the road.  “They do.”

I shake my head, a goofy grin stretched onto my face. “I don’t know, seems a little conspicuous.”

“You’d be surprised.”  I looked over at him.  His smile is gone, looking at the road lost in the thought.  When I look at him, I just want to reach over and-

I look out at the road.  I can’t entertain that thought.  I refuse to.  I glance over and I find him looking at me.  He turns his eyes back to the road.  

Eventually, we found our way back to the bar.  Walking inside, it was deserted.  We chose the same seats we picked last time.  Ordered the same drinks.  We settled in, sitting in silence for the longest time.  It's not uncomfortable, just quiet.  

He watches me.  I can feel his eyes in all of their silent intensity.  I want to look back at him, but I know if I do, he’ll break his gaze.  “So, what do you make of this, cowboy?”  I laugh to myself.  “What?”  

I finally look back at him.  “The last person who called me cowboy, I ended up taking home with me.”  

He gives me a soft smile.  “Who says I wouldn't want to go home with you?”

I look away, my eyes wide.  My face is a bright burning red.  He throws his head back and laughs.  I put my face in my hands, trying to make my face normal again.  He places a hand on my back, and I startle.  I groan to myself.  Jesus Christ, this man is making me act like a teenage girl.

I look over at him and he’s still watching me.  We fall into another silence, this one not uncomfortable like the last.  Peaceful, like the answer to everything was in each other’s eyes.  He reaches over and tucks a few stray hairs behind my ears.  My breathing began to slow, my heartbeat decreasing.  

I slowly place my hand on his face.  A few of my fingers gently touched his jaw.  I watch his eyes dart around my face, maybe doing the same thing I did last night.  Searching for micro expressions, any type of indicator that this was too good to be true.  I realized something.  

I pull my hand away from his face.  “Are you...?”

His brow furrowed in confusion.  “Am I what?”

“Are you a hunter?”

His eyes widened for a moment.  His chest begins to go up and down a little bit more.  He was breathing heavily.  I’d caught him.

“How do you know what hunters are?”  

I look up and watch as my father enters the bar.

“We have a lot to talk about.”

Part 2

[beefrobeefcal]

Beefro's Annual Report 2024

I have been tagged countless times regarding a recap and/or what I was thankful for by so many wonderful friendos - but I'll give credit to @jolapeno for kicking us off.

This time last year, there were only 400 of you following me while I wrote my silly little stories. I had no idea how the year would go, from coming close to deleting everything to finding a community of people and friends who I now count as irl besties. I changed up the content I write and have explored all sorts of new things with the love and support of all you.

I love you all so very much. Here's to keeping one another afloat and warm in 2025,

Beefro👌🥩💜

Below are the fics, posters and things that I am very proud of from 2024 (masterlist can be found here).

One Shots:

Purpose: I know, I know... I have hooted and tooted about this fic before, but I really loved this so much. The fact that @perotovar loved it also makes this extra sweet. I know I am not known for seriousness and such, but I loved the experience.

like a cigar: I love this one for many reasons but chief among them is the brainstorming with @noxturnalnymph and @strang3lov3 that brought it to life. That evening will stay with me from now until the day I yeet from this mortal coil and I love you both so very much.

what the hell is wrong with tim: A vanity project that sat in my wips for 5 months. I started it because I wanted @pedroscouts badges for 'Sex Pollen' and 'Tim Rockford'. Then all hell broke loose and in to the wip bin Tim went. I finally dug him out and plugged away at it and the end result is one I am proud of. I worked hard for Tim... and all he got was pussy-fluid induced conjunctivitis and an eyepatch.

Shorties:

For the Stars: This one was brought about for my beloved Deedle @bitchesuntitled - she has worked hard on her sobriety, then wisely and bravely chose to celebrate it with her community. I was honored to get to take part in this celebration.

Ezra Goes to Church: @toxicanonymity knew what we needed during the summer and brought about the Manspread Olympics. This shortie, sitting at 350 words, has brought me so much joy. A titan's girth in so few words.

Series:

There are Other Fish in the Sea: This one came from a deep place of ouch. I had found a community on here who enjoyed the same things I did and it blew up in my face bc some people cannot play nice in the sand box. I still remember sending this idea to a beloved moot and their response was "I'm sorry, what are you going to do to Frankie & Mouse???" It was cathartic and a blow out way to change direction and I love Ezra.

the BEEF: I know there is only one fic in this anthology series so far, but I love the concept for it so much (thanks to @covetyou). The grumpy old neighbour Joel that kicked it off really allowed me to be as unhinged and horny as I wanted and my love for him is eternal.

Posters:

This year, I took up making posters for my wips and fics to boost my moral in writing. It helped! Below are the ones that have really made me fluff my feather in my cap (some are still wips).

Things:

Monthly Prompt Challenge: In a bid to share my ideas and thots, I started this in September. So far, no one has told me to stop and I very much enjoy do this!

beef Art: This year, I had Canva introduced to me and I have never looked back. You can see some of the horrible things I have created here.

Community: I have been most fortunate to have been welcomed and held by some extremely fabulous folks on here. There are so many of you, from the casual reblogger to the routine ask dropper (@deathsholywaterr, looking at you 💋) to the beta fish (@weregirlbyknight) to the shy nonnies... and to my beloveds who's usernames/pics made my heart warm, all of you keep this beef smiling. Thank you.

tagging bc you're a repeat offender in my heart:

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@wordywarriorwrites @ace-turned-confused @studioghibelli @bluecookies-and-ink @evolnoomym

@covetyou

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 14 Prompt: Airport and/or Bar

Tags: Established Relationship, Airport Pick Ups, Supportive Wayne Munson, Idiots In Love

wc: 1796 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Long distance isn’t the relationship Steve and Eddie had dreamed they had when they finally confessed their love together in the Spring of ’88, but they’ve been making it work for years now.

As far as Steve’s concerned they are experts at it now.

They talk every night. Steve from his bedroom in the apartment he shares with Robin in San Francisco, Eddie from his own bedroom in the house he lives in with Wayne two towns over from Hawkins.

Steve tells Eddie about his long days at the office, the responsibilities he’s been shouldered with now that he’s earned his father’s trust to run the West Coast branch of the organization by himself. A feat Steve didn’t even know he wanted until he finally sat down with his father years ago to learn what the man did.

Eddie listens tentatively and returns the favor with his own stories of the day. Life at the plant alongside Wayne isn’t his dream, but it's a steady job that pays the bills. Besides, he likes being near Wayne. Can’t imagine a world where he’s not a hop, skip, and a jump away from the old man who quite literally saved his life more than once.

It’s not like they wanted to create professional lives thousands of miles apart from each other, but it's the cards they’ve been dealt. Sure, they’d love to be under the same roof for more than a week at a time, but they make it work. The real truth is that they’re both too afraid to make the other sacrifice all they’ve built for the other. Resentment is a relationship killer and neither is ready to jeopardize the cozy relationship they’ve built.

So, they make do.

Steve visits often, a perk of being the boss of his branch. Occasionally, he writes them off as business trips and checks in on the Midwest branch while he’s in town. Other times he uses his sick days and vacation days to make the trip out to Indiana.

Every time he flies into the Indianapolis International Airport, Eddie is waiting for him at the end of the jet bridge. The first time, he was decked out in a suit a size too small. A chauffeur cap askew on his head and a handwritten sign with “S. Harrington” scrawled across it that he had leaned on a luggage cart like all the other private chauffeurs waiting for their clients. Steve couldn’t help but burst into laughter the moment he saw him, running to Eddie and giving him a hug that the rest of the passengers side-eyeing them — not because they were two men, but because it was one hell of a greeting for a paid chauffeur.

From that moment on, Eddie committed to the airport greeting bit. The next time Steve flew to Eddie, he was greeted with a giant sign that read “Congrats! You survived prison!” A few times after that, Eddie was standing there with a bouquet of blue balloons and a banner that said “It’s a Boy!” There was the time he pretended Steve was his cheating boyfriend and had a total meltdown at the gate only to leave with Steve hand-in-hand three minutes later. And he can’t forget about the time he roped Dustin and the rest of the kids into making the trip, the lot of them waiting for Steve at the gate with various signs claiming to be his long-lost children.

Aside from getting to spend time with Eddie, his airport arrivals were always the highlight of the trip. He knows Eddie gets a kick out of the theatrics, but there’s a part of him deep down that wishes he could be on the receiving end of the airport shenanigans at least once. Unfortunately, Steve has yet to repay the favor since he’s usually the one making the trip out to Indy.

All that’s about to change though, because after years of asking, he’s finally convinced Eddie and Wayne to take their holiday vacation and come spend Christmas with him and Robin in sunny California.

Which means one thing: It’s Steve's turn to create an epic airport arrival sign.

“How am I supposed to top any of these?” Steve asks, sifting through the hoard of airport signs he’s kept over the years. A beautiful tapestry of their chaotic relationship.

“I don’t think Eddie can be topped,” Robin says, searching through her own stack of neon poster boards.

“I mean…”

“Do not finish that sentence.”

Steve throws his hands up in defense, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his laughter at bay. The last thing he needs is to upset Robin before they come up with a sign idea.

Sighing, Steve lets his head thunk against the mountain of signs. It’s no surprise Eddie is the more creative one of their relationship, but he feels bad he can’t come up with anything even remotely as good as the signs Eddie’s been creating for years.

“Look, Steve,” Robin says, patting his back. “You’re never going to outdo Eddie. He’s theatrical at his core. He lives for being a menace. Stop trying to channel him and channel yourself instead.”

“Is this your way of telling me you find me boring?” he asks, gazing up at her.

“No, dingus! I’m just saying, channel that Romeo side I know is in there,” she says, thrusting her finger into Steve’s chest. “Be sappy. Eddie’ll appreciate it.”

In the end, Steve takes Robin’s advice. He cuts a fluorescent green poster board into a wonky heart — one side longer than the other. Tries three separate times to get “Welcome Home” centered in the middle before he gives up and freehand it. And then, for extra flair, he uses a bottle and a half go glitter glue on the whole thing. They’re going to be finding specks of glitter for weeks, but he thinks it’ll be worth it.

According to the signs, Eddie and Wayne’s flight has already landed and is en route to the gate. Steve stands nervously by the sky gate exit. The sign is still folded in half, wrinkled at the edges from how much he’s fidgeting with it. He had no idea how nerve-wracking it is being on this side of things. It’s silly really. He knows Eddie is going to be happy to see him, sign or no sign, but he can’t help but be a little on edge.

Thankfully, the doors open and a flood of travelers start disembarking from the plane. Steve stands on his top-toes, scanning the tired faces in search of Eddie and Wayne. As the crowd thins out, Steve starts to worry. Maybe they changed their minds? Maybe they missed the flight. Maybe he’s at the wrong gate?

Shit, what if he’s at the wrong gate?

A glance up at the digital sign above the exit, confirms that Steve is in the right place. He breathes a sigh of relief before he goes back to scanning. They have to be coming out soon, he thinks, and starts to unfold the sign. He holds it low, clutched over his chest until he spots a familiar head of unruly curls.

Hoisting it over his head, he shouts, “Eds!”

Eddie’s head whips around at the sound of his voice, eyes shining when he spots him in the thinning crowd. Steve has all of five seconds to brace himself before Eddie launches himself into his arms, crushing the sign between their bodies.

It’s not uncommon for the two of them to hug when they reunite at the airport, but this feels different. Eddie’s arms are tighter around his neck and he’s pretty sure he can hear him sniffling, body slightly shaking in his grasp.

“Eds?” Steve whispers into the mess of curls. “You okay?”

Eddie nods, slowly peeling himself away from Steve. With a little bit of space between them, Steve watches as Eddie’s eyes glance between the smushed sign and Steve’s eyes. Back and forth, back and forth.

Shit, is it too much?

“Really?” Eddie sniffles, using the sleeve of his sweater to wipe away a tear. “You want this to be our home? Together?”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Steve certainly hadn’t planned for that. Sure, he’s secretly been hoping that the trip out here would get Eddie and to a lesser extent Wayne to realize how great the city is and finally bite the bullet and move out here. Start the mechanic shop they’ve been planing for years. But Steve knew better than to set expectations too high. He’d never ask Eddie to move for him, just like Eddie would never ask Steve to move back for him.

But now, seeing Eddie smiling, eyes glassy with tears. Well, shit, maybe he should have asked him.

“Wait, you want to move in with me?”

“Sweetheart. I’ve wanted to live with you since the moment we said I love you on the Henderson’s porch.”

It’s not news to Steve, per se. They’ve talked at length about what living together would be like; especially in those early days when their relationship was in that blissful honeymoon phase. Still, the words come as a shock to Steve who stumbles out of Eddie’s grasp for a moment.

Running a shaking hand through his hair, he locks eyes with Eddie. “Why the hell have we been doing long distance for a decade?” he laughs, yanking Eddie back into his arms.

“I thought you weren’t ready! I didn’t want to pressure you.”

“Baby,” Steve breathes. He can’t believe this. Have they seriously been suffering in silence for years for nothing? Christ, they’re idiots. “Of course, I want to live with you! I just didn’t want to make you move.”

“Jesus Christ,” Wayne grumbles, shaking his head. He stumbles his way towards them, throwing a hand on both of their shoulders. “You two are idiots, you know that? Told ya both you needed to communicate what ya wanted!” He rolls his eyes, shoving them both. “Could’ve been livin’ in the sunshine instead of snowy Indiana for years now.”

“Hey, who said anything about you moving with us?” Eddie asks, tearing his eyes away from Steve to stare at his Uncle.

“Hate to break it to you, boy. But wherever you go, I go. S’the Munson rule.”

Steve can’t help but laugh as he pulls both of them in for a hug before ushering them through the bustling airport. They fetch their bags and make it safely into his car before they’re on the way. As he pulls away from the San Francisco Airport, Eddie immediately reaches for the car radio.

Before he has a chance to change the channel, the crooning voice of Perry Como starts singing “(There’s No Place Like) Home for the Holidays.”

[madschiavelique]

GOD I AM SO FERAL FOR SUB!READER W/ MIGUEL AND PETER (im so sorry for the all caps its how I show my enthusiasm 😭😭) but I rlly wanna see the yandere hcs ,,

SO AM I BESTIE SO AM I

headcanon : yandere!miguel o'hara x reader x yandere!peter b parker content warnings : yandere content, mention of violence (miguel and peter killing torturing and killing someone), reader being injured, peter and miguel are really manipulative in this, genderneutral!reader, no use of Y/N word count : 1,4k tag list : @fandom-ash

firstly, they'd had their eye on you for some time now

you were a much-loved spider, and everywhere you went people were smiling and complimenting you, not so much for what you did as a spider, but because you had such a delightful personality

you'd only recently made your debut with the Spider Society, and Peter and Miguel in turn seemed to slowly fall under your spell

peter came to see you regularly to check up on you, and Miguel called you more often to get more details about your reports

then one day Miguel started keeping a tab open on the side of his business activities with your locations backed up by surveillance cameras

obtaining a watch for you had turned out to be the quickest watch delegation in Spider Socety's history

the attraction they felt for you was becoming far too great to ignore, even for the workaholic Miguel, who thinks of nothing else but the maintenance and balance of the universe

peter had been following you around the society from higher up, and one day he noticed something that he immediately reported to Miguel: you were starting to see another spider on a regular basis.

he was such a lesser guy than Miguel and Peter that they wondered how you could have even crossed his path

you started greeting him every day, laughing with him, joking around, and they watched from afar

well, as long as you were just friends, there shouldn't be any problem, right?

but just as Peter was coming to eat with you in the cafeteria, the notorious undesirable individual showed up and sat down next to you.

too close, Peter thought. How could you smile at him, laugh at his jokes?

and what he saw made his jaw clench: the spider's hand caressed your cheek

how could he breathe the same air as you?

miguel had obviously seen the whole scene from the security screens, and he'd nearly smashed one of the desks

the next day, when you ventured to the cafeteria as usual, you didn't find your spider in your usual spot

strange, he never failed to find you here, but instead you found Miguel and Peter, coming to sit with them.

when you asked them if they'd seen him, they replied that he had some business in his own reality that required him to stay away from the Society for a while

of course, they would never tell you how slow and painful his death had been

as the months passed, you inevitably grew closer to Miguel and Peter. Since they were gradually pushing every one of your friends and acquaintances away from you, they were the only ones left.

you visited them more frequently, sometimes just keeping them company while they took care of reports.

you had become an inseparable trio, and not a day went by when you weren't with them.

in fact, they started gaining new habits such like showering you with gifts

everything they do to make sure you're comfortable enough to never ever think of leaving them is pretty amazing

(as if you had a choice to leave anyway)

saw a new cute little top that you like? already yours

it was almost uncanny how much they observed the details in your behavior

sometimes you'd simply walk past something, your gaze lingering on it for a few seconds longer than you'd normally wear it out, and the same day you'd find yourself with it in your hands

because let's be honest, they're extremely rich.

The technological advances Miguel had brought to the entire dimension had made him rich for the rest of his life and beyond, so he had no worries about covering you in anything you wanted.

and as for Peter, you weren't sure how he managed it, but what you were sure of was that he, too, had no financial worries

they were becoming a little more tactile too

peter took your hand in his, caressing your back and cheek gently, while Miguel had got into the habit of having you sit against him while he worked

your whole day consisted of keeping them company, but you had duties as a citizen of the Society

however, since they ran the Society, they could change the rules just for you right ?

it had started slowly, with them preventing you from going on missions and putting other spiders on the job

but your spider instincts soon kicked in, and you insisted on going on the mission

so they had a silent agreement that their eyes exchanged and managed to find an anomaly that was far too tough, sending you out in its dimension, alone, supervising you with the security screens

the anomaly was horrible, far too fast for you, far too powerful, far too cruel. It wounded you with terrible ease, while you struggled to even scratch it.

you found yourself in a corner, at the mercy of the anomaly, and of course, absolute fear gripped you along with the panic of not getting out of there

you screamed repeatedly for them to come and get you, as the anomaly was closing in fast, but they needed you to understand. you were completely weakened and scared you'd never be able to finish this fight, tears streaming down your cheeks as you called out to them, and they finally arrived.

they quickly took care of the anomaly, then came back to you, sobbing and shaking in the corner. they took you in their arms, cuddling you gently, whispering "now you see why we don't want to send you on a mission? it's far too dangerous, do you understand?"

you had to go through a painful little lesson to realize how much you needed them, didn't you?

they took you back to the infirmary, where they remained at your bedside until your recovery was complete

since then, you've never been on a mission again

you were a little bit too traumatized by the experience, and they'd managed to make sure that they were the only people you could turn to in case of trouble

so they offered to let you live in their apartment so they could be ready to provide for your every need, which you accepted. and on the very day of the offer, you moved in with them - they'd already had a room ready for you about a month before

it wasn't long before the three of you were growing closer together - which is, of course, somewhat inevitable when three people live together

the looks Miguel and Peter sometimes shared when they saw you were full of pride and mischief

they frequently exchanged them. when you'd come out of the shower for instance, when they'd deliberately remove your clothes from the bathroom while you were showering to see you dressed only with a towel to look for clothes - it always ended up with Miguel and Peter making you wear clothes of their choice

soon enough, you were an official trouple

from then on, you'd always have something on you to show that you belonged together: a necklace, a bracelet, you'd wear one of their t-shirts-

speaking of which, the first time they saw you wearing one of their T-shirts, they froze in their tracks while you simply went about your life in the apartment

you didn't go out for a week after that. the reason? there were several, such as the fact that, obviously, as beautiful as you were in their clothes, they couldn't allow anyone but themselves to see you like that, but also, and above all, because you hadn't been able to walk properly all week...

once you'd had the misfortune to go out without telling them, just to buy ingredients for cookies to make them a treat, and they'd moved heaven and earth to find you until you came home like a flower.

you'd been badly scolded. what if something had happened to you and they hadn't been able to get there in time to help? what if someone came to you and asked you to do a job for them that you couldn't refuse? What if someone was mean to you?

their anger had frightened you terribly, and you'd ended up in tears

they took you in their arms, reassuring you, comforting you and making you promise never to do anything like that again

it was from that moment on that your restrictions on going out were tightened. you couldn't go out without the company of one of them, and if you wanted to go out alone, Lyla was there to watch your every move.

one thing was certain: they were loving and soft, as long as you obeyed them

[multifandomfix]

A Necessary Secret — Susie Myerson

Summary: Though you’re married, you carry on a relationship with Susie in secret. She wants you to leave him, but staying with your husband is the one thing that’s protecting her.

Word Count: 1,204

Tags: Angst, some fluff

Susie always leaves her boots by the door like she lives here. You’ve told her not to, your husband notices these things, the mud left behind, even if he acts like he doesn’t care what goes on in your world. But she still does it. It’s her quiet way of saying: I was here. I matter. Whether your husband sees it or not.

You stand at the window as dusk falls over the city, the lights blinking on in windows both near and far. Behind you, you can hear her shuffling around your living room, one of her nervous tics, not wanting to sit still. She doesn’t like your place, but she comes anyway, because it’s the only place you’ll let her have you.

And she does have you. In every way that matters. Except the one she wants most.

“You could leave him,” Susie says. Her voice is sharp, but not unkind. She never manages to be unkind with you, even when she tries.

You don’t answer. You just look down at the sidewalk below, watch the suits and skirts rush home to their families, or to their own secrets perhaps.

“I’m serious,” Susie reiterated, her footsteps coming closer. “You could. You should.”

You turn slowly, arms folded across your chest. She’s in her usual uniform of slacks, suspenders, cap currently half tucked into her back pocket. You in your nice, expensive dress. She looks like she’s ready to run the moment someone tries to tell her she doesn’t belong. But she does belong. With you. In this home. Even if it’s on borrowed time, even if it’s half a lie.

“I can’t,” you say. “Not now.”

Susie scoffs, bitter, low. “It’s always not now. You know how long I’ve been hearing that? Two years. Two whole damn years.”

Your jaw tightens, but you say nothing. What is there to say that she doesn’t already know?

“You love me,” she says. It isn’t a question.

You nod.

“Then why not leave him?”

You sit down on the couch, new as of last week, a luxury afforded to you by part of the life you lead. “It’s not that simple.”

“It’s not that hard,” Susie shot back.

You look over at her, really look. Her hair’s a mess, wild from the wind from before she got here, her eyes bright with pain and something else. Hope, maybe. How she still clung onto that, you didn’t know. If you were the one in her place, you would have given up long ago.

“Susie, you think it’s just about me being scared? That I’m some coward who can’t admit what she wants?”

“If the shoe fits—”

“I’m not scared,” you practically shouted. “Not for me.” You add, quiet this time. “I’m scared for you.”

That silences her.

“I’m his wife, not his girlfriend, not some fling. Everything I am, everything I have belongs to him. He allows me my dalliances because that’s what we agreed. But for this to happen,” you tell her, waving your hand between the two of you, “I have to stay his wife. If I left, he’d find me, find you, and I don’t know what would happen.”

She swallows hard, shifting her weight like she wants to punch a wall, or maybe herself.

“That’s bullshit,” she spits.

“I know. But it’s safe.”

She walks away, then paces back, the movement frantic like she’s trying to outpace her heartbreak. “You think I care about safe?”

“You should.”

“No. No, I care about you. About waking up next to you in the morning without having to check a clock. About taking you to some shitty club and holding your hand in the dark listening to horrible comics, before you finally get to see Miriam in action. I want all that, but we’re confined to these rooms like animals at a fucking zoo. I don’t want to live in a zoo, I belong out in the wild.”

You close your eyes. You think about making a crack about how the metaphor got away from her, but you don’t. You want all those things too.

You look at her again. She’s breathing hard, like all of this has been trapped in her chest too long.

You wished you could just drop everything and take off with her, really you do. It’s not like your husband knew her. There’d only been one close call in him catching her here, but he had his ways. He could be a dangerous man if he had reason to.

Susie drops onto the arm of the chair, not quite sitting. Just slumping. A half defeated motion, one you’ve only seen a few times. Once after Midge bombed at a showcase and she blamed herself. Once when her rent check bounced. And now.

The silence between you is heavy, full of too many words neither of you want to say aloud.

“I’m not asking you to blow up your life,” she says eventually. “But I am asking you to let me be part of it. Really part of it.”

“You are.”

“Am I? Because I feel like I’m nothing more than some uppity housewife’s dirty little secret.”

Her words stung, but she was essentially right. You rub your thumb over your wedding ring. The gold feels cold tonight.

“I want it too,” you say. “All of it.”

She looks up. “Then fucking come with me. Damn the consequences! If your husband wants to kill me, let him try. I’m as stubborn as a goddamn cockroach. And I’ve got guys for that.”

You snorted a laugh. “Of course you do,” you said, and Susie smiled too. She meant this. She wanted you to come with her, and you were closed to convinced that you should. Uprooting your life though was no small task. You couldn’t take off right now, but you could formulate a plan.

She presses her forehead to your knee, and you comb your fingers through her hair. You stay like that for a while. Until—

“Okay.” The word hit Susie like a heart attack. Were you really saying the one thing she wanted to hear?

You spoke again. “It won’t be today. I need time to plan. But I want to come with you. I want to be your wife, not his. At least, as much as I can be. But we need a plan. A real one, not just a fly by the seat of our pants thing. I’ll get some things together, stash them with my family, and I’ll leave him. My father is a divorce lawyer, a good one, and if anyone can stop my husband from coming after me, after us, it’ll be him. I’m just sorry I never had the courage to do this before.”

Eventually, she pulls away, nods, stands and puts her coat back on.

“You’ll call me,” she asks, not quite looking back. She wasn’t sure she could believe you, even now, even with all your promises.

“I always do.” Whatever Susie believed, you meant it. You’d wasted too much time already, and you would be blowing up your life, but if it was for the sake of your happiness, maybe the comfortable life you were used to needed blowing up.

For anon

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @ghostsunderstoodmysoul, @immyowndefender, @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @woman-simp, @aperol-with-ivy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

[and-im-goneee]

(Meant to be viewed in a wider format, sorry if it looks odd!) CAUGHT IN THE FLASH AND I’M GONE /lyr

LOG START ;; The camera is covered by the lens cap, so only audio can be heard. A bit of rustling comes through before somebody speaks. “…alright, it’s recording, uh…” The shuffling of footsteps on what is clearly grass can be heard before the voice talks again. “Hello! I am Wasabi, and I decided it’d be nice to record some stuff relating to…everything going on, really…I think I’ve seen some others do the same, so why not? Hopefully no one like Badware tracks down my location from me doing this, but…I-I think it’s fine. This camera’s pretty old, I dunno what they’d want to do with it.” More rustling is audible, then the sound of footsteps from somewhere far away from wherever Wasabi is currently. “…who- okay, that’s my queue to RUN-” Wasabi seems to run off before the ‘video’ cuts short. ;; LOG END

[ Information under cut! ]

Hello! @pitchforksraised here with a silly little askblog I made for fun! Do note that I am not affiliated with Saucify or the Die of Death team. This is entirely for fun.

Here are the rules!

DNI if you fall under a basic DNI list please.

I try my best to follow the canon of any source material I make ocs in, but I don’t know too much about the Die of Death lore, so sorry if stuff’s inaccurate.

NSFW is not allowed! I do not mind blood or violence or any of that considering the media this askblog is in, but going into sexual territory is strictly forbidden. I do not mind slightly suggestive asks, though; just keep it to a minimum. Please note that the Mod is a minor as well.

Spamming asks is not allowed. I will not answer and I will block you if you send 5 of the same ask all at once.

Unless it is talked about through DMs, then I’m not very comfortable with romantic interactions with other blogs. Get in contact and maybe we’ll get something done, but no promises.

Refrain from breaking the camera, please? It’s one of the main things of this blog (other than Wasabi himself) and I’d rather not question how to frame asks after.

Roleplaying, Magic!Anons and other types of shenaniganry are both allowed and very much encouraged! Just be civilized, sane and follow the aforementioned rules.

. The Muse / Notes!

Wasabi, ~24 and goes by he/him! Also goes by just Dash. Dash + Cloak. Carries an old camera around, records with it. Just so happens that he can communicate with other people with it! - During roleplay scenarios, the camera is simply just there. It’ll be recording, but the perspective will be pictured from the outside. ^ Same thing can go for certain anons or anons requesting physical contact with Wasabi. The picture will be on the outside of camera. Note that anons appear as average civilians with shades on unless specified otherwise. Speaks like “This!” Will likely pause and stammer a lot. Rather awkward with others, but he’s learning! Also very skittish. Typically has to interact first because the mere sound of footsteps from an unknown person will startle him (which, semi-related note, is what happened in the intro).

. Tags!

Recorded Interactions — Ask Responses

Doing My Own Thing — Intermissions / Filler

hey wait that’s not wasabi — Mod Posts

Log_End — The End of RP Threads

Note that anything can change, but major updates will be announced.

And that’s it! Thanks for reading.