#i had to sneak over to the window but then i ruined it by forgetting about stealth and fully sticking my head out between the gap

[fingertipsmp3]

Who is yelling outside my house at 11:07pm

[yiiyiiwrites]

🔥 | Autumn Equinox | Eris

Summary: You're a witch living in the Autumn court forest, Eris is tasked with making sure you're not up to anything bad. But the baddest thing you've done is fall in love with him. How you share your morning with Eris during the Autumn equinox and showing him your rituals 1985words

Eris Vanserra x Witch reader

Also Have one for [Cassian] & [Azriel] & Lucien coming soon

Acotar masterlist

The bells chimed as he walked through the door to your little cottage, a clothed pouch gripped tightly in his hand. Eris Vanserra, eldest son of Autumn and the thief that stole your heart. You don't know how he'd crept into your thoughts so easily and remained till he could sneak away to visit you again.

Always so well put together, not a single crease in his tailored clothes. The emerald green overcoat making his copper hair stand out, it fell freely over his shoulders and curled at the end. Amber eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, hands tucked behind him, but a smile tugged the corner of his lips.

"I'm here for the monthly check," he said, circling the tiny kitchen until he stopped in front of you. His hands found place on your hips and he closed the remaining sliver of distance between you and him.

You backed into the kitchen counters, head arching up to meet his amber eyes. His touch burning, you gripped the soft velvet lapels of his overcoat and pulled him down, lips pressing against his.

"Does that conclude your check, General?" You said leaning away from him as he tried to chase your movements, nose trailing your cheek.

"I may need some more time to compile my report," he said stepping back, a dusting of dried lavender brushed over the top of his head and he shook the petals from his silky hair.

The last time he'd visited, Eris had picked the last blossom of flowers from your garden. Binding them with string, loop holding them up from the pins in the wooden beams on the ceiling. Saving you from standing on the rickety stool, that he'd told you to get rid of every time it caught his attention.

A fog still hung around the lower trunks of the forest trees, the rising sun painting the sky in a golden glow. Windows misted, the drizzle of rain running down the glass pane.

"Happy equinox, my beloved."

Your heart skipped a beat whenever he used that term of endearment. Knowing that he could hear the change in your heart rate, only spurring him on to use the word more often. Liking how you blushed and met his gaze, unwavering and unafraid of getting burnt.

"Worship me then, my love," you replied, pushing him into a chair with one finger. Sharp nail leaving a crescent mark in the soft velvet of his overcoat.

The court feared you, but Beron kept you caged to the forest. Letting you practice your magic and using it for his own gain. Tied to the lands and unable to step into the heart of the court, you made the most of your assigned time with Eris, the one person that didn't fear your power.

"I'm afraid I can only worship you this morning, the rest of my day is fulfilling my duties," he said laying the pouch on the dining table and untying the string to lay the contents out.

It was easy to forget the burdens and responsibilities that weighed on his shoulders. The little cottage offering you both a place of refuge and your own space to create just for yourselves. No outside influences ruining the life you'd built together. Eris was the only person that visited frequently, a few times one of his younger brothers had stepped in for him and you'd longed for the eldest.

"Oh, you brought them. You picked them on you way?" You asked sliding a mini brass cauldron across the table to him. He nodded, shuffling the browning leaves on the cloth in front him. He mirrored your movements, placing the leaves in his cauldron and glancing back at you for instruction.

The cool breeze filtered through the open window, Eris's copper hair dancing behind him like crackling flames. He combed his fingers through his long locks and pinned them back. A few strands falling like silk over his pale face.

"What are we...." The gulf of a flame cuts his words short, the orange glow rising high as it devours the leaves in your cauldron. His amber eyes darken, a flicker of the same fire within them.

"Light it," you said, nodding to his cauldron. "It's a releasing ritual, think of the things you need to let go, that are no longer working for you or are holding you back." Your lips soften to a smile, your gaze lowering the flame of your own and focusing on your own thoughts you wished to expel. "Release it, so you can move on."

You felt the warmth of his magic, but did not gaze at his flame. That was his ritual alone, his to lay waste to all the things holding him back. Not everything was in your control, but small things like this led to powerful change.

Inhaling a trembling breath, you exhaled a calm and steady one. Your body lighter, mind clearer as nothing but ash laid at the bottom of your cauldron. The smoke rising from the curved rim merged with the soothing scent of cinnamon and oak clouding your senses.

Eris's gaze snapped to you, back straightening as he righted himself and released a deep breath of his own. You didn't ask how he felt, you could see the lightness in the slight relaxing of his shoulders and soft jaw smoothing the pulse of tension away.

"Ready for the next phase, my love?" Remember you always have a choice," you said reminding him that he could stand down if it got too much for him.

Not everyone was ready to face themselves and let the old them go, a constant cycle of transformation, enough to keep people in the past and clinging to that scrap of safety. You were well versed on the spinning wheel, the good and bad that spun and offered you a new beginning and sometimes a painful ending. How else were you supposed to grow if you did not welcome the unknown?

"I'm ready."

Eris wasn't afraid to leap, to take your hand and trust that you'd have his best interest at heart. Each time he'd left your home, you'd performed a protective spell to see him to safety out of the woods and deep down you hoped it'd extend to the court and protect him from his father, his brothers.

You lead Eris to the living area, sinking into the plump sofa and fluffing a cushion for him before he could sit back. Dried herbs and flowers covered the small table, you'd spent weeks preparing enough for the both of you.

"Now we need to cleanse, but we're going to bundle up some of these to burn." You gathered up rosemary, lavender and peppermint, closing your hand around to keep them together. "Pick which ones you like the scent of or that call to you."

Eris's hand hovered over the stems and petals, he picked a few up and brought them closer testing their scent. The first one he chose, Lavender the scent he associated with you. He'd admitted that it had clung to him whenever he'd left like he was still in a daze in your cottage. A few sprigs of purple were left on his sleeve sometimes reminding him of you.

You helped each other tie the bundles together with some twine, two rings keeping it intact. His finger brushing against yours every now and then as if he couldn't go without your touch.

Fire, like the Autumn court was vital to your magic tied to the forest. The bundles lit with flames, the smoke cleansing and washing away the dirt and ash you'd burnt in the cauldron. You waved it through the air and walked through the scented fog, drawing up and down, around your figure until it burnt down to your fingertips.

Eris's magic consumed the dried herbs and petals quickly. He took the remnants of yours and held it above the crown of your head, slowly circling you and kneeling at your feet to cleanse all of you.

You cupped his face in your hands, the pad of your thumb tracing his sharp cheekbone. Leaning down you kissed him and leant away, pressing your forehead to his.

"Is this worshipping enough for you, me beloved?" He said rising from his knees and wrapping his fingers around your wrists. You knew time was not on your side today, the little you had left crumbling away.

"One more ritual, my love," you murmured against his lips, standing on the tip of your toes to kiss him once again. He hummed as you pulled back, letting you guide him to the other side of the room.

You sunk to your knees, Eris doing the same. The platform raised on the floor, your altar. Dried oranges hung in a stringed line against the wall, orange candles in differing heights scattered the wooden surface. You'd collected some leaves, acorns and fruit to offer to the Goddess of Harvest, the one you thanked every year on the autumn equinox.

Eris had seen the seasonal changes of your altar, sometimes even helped you find things to place on it. He'd brought you back seashells from the summer court for the summer solstice, roses from spring for the spring equinox and a vial of snow for the winter solstice. Little things you'd never witnessed stuck in one court.

You'd kept a seashell by your bed, listening to the waves as you cupped it to your ear. A dusky pink rose still full of life, where you'd spelled it to last till your last breath. You treasured the gifts Eris gave, hoping that what you offered to him was enough.

Closing your eyes, you felt the familiar warmth slip into your clasped hands, you stole a glance to Eris beside you, whose eyes were also shut. "Goddess of harvest, we thank you for guiding us through this year and helping us grow. Through hard work and consistency we have thrived, asking once again for you to look over us as we navigate a new path. We shred ourselves of old thoughts and shadowselves, to welcome in the good, the light."

Eris squeezed your hand, gratitude surging through you as the weight of his hand reassured you of all the good. The light in him, that he rarely showed to others. You hoped one day you wouldn't be confined to the forests and he wouldn't have to conceal his true self.

"This candle is a symbol for the light we are open to receiving," you whispered, opening your eyes you're met with a flame dancing on the wick before you. The light he gave you.

You picked up an acorn from the altar and slipped it in the pocket of his Eris's lining. "It's for good luck." You often gave him small objects for luck or protection, he'd joked about not having enough shelf space for any more stones or crystals.

"Thank you," he said rising from the floor. He offered you a hand and helped you stand with him. "Afraid our time is up." The hard lines settled on his face, lips straight and pursed as he put his mask back on.

"Let me walk with you," you said, arm sliding around his back as you walked out the door with him.

The sun had risen, fog parting as you traipsed through the tall grass. In the depth of the forest, you were able to roam freely, the outskirts however is where you could not step over, as if there was an invisible wall keeping you from the heart of the court. The core of it your garden, no one dared to enter it so it gave you the opportunity to spend extra time with Eris as he walked back to his duties.

And you would watch him step over the boundary and wonder if you'd ever be able to follow him.

Since its nearly autumn equinox I wanted to do some prompts for it :) there's other characters to come - Yiiyii

[bumblesimagines]

maybe we should forget this even happened.

i'm just going to... leave.

Robb Stark

i'm just going to... leave.

maybe we should forget this even happened.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

As a child, you often wondered if Catelyn Stark had a sixth sense. She always seemed to know when you and Robb were up to no good, whether it was sneaking out of Winterfell or trying to convince the cooks for more sweets. There'd always been a knowing look in her eye and the way she'd smile at you and Robb, one single brow raising and hands coming to rest on her waist. 'Now, what are you boys up to?' She'd ask, but you and Robb knew by then the plan was ruined.

And now? Well, now you prayed her sixth sense had grown faulty because if you were caught in bed with the heir to Winterfell, you could only pray to the old gods the Starks would be merciful enough to only send you to the Wall. 

You moved carefully and slowly, sliding the fur blankets off your body and exposing your bare skin to the cold air wafting in through the cracked open window. Your nose crinkled as the wood supporting the bed creaked and groaned loudly, barely sparing a glance over your shoulder at the sleeping man before standing and hurrying to collect your clothes off the floor. You'd done this dance plenty of times over the years, mainly with drunken flings, but this time you weren't slipping away from a brothel worker or a maiden. This time you were slipping away from your best friend. 

Hurriedly tucking your shirt into your pants to avoid the risk of looking suspicious while leaving the room, you spun on your heel and searched the stone floor for your coat. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" A groggy voice questioned and you tensed completely, fingers curling around the top of your pants. The old gods despised you, you were certain of it. "The hunting trip is tomorrow, (Y/N)."

"I'm aware of that." For a man who'd just awoken to find his closest childhood companion getting dressed after a drunken night together, Robb started far too calm for your liking. Perhaps reality hadn't set in completely or whatever he'd drunk the night prior still had some sort of effect on him. 

"Look at me." He murmured, and when you remained with your back turned to him, he spoke again in his 'future Lord of Winterfell' tone that he scarcely used when you were alone with him. "Look at me, (Y/N)."

"My father will wonder where I ran off to, Robb." You told him with a quiet sigh and reluctantly turned around to face him. He certainly looked wide awake to you. His light-colored eyes gazed at you with what you swore was amusement and he reached his arm out to lazily pat the empty side of the bed in a silent invitation, or order. You dug your teeth into the inside of your bottom lip. If either of his parents even caught a glimpse of him, they'd spiral into a lecture that'd end in a threat of sending you away. 

"Come." He groaned, his impatience reminding you of his younger, more brutish sister. "Your family can wait."

"Why are you acting as if any of this is normal, Robb? I cannot be caught in your quarters while you look like that. Maybe- Maybe we should forget this even happened. It was a mistake that will not happen again-"

"You were the one that kissed me." Robb's lips formed a frown and he pushed himself up, bushy brows knitting tightly together. You despised making Robb upset, especially when his pretty eyes were as expressive as words, but it was necessary. You inhaled and forced yourself to look away from him, finally noticing your coat draped over a chair and across the room. You silently moved and slipped it on, properly concealing yourself from the cold and turning to face the man. "Do you not even wish to talk-"

"No, Robb. I'm... I'm just going to... leave. And we'll pretend as if nothing occurred, alright? You'll go back to being the heir of Winterfell and I'll go back to being the kennel master's son, just as it should and always will be."

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Between Waves and Wishes

Hii I hope you enjoy this summer romance between Charles and the reader, with her being Pierre's younger sister :)

As Pierre's little sister, you've known the Leclerc's for most of your life, from going to their races to vacationing together. You being the only girl and the youngest always sucked, that's why you skipped the last vacations together, until this one, since you've moved away for uni and your parents have insisted that you come.

A week on the beautiful coast of the south of France sounds like the perfect trip, except for the fact that you need to spend time with Charles. Charles had only grown more attractive over the years. His easy smile, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed, and the effortless charm he exuded made it impossible for you to forget the crush you harboured since childhood. But the thought of him liking you back was absurd. He was Pierre's best friend, three years older than you, and his ex-girlfriends looked like they had walked straight off a runway. You were convinced you didn’t stand a chance.

The sun hung lazily in the blue sky as the waves crashed against the rocky shore of the French Riviera. The villa was everything one could dream of—sprawling, luxurious, and perched perfectly to overlook the Mediterranean Sea. You stood on the balcony, your gaze fixed on the horizon, a vain attempt to steady the turmoil within you.

The first couple of days were relatively easy. The villa's size allowed you to avoid Charles without much effort. You busied yourself with exploring the town, taking in the quaint streets and local markets, or hiding away in your room, pretending to be engrossed in a book. But Charles, with his perceptiveness, seemed to notice your attempts at evasion.

“Hey, we missed you at dinner last night,” he said casually one morning, catching you off guard as you tried to sneak out to the beach.

You forced a smile. “I wasn’t feeling too well. Didn’t want to spoil the fun.”

He frowned, concern etching his features. “Are you alright now?”

“Yeah, just needed some rest.”

His eyes searched yours, as if he was trying to read between the lines. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

“Sure,” you replied, turning away before your resolve could crumble under his gaze.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to avoid him. He seemed to be everywhere—on the terrace when you went for a morning coffee, by the pool when you sought solace in the sun, and even in the kitchen when you attempted a late-night snack. Each encounter was filled with a mix of awkward small talk and lingering glances, making your heart ache with unspoken words.

Midweek, a storm rolled in, forcing everyone to stay indoors. You found refuge in the library, nestled in a corner with a book. The rain pelted against the windows, a fitting backdrop to your internal chaos. You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you didn’t hear Charles enter the room until he spoke.

“Mind if I join you?”

You looked up, startled. “It’s a free country.”

He took a seat across from you, his presence overwhelming the space. For a while, silence stretched between you, only the sound of rain filling the void.

“Why are you avoiding me?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

Your heart pounded in your chest. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he insisted, leaning forward. “Did I do something to upset you?”

The genuine concern in his eyes made it hard to keep up the facade. “No, it’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” he pressed.

You closed your book, setting it aside. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” His gaze never wavered.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

The words hung in the air between you. You wanted to spill everything, to tell him how much it hurt to be around him, knowing you could never have him. But the fear of rejection, of ruining the fragile balance, kept you silent.

Charles leaned back, his expression softening. “I’ve missed you, you know. You used to come a lot to our races and you've missed a few vacations.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t be that way again.”

You looked away, the pain too raw. “Things change, Charles.”

“They don’t have to,” he said quietly. “Not if we don’t want them to.”

You met his gaze, the sincerity in his eyes almost too much to bear. “You don’t understand,” you whispered. “You’ll never see me the way I see you.”

He was silent for a moment, then stood up and walked over to you. He knelt down, taking your hand in his. “And how do you see me?”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was it. The moment of truth. “I see you as someone I could never have,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “Someone who could never want me the way I want them.”

His grip on your hand tightened, his eyes locked on yours. “What if you’re wrong?”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

“What if I’ve been feeling the same way all this time?” His voice was low, steady. “What if I’ve wanted to be with you, but I held back because I thought you saw me only as Pierre’s friend?”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Could it really be true? “But… your exes… they’re nothing like me. You always seemed to go for—”

“People who weren’t you,” he interrupted gently. “Because being with someone else was easier than facing how I felt about you.”

“But Pierre—”

“Pierre wants you to be happy,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I know it won’t be easy, but I can’t keep pretending anymore. I don’t want to.”

Your heart ached with hope and fear in equal measure. “What if this changes everything?”

“It will,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t have to be for the worse.”

You swallowed hard, the enormity of the moment crashing down on you. “Charles, I don’t know if I can risk losing Pierre’s trust.”

“He’s your brother, and he loves you. He’ll understand.” Charles’s eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of determination and vulnerability. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long.”

The words hung in the air, wrapping around you like a warm embrace. It was everything you’d ever wanted to hear, yet the fear of the unknown still gnawed at you. But looking into Charles’s eyes, you saw the truth, the sincerity, and the depth of his feelings.

You took a deep breath. “I love you too,” you whispered, the words feeling like a release.

His face lit up with a joy that made your heart soar. He stood, gently pulling you to your feet and wrapping his arms around you. The warmth of his embrace felt like home, and you melted into him, all the doubts and fears dissolving in his hold.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “We’ll figure it out together,” he murmured.

You nodded, your heart full. “Together.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was tender and sweet, filled with all the years of longing and unspoken feelings. It was a promise, a beginning, and an end to the doubts that had plagued you.

As the rain continued to patter against the windows, you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

I've literally been crying all day and all I want is jj to come thru my window and comfort me 🫡🫡

you drew stars around my scars

pairing(s): bf!jj maybank x gf!fem!reader

warnings: talks of verbal fighting, bad relationship with parents

summary: after being grounded by your parents, your boyfriend shows up to comfort you.

authors note: thank you so much for the request! i really appreciate it :) i’m so sorry to hear that but if you ever want to talk, i’m always free, even just to listen! i hope i didn’t do too bad on this and i hope you enjoy. i love writing these so please!! more requests!

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

you’d been crying for what felt like hours on end. you hated being grounded. it meant you couldn’t even go see your best friends or your boyfriend.

that had only began to make you sob harder. though you had seen jj just before you’d come home earlier in the day and received the news, you missed him so much.

you were used to seeing him every day for hours, even spending your nights or weekends with him. and now you couldn’t see him for a full month. all because your annoying ap teacher dropped you to a C for being absent during a test?

you had explained to your parents multiple times that it’d shoot right back up to an A when you retake it next week, but of course they didn’t listen. they never do.

you wiped your eyes with the inside sleeve of the hoodie you were wearing. jj’s hoodie. you held back even more tears.

before you could lay down and get comfortable to try to head to bed, there was a sequence of knocks at your window. you sniffled and got up off the bed, wearily walking over to the glass, finding your boyfriend waving obnoxiously at you.

you quickly undid the lock and helped him push it open. “hi baby,” he said with a big smile. you watched it falter when he saw your face. “hey, what’s wrong? why are you crying?”

you moved out of the way to allow him inside. he immediately kicked off his boots and shut the window behind himself, locking it then turning to you. his eyes scanned your face as another tear fell.

he gently grabbed your hand and led you to the bed, taking a seat on the side of it then pulling you to stand between his spread legs so you were at eye level with each other. “what’s wrong, sweet girl? what happened?”

his hands gently cradled your face while his thumbs lightly swiped at the tears falling down your pink cheeks. you only sobbed harder and quickly wrapped your arms around the back of his neck, pressing your body flush against his.

he was quick to return it, his arms wrapping around your waist to meet at your lower back. “you’re okay, baby. i’ve got you,” he cooed softly.

you sobbed into his neck, your body shaking against his. “my—my parents grounded me,” you finally said.

he rubbed a comforting hand up and down your back. “‘s okay, sweetheart. we’re not gonna forget about you,” he smiled against your shoulder. “what happened this time?”

“my stupid ap b—bio teacher gave me a C and—and they saw it and flipped,” you cried. “i don’t wanna be grounded, j.”

he turned his head to kiss at your neck gently, squeezing you even tighter. “i know, baby. how long you grounded for?”

“a month,” you whined. “i can’t do a month, jj. i can’t not see you for a—a month.”

sobs wracked your body at the thought of not seeing him for that long. he left more soft kisses against your skin before pulling you back slightly so you could look him in the eyes. “a silly little rule your parents made won’t ruin anything, sweet girl. i’ll come visit you every night, ok? maybe i’ll even try to sneak you out with me.”

he placed a gentle kiss to your lips. “promise?” you asked, voice shaking.

the blonde held out his pinky with a toothy grin. “i promise, baby.”

[covetyou]

🤭 reader is def borrowing condoms from Dieter (she spent so long debating with herself but she also really wanted Frankies dick). But would Dee be curious and follow to see who she's with? 👀 Maybe try to invite himself to join, or hang out outside the trailer? 🥵💦

Would this morally dubious clown follow someone to watch 'em do the nasty? I think we all know the answer here 😌

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Frankie Morales x fat contortionist f!reader (x Dieter Bravo) rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: voyerism, jealousy, bi Dieter, protected PIV, recreational drug use/reference, Max Phillips makes another cameo word count: 1.2k summary: When the trailer's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.

A/N: Dieter's POV. takes place after for one night only and fools just wanna have fun.

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Bravo had evaded Max by the skin of his teeth - no sooner had his trailer door shut behind him, running around the back pulling his pants over his dick and balls, and Max was there in the clearing, shouting bloody murder for him before pounding on the door. Before any more inaccurate accusations and threats to his life could be made, Bravo the Clown had snuck away into the night, seething.

This was his night ruined.

The condoms were one thing, but this being a family friend show? Psh, his ass it was. He watched greased up men sliding against each other on the regular, and there was that married couple who practically eye fucked each other whenever they performed. Not to mention you, Sparkles, with your ass hanging out every show as you twisted and bulged and looked so damn sinful he'd had more than one back stage wank over the years. Nothing he did was any less family friendly than that and yet here he was, getting chased down by an angry mob of one simply for wanting to relax a little before a show. And maybe a bit during too.

And after, not forgetting the joint still clutched in his fingers. He'd have to find somewhere more discreet to smoke it now that he had Max hot on his ass, but first he needed a light. His was still on the floor of his trailer, because of you.

Maybe that's why he finds himself walking toward your trailer, it being your fault he's currently without a light after all. He knows you like those stupid little candles, a complete fire hazard in a place like this if you ask him - one knock and the whole polyester spectacle is going up in a cloud of sequins and smoke. It's not at all because he knows what you're doing in there, without him. Not at all. He respects you. He could absolutely, totally leave you to your privacy.

It's not his fault if he's concerned for your safety when he hears your incoherent screams from some way away. He's not going to knock of course, but it doesn't hurt to just check in through the window, does it? It's what any good friend would do. A little rocking trailer should never deter anyone from checking in on their friends.

Okay, so maybe it's rocking quite a bit by the time he gets there, sneaking under one window to get to another he knows is right by your bed. Your screaming and moaning is even louder here, right by the open window. He can hear a wet slapping noise too, and before he lets his imagination run wild, he pokes his head up to look in through the open window and straight at the spectacle in front of him.

And holy fuck, it doesn't disappoint.

You're getting absolutely rammed from behind, your thighs jiggling and shaking with each thrust from the man behind you. His face is pinched, staring right down to where he disappears into you over and over, and the rippling of your ass against his thighs. You're scrambling up and down and up again on your forearms as you try, and fail, to take the intensity of it, your voice rising an octave every time he buries himself in you, until he inevitably hits the factory reset and you make a deep, keening groan before starting all over again. Dieter knows that noise - he makes you make that noise. It's the noise you make when your toes curl and you're about to make a mess all over everything. Like right now, your toes curling over and over in a way he's never seen, because he's never seen it from this far away before.

And, fuck, this is jealousy, isn't it? That should be Dieter in there, fucking the ever living daylights out of you. Instead he's stood on the other side of the window looking in at a man that should be him, but is definitely younger and fitter than he is. Still, he doesn't see what this man has on him - messy hair, a little pooch of his belly just like Dieter, scruff on his jaw. Entirely unremarkable, if you ask -

Until that man pulls out fully, unveiling his cock before slamming it home once more.

Suddenly, he's jealous of both of you. Jealous of him for getting to fuck you - and in your trailer too. You'd only ever let him in there once, and it was maybe the most comfortable he'd ever been. And jealous of you for taking that monster of a cock that, quite frankly, should be too much for one person to take. You could take a hand (and a half, on a good day) of course, but fuck, had you never heard about sharing?

Dieter shared his condoms with you, and now you were keeping this all to yourself. What he wouldn't give to be in there, lying next to you as you got fucked to oblivion by this guy you seem to have picked straight from the crowd. He'd quiet your screams with his cock in your mouth, or let you suck on his balls while he waited his turning for a fucking. Even better, he'd lick your pretty cunt while that cock demolished your hole, just so he could taste both of you at once.

Still, the best he can do is watch the condom, his condom, on the man's cock as it slides in and out of you - the closest thing to being between the two of you he'll be - while listening to your screams as they hit a crescendo. Your tits swing beneath you, your belly rippling with the force of the fucking you're receiving. The mans fingers - the asshole - are digging into your plush hips, sinking into the fat there and holding on for dear life, likely leaving bruises that Dieter will have to see for days and try not to get hard about.

The man grunts and groans now, telling you how perfect you are and how hard he's going to come, because you're so, so, so perfect - Dieter fucking knows. He knew it first.

Then, you're coming. Shaking, and moaning, falling forward onto your mattress with your hips still held in the air, making a complete mess of your sheets in the process, screaming Frankie into the air, your trailer positively fucking rattling now as the man - fucking Frankie - finds it in himself to go even harder, battering your cervix so deliciously painfully that he knows your eyes are rolling in your head, even if he can't see them.

And it's over, and everything is still again, and the quiet feels so very loud as you sigh and giggle into fucking Frankie's mouth, and he pulls that massive cock, dripping, out of you and throws away his fucking condom.

His joint is crumpled in his hand, Bravo the Clown's search for a light fucking useless now, just as the symbol of his fucked night falls to the ground outside your trailer ready for you to find in the morning.

Family friendly his ass.

[honeyyhivee]

they don't have to know ⠀ྀི

⠀ྀི in which, you and satoru gojo can't let one another go no matter what ྀི

cw ྀི minors dni! black!fem reader in mind but read as you please, petnames (baby, princess), toxic relationships/toxic reader, explicit smut w/ a bit of plot, p in v, riding, dirty talk, semi public (in a car), overstimming, swearing

word count & thoughts ྀི 823, lowercase intended, my first post on here so be nice, reblogs & comments are greatly appreciated

“i’m very much grown, thank you!“

“grown and fuckin’ married… or did you forget?” that man, your husband nagged on. being in a marriage with someone you had mixed feelings for wasn’t on your bucket list. especially with a man you once loved so much. dating and even the beginning of the marriage was so beautiful but, you both wanted different things and found that out after marriage. things changed once he did you wrong, you grew this need for revenge. after he’d badly messed things up with you with his infidelity, you ended up sleeping with an old friend of yours. a friend that he knew as well.

satoru gojo. while it was supposed to be a one time thing, you found yourself sneaking out to different cities just to see satoru. you knew, he was sneaking around too. you both figured each other out fairly quickly. despite trying to talk each other out of these bad situations, you guys always found some loopy way back towards each other.

“baby, i don’t know… it’s getting harder and harder for us to keep doing this. what if we did make things right? what if we leave and be together?” satoru started as they both sat in his car, in an empty parking lot near the countryside. “i don’t want to ruin what we have. labels and shit… you know, we might lose something… might make things more complicated.” your words made him tilt his head with confusion.

“complicated? like sneaking all the way here so that neither of us get caught isn’t complicated enough? one of these days they’ll have to know.”

you scoffed at his words, shaking your head with this grin on your face. “yeah, mr. i’ll tell her today. hey, did you tell your girl the last time we saw each other? when you said it was the last time?” the look on his face told you his answer, he couldn’t lie to you if he tried. “this is supposed to be our last time.” satoru muttered. “you serious? ‘toru, can i be honest with you?” he turned his head to you, giving you full eye contact.

“i don’t want to let you go… i can’t, baby… but i don’t want to hurt her.” he admitted, before you spoke. “shit… this is so stressful.” you huffed and laid your head back. “yeah…”

the two of you glanced at each other again, satoru ready for you to break things off, you ready for satoru to do the same.

instead, like always, you ended up in the back seat of his car. both sweaty as you tried your best to ride him without hitting your head on the ceiling of the car. the car windows had been rolled down a bit to let out the hot air and all that could be heard was your moans and his voice. his hands gripped at the flesh of your ass as he looked up at you.

“you’re so- so good f’me… fuck, princess…” his praise gave you more strength, bouncing on his hard length that always filled you up so deliciously. you squeezed around him so perfectly, it always takes everything in him to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head.

was that why you couldn’t let each other go? you satisfied one another in ways you’d never expect. his big hand slapped your ass roughly causing a louder moan to be ripped from you as you mindlessly fucked yourself on his cock.

your juices all over him and his seat when he had the chance, he gripped your waist, holding you down on him but moving your hips. following him, you began to grind your hips on him while he took one of your breasts in his mouth.

“god, ‘toru-” you tried keeping a steady pace but from all the riding, your body was shaky. with him sucking on your nipple, looking you in the eyes best he could while doing so, the stimulation brought you closer and closer to another climax. he felt you getting close, you were so close.

maybe the bliss was clouding his mind but he couldn’t just stop this with you, not when you always looked so pretty above and below him. the very look on your face brought him closer to his high. he wanted to talk to you more, get you there faster but when you uttered his name in his ear, he couldn’t help but hold your waist onto him so he could fuck you the way he needed.

whimpers began to leave your lips, the pleasure overtaking your body. this is why you both kept coming to each other. “fuckk, i love you, princess.” at this pace, it wasn’t long before he filled up the condom around him. after coming down from your climax, you laid your head against his trying to catch your breath.

“satoru… what did you say a moment ago?”

© honeyyhivee (2024) don't use or steal my work, thanks!

[ihatedtoadmit]

The Windows To My Soul [6]

pairing: OT8 x fem! reader

genre: soulmates, fluff, crack

warnings: Please read the 'Summary' of this series, all are listed there!

word count: ~3.5k

summary: Everything comes crashing down, and somehow the explanation for it makes sense to your jumbled brain.

author's note: Since I had this written already and I'll get busy, I'm feeding you guys with a double update. Please don't forget to take your delulu pills, unlike me.

↳ Masterlist ↳ Next chapter ↳ Previous chapter

All rights reserved. Please do not steal, repost or feed my work into AI. Thank you!

The next time my eyes opened, I was alone on the couch, the room plunged into darkness.

For a few seconds I just laid there, blinking at the dark ceiling, not knowing why I woke up so suddenly. I wasn’t particularly thirsty, my bladder wasn’t full and not even my leg was cramping viciously, as if it was out for my blood.

But then the pain registered in my brain.

It was that same, dull ache in my ribcage, just amplified twofold. It was a miserable constant throughout my whole chest, pulsing with every heartbeat, as if the two synced up and became one. Not only that, but it gradually started seeping into my left arm and neck, as if it was a slow working poison.

I sat up slowly, my back cracking along, something I had sadly grown used to after a few years. One of my hands raised up to my chest, just above where my erratic heart lied, massaging the area fruitlessly.

Why did I have such a useless, shitty body? It broke down every chance it got, ruining my little happiness in life constantly.

I sighed, carding a hand through my hair and swinging my feet over the edge of the couch, just sitting there, zoning out in the pitch black room. The pain was bad, maybe even worse if I was honest with myself for a second or two, but I could tolerate it if I really tried.

So tried, I did.

I quietly shuffled around the room after standing up, holding my arms out in front of myself as a safety precaution, knowing how clumsy I could get sometimes. I could hardly see anything, with the windows being completely covered and all. But thankfully, I somehow made my way to the front door without tripping over anything -a miracle in itself, mind you-. Now it was time to search for my bag and– ah, there it was. Fishing my phone out of it, I turned on the flashlight and used it to find my little sketchbook and pencil case I usually took with myself on my travels. They were similar to my headphones: something I couldn’t live with, their presence providing me with a blanket of safety.

Having successfully located and retrieved said items, I quietly sneaked back to the living room and sat down on the ground at the coffee table, knees popping and cracking as I bent them to be by my side.

I could use my phone's flashlight to doodle around no problem, so that was what I decided to go with. But only after ensuring my mask was on and my headphones were sitting over my ears snugly, then connecting the device to my phone via Bluetooth and disabling ambient awareness after I had retrieved it from the same lil coffee table. I needed to blast music into my ears, to not let any thought form or process in my mind, lest they consume me alive.

Lines formed on the paper as I was listening to Volcano by Han on repeat, soon turning into little skzoo figures goofing and fooling around. Some were tiny, held in a hand safely, while some were bigger, more backpack-sized. Scenarios that never happened were imagined on the paper, along with ones that were recorded and put up onto the internet. Sometimes, a ninth animal could be seen amongst them, as I was unable to stop myself from drawing my own character, even in the presence of the boys.

Time flew by without me noticing, my goal reached as I could shut the thought of misery and pain out of my head.

But then someone grabbed my shoulder, causing me to let out a small scream and throw my pen away into the 4th dimension.

I jerked my head to their direction instinctually, connecting eyes with Chan, someone who was rightfully looking surprised and maybe even scared. There was definitely a little scared in there. I quickly took my headphones off, the loud music only heard for a second before it automatically paused -pros of having smart headphones- and I immediately apologised to the startled male.

"Naur, naur, it's okay, sorry for startling ya. When did you wake up? It's still pretty early in the morning." "Oh, not too long ago." - I lied, not wanting to be a bother still. "I see. But still, you should go back to sleep if ya can."

I gently shook my head at his proposal, the ache in my body too great to ignore and enter the lands of dreams.

He hummed in response, yet his eyebrows furrowed slightly for just a second. I noticed them, even as he masked it with a light smile and changed the topic to what I had been doing, eyes already scanning over my pages filled to the brim with loose-lined sketches.

Realising I was literally drawing their stuff, skzoo, I quickly shut my notebook closed, embarrassed enough to consider digging myself a hole somewhere. I couldn't show it to them, no, never. Besides, they were mere sketches, nothing too spectacular.

Despite all those thoughts circling in my head, Chan whined and begged me to show him, having probably already seen it was related to his idol group. But I didn't budge, not even as he poked my sides and decided to tickle me in the earliest hours of the day.

Like, damn, he really fucking tickled my sides. The man showed no mercy, even though he knew what state I was in, having been the one who kept putting ice packs on it.

And I was just left there, wheezing and dying as silently as I could, not wanting to wake the others up in my losing battle for air.

But as luck would have it, they soon started waking up and decided to join us anyway. Well, him, really, as I was the victim of the two aussies now, left completely at their mercy.

Thankfully, the two soon stopped, probably due to my still very much injured arm and allowed me to catch my breath. And I did, desperately inhaling as much as I could as I laid there on my back, my breath hitching with every sharp pain that could be felt in my chest. It was as if a searing hot metal was pressed into my skin, the feeling moving in a strangely rule-abiding pattern. I shut my eyes closed, jaw tightly held together as I rolled over, not wanting to be seen grimacing, the feeling now slowly ebbing off and easing up a tad.

Soon the initial shock wore off and I could quickly sit up, my face not showing any signs of discomfort even as the hurting place now felt raw and throbbed relentlessly in sync with my racing heartbeat.

"Don't get me wrong, I would never pass on a good tickle session, but what was the occasion?" - Felix asked, laying partly on top of Chan, the two acting calm thankfully. "Oh yea, Eevee doesn't wanna show me her art. Even though I saw a Bbokari in there too." - Chan casually replied, having the gall to even pout, as if he didn't just release the little devil on me.

I stared at him incredulously, feeling wounded and betrayed.

Sure enough, Felix whipped his head over to my direction, eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite identify, yet it still caused a shiver to run down my spine. Without a second of a doubt I lunged at my sketchbook, holding it close to my chest and scrambling off of the floor before the man could take it from me.

He was very, very close to it though.

The sunshine incarnate pleaded with me, his voice turning whiny and higher pitched than usual, but it didn't work on me. I continued to run, run to my little bag and hide my little sketchbook in there, out of anyone’s desperate reach.

Somehow, by some miracle, I succeeded, zipping it back up right as Felix slammed into me.

Good thing I was already sitting, otherwise I would have fallen to the ground with full force. I would not have appreciated that.

"But Eeveeee, lemme seeee, pleaseeeee!!" "Naur." "Eeeveeeee, please please pleaseeee?" "F-felix-..." "Come on, pretty please with a cherry on top?"

I could only stare at him, at the famous idol, who had the body of a sculpture crafted by the gods themselves, just… whine and plead to see my shitty art.

"These…are only sketches, Felix. Really not something worthy to be begging for. Ask Hyunjin to draw you some next time."

His expression shifted, eyebrows pulled together and lips set into a slight frown.

"I want to see your art. Not Hyunjin's, Picasso's or anyone else's. Why would you say that?" "Because theirs is better. It's a simple fact."

He put his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arm's length, eyes fixated on me with a fierce fire burning inside.

"Don't say that, ever again. Jesus, you're just like Channie hyung."

His lips were slightly arched down and his nose was scrunched up, but I could only stare and etch the sight into my memory. He looked so genuinely offended at what I had said that I found myself at a loss for words, unable to argue.

Not getting any reaction, he pulled me up by my uninjured hand and led me back to the couch, where everyone else was already sitting, much to my surprise. Jisung's eyes lit up and he beckoned us over, wiggling his way into my lap somehow -only after putting my beloved headphones away, since they were in his stubborn way-. Felix was no better, practically attached to me with how he was hugging me and all.

I looked down at them; they were cheerfully chatting with the others as if this whole thing was completely normal, even though it felt like a fever dream, if anything. Not even the others were that phased by our position, at max you could see amusement dancing on their faces.

It was just so confusing to me, as I looked between the two and the others.

I had no choice but to silently accept it. I guess I had two cuddly cats now or something. Well, technically a quokka and a chicken, if I wanted to be extremely accurate.

"Right, Eevee, we're gonna order some food, eat and then get you checked by a doctor, ‘kay? Is there something you wanna eat in particular?" - Chan spoke up, breaking me out of my short daze. "Oh, uh, no thank you. I'm not hungry." "What, no, you have to eat something!" - Jisung's raised voice earned the attention of the others, heads turning to our direction. "Sungie is right, eat at least a lil bit." - Felix murmured into my ear. "But I'm fine, I usually don't eat breakfast." - I replied, earning some gasps and not so happy grunts.

Before I could even defend myself, Minho sent me the nastiest glare I had ever seen, making me shrink into myself and hide behind Felix and Jisung. Everyone started speaking in korean, while the two in my hold lectured me about the importances of eating breakfast. They were strict and didn't let me speak up, only when relaying my answers about allergies and food preferences to the others.

Yeah, no, these men literally just ordered me food and didn't let me even argue about it.

As Han was listing off all the japanese food he loved the most -mainly for breakfast- and how he wanted me to try them out too, that same, searing pain appeared in my chest. I clenched my jaw shut, teeth grinding together painfully as I tried my best to not show any discomfort on my face. I lowered my head slightly, hoping that Felix and Jisung would shield me from everyone's view.

It hurt.

The feeling radiated and seeped into my arm too, making me unable to pinpoint its source anymore. The limb felt numb, my fingers unable to feel the soft fabric of Jisung's shirt anymore. My breathing wanted to pick up, but I forced it to remain as unchanged as I could, hoping I would succeed.

My pulse was an entirely different beast though.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I looked down at the dark-haired boy in my hold; that now familiar, worried expression sitting on his face.

God damn it me, stop worrying them!

I put on a smile and nodded, hoping to convince him, even though they couldn’t see the expression from the mask that covered half of my face. I hoped to ease Felix’s nerves too with these actions, because he was looking at me the same way, causing the flower of worry to bloom in my chest.

"Your pulse says otherwise. And your hold on me."

Fuck. I didn't even realise I tightened my hold on his waist.

"I'm, uh, I just don't like doctors. I'm nervous about the visit."

It wasn't even a lie anyway, I really did dislike doctors, especially because I would most probably understand nothing from the conversation, since we were in Japan and it was harder to find an english-speaker person here than you would think.

My answer seemed to have placated them, because they settled back against me -the notion of gentle fingers drawing shapes on me not going unnoticed- and continued chatting. I joined in occasionally, whenever they directed a question at me specifically. But otherwise, I was back in my little shell, observing them and zoning out.

Because I was still not okay.

But soon enough, the food arrived and everyone bounded over to the dining table, loudly bickering and joking around. I was dragged there too -quite literally-, finding myself sitting between Minho and Seungmin. How, I had no clue. But their glares and menacing reputation must have had a say in it, if I had to guess.

The table was full of different types of foods, everyone able to find something that fit their taste easily. Before I could even think about what to choose, food started piling up on my plate, my own hands not even fully holding my utensil. Naturally, that meant it was the doing of the two men sitting next to me, Seungmin even explaining what was what innocently. I blinked at him and Minho, confusion most probably sitting on my face.

Nobody did anything about it though, as they just continued on as if nothing was wrong.

With a last, confused and tired blink I nodded back at Seungmin in thanks, picking up my chopsticks and messily eating -this sadly meant i had to pull my mask down to my chin, strengthening my racing pulse-. Messily, because my arm was slightly trembling and while I could use chopsticks, I wasn't a pro at it. And I was nervous as fuck. And also still not that hungry.

But somehow I managed to finish eating, without staining any of my clothes. Okay, well, the hoodie was still mine, something that kept slipping from my mind. The food was divine -i loved japanese food after all-, but I couldn't enjoy it well.

My neck, chest and left arm felt as if they were about to burst into flames and become ash, as if someone was prodding around with a sharp, ablaze rod and then pouring icy water on it afterwards, scarring the flesh permanently.

It felt stifling.

"Hey, you okay there Eevee?" - a soft voice asked from my right, my eyes finding a worried looking Seungmin there. "Oh, uhm, y-yeah, I'm just. Full, yeah, thank you for the food. It was really good. I'll, I'll be right back though."

I waited for a response after I rambled out my answer, gaining a slow nod.

Good enough.

I clumsily stood up, hitting my hip into the chair slightly in my haste, but it didn't matter.

I just needed to get away.

The moment the bathroom door was closed, I wrestled Hyunjin's sweater off and looked into the mirror.

There was a pattern on my chest and left arm, one even barely forming on the sides of my neck.

They were smaller and not connected, but the strange ink glistened on my skin with iridescent colours in swirls and lines, drawing out different, beautiful shapes. One was around my heart and breast, gentle feathers covering the skin and ribs resting beneath. The other was more sharp around the edges, yet the cherry blossoms softened up the picture just right on my bicep.

I–...

I had never gotten any tattoos in my entire life.

What the fuck was all this then?!

As I was about to rub at the mysterious ink, the pain flared up and made me dizzy, forcing me to grip the sink with all the strength I could muster up, lest I fell sideways into the bathtub.

Unfortunately, at that exact moment a knock could be heard, my lightheaded self barely registering the sound.

"Eevee, are you alright in there? You've been inside for an awful while…"

Shit, it was Felix.

I quickly gathered up the last wisps of my strength and went to the door, opening it up just enough for me to peek through. I still didn't have a shirt on after all.

"Y-yeah uh… about that. Can I have a weird question?" "Uhm, sure?" "What would you do if tattoos you had never before seen in your life randomly appeared on your skin?" "Huh?"

The man just looked confused and stunned amidst his worry, and rightfully so. I showed him my arm, extending it out through the gap. He gingerly held the injured limb in his tiny hands, running a few fingers over the newly appeared ink in fascination.

Before he could comment on it, I leaned against the nearby wall a bit too loudly, making him look up and let out a loud gasp.

"Eevee, are you in pain?! Hey, talk to me. Look at me, that's it. Where does it hurt?" - Felix asked as he forced himself into the room much to my dismay, taking my head into his hands and looking into my eyes. "My chest and arm…m-my…neck t-too" - it was all I could say without my voice fully breaking, the pain becoming worse and worse with every second. "Alright, okay, sit tight while I grab Chan hyung, okay? Don't go anywhere!"

And with that, he was out of my sight, his gentle warmth leaving as well. The air suddenly felt too thin, too warm and I had no choice but to slowly slide down the wall onto the ground, sitting there with increasingly hazier eyesight. Oh, and I still had my contact lenses in, that definitely didn't help with that situation at all.

A searing pain travelled through my neck, as if my carotid artery was about to burst into tiny pieces, as if its only goal was to leave me bleeding out on the cold tile floor.

It was as if no matter how much I breathed, no air entered my lungs.

Two figures then appeared in my vision, their sentences a bit muffled and far away sounding. But after a few seconds I could make out that it was Chan and Felix, their worry practically palpable in the scorching air.

"Eevee, can you stand? Eevee! Hey, don't fall asleep, stay with us. I'll… I'll carry you now, okay? Hold on tight!" - Chan said, carefully and hastily gathering me into his arms, Felix draping the red hoodie over my vulnerable form.

Chan's steps were short and quick, shouting out things I didn't understand. Felix was running next to him, talking to me, but only half of it was truly registering in my brain, and that was a generous estimation.

Chan's steps suddenly halted, making me look up at him. He was staring ahead, eyes wide and jaw tight. Following his gaze, I was met with an unknown man, formally clothed and dishevelled looking.

He was talking frantically, breath a bit short, as if he was in a hurry. I didn't understand any of it, of course, but I felt like none of the words were directed at me anyway.

Although when I heard someone mutter the word 'Soulmates…?', I looked at them, confused.

It was Chan once again, his eyes darting between me and everyone else.

The conversation kept going, but it was starting to turn into an argument between several people. The others had arrived as well, gathering around us. I didn't get what it was about, not until Felix uttered 'You're our soulmate?' as he looked at me.

Only then did my delirious eyes notice the others' stares, the gesturing at me, Chan's tightening grip on me.

It was so obvious looking back at it.

But…

"How? I'm..."

The last thing my brain registered were arms holding me tightly and panicked shouting surrounding me.

Next chapter

Taglist: @skzstaykatsy @vampcharxter @linlinaert @yoongibelike

[rottenblur]

My modern Romeo|J.MILLER

part three

Summary: When Joel ghosts you after a drunk makeout you had enough. Risking your life, breaking into his house was worth it to get the last word in. Only if you knew alot more than a conversation was gonna happen.

Warnings: thigh riding, joel teaching you how to touch dick??? Smut. Messy fucking situation. SMUT IN A BED!!! Kissing, makeout. Hickeys.

“You’ve been told listening to your heart rather than your brain gets you nowhere in this world, yet your feet still bring you to the walls of jackson.”

It had been three weeks since you last seen Joel, kissed him.

You were worried, had he got caught? Would you ever seen him again, did he want to see you again?

It was late, 2am on a Friday and you weren’t with him. It was eating you up alive, did he forget about me? Was all he wanted from me was to get it dick hard?

You throw the book you were reading, one that you could barely focus on due to lack of Joel. Three weeks of being bossed around by your family, your group was ruining your will from the outside in.

I gotta do something about this, if he doesn’t wanna see me, i wanna hear him say it to my face you think to yourself.

Its the least he could do, after making you like him so so long, crave him.

He can’t get kiss you then never see you again, can he?

Three weeks of walking to the so very prized field, waiting for hours just for him to not show.

You get off your bed, throw on a sweater not bothering to dress up for him. Fuck it.

You start on the route to jackson, a route you were warned about by group members. Yet Joel had told you a million times exactly how he sneaks out, to meet you, you knew where you we going, or you hoped.

It was a far walk, a reason Tommy used a horse and not his own damned legs. It’s hard to not get into your thoughts when your aching legs aren’t adding positivity to your thoughts.

What if everything you thought was true? Would you ever see him again? You loved him, did you? Did you even know what love is? Fuck it, doesn’t matter.

You reach the hill before jackson, the enchanting view of it. All the houses, the life that thrives from there made you overwhelmed. How could you be mad at him for not wanting to leave here, a overwhelming amount of guilt washes over you.

A guilt you should listen to but you don’t. You couldn’t, you’d rather die trying to see him then never see him again.

You’ve been told listening to your heart rather than your brain gets you nowhere in this world, yet your feet still bring you to the walls of jackson.

Joel had told you about a place where the wall needs to be repaired, how he sneaks out when he doesn’t have a reason to leave. Thank god for him.

You squeeze yourself through the broken wall, barely fitting through, how the fuck does he fit.

You make sure you’re out of sight from the patrol towers and make your way through a line of houses.

The faint sounds of barn animals is the only sound in the dead of night in jackson.

On the front of every house a last name is engraved in each mailbox, do they get mail? You only heard pre apocalypse stories about how people would send letters to each other worldwide, it fascinated you, maybe you would ask him about it.

Twenty minutes of scurrying through six rows of houses, till you come across a large house with worn down white paints on the steps. A black mailbox with “J.MILLER” engraved into it near some white fencing. Bingo.

You look around, checking to see if anyone was around before stepping onto the worn down steps, squeaking beneath your feet.

You take a deep breath before reaching for the door knob, twisting it. Fuck. It’s locked. Of course it’s locked, why wouldn’t it be?

Stepping over towards the window near the entrance you pull it up, slowly and carefully trying not to make any noise.

You throw yourself inside of it and close it behind you. You glance around the room, it smells like old coffee and pine. Him.

Walking around on the old wood floor, you walk towards the steps slowly stepping on each one trying to make it squeak as little as possible.

God what the absolute fuck were you thinking. You were so upset at him, and yourself for him leaving you alone for so long, you didn’t plan what you would actually do when you got here.

Reaching the top step, you try to make out the dark hallway. A few rooms covering the top floor, you walk up to a door and hope it’s his bedroom.

Never would you think in this world people would be living so comfortably, in such big houses, filled with furniture.

Shit, you had furniture if a bed on the floor and a bookshelf counted. A half empty bookshelf from giving away most of your life to this man. Whatever, maybe it could be worth it.

You turn the door knob easing it open slowly, not to wake him. Lucky guess, there he was. An arm tucked underneath his head, laid onto a pillow. You step closer, his room was exactly how you imagined it. Not exactly, but very close you didn’t think it would be this domestic.

It looked like he was alive. A real fucking human, alive not just living surviving however they could, at what major cost.

The wolves were living not fucking alive, they were gruesome with at the lengths they would go to, for survival. You were taught how to survive, not nurture nor love. That comes back to you when you realize what you were doing, breaking into his community just to get the last word what the fuck.

Brushing those thoughts out of your head and approaching the bed, his other arm laid onto his waist, his bare waist. You gulp down your shame and reach out a arm, covering his mouth.

His eyes bolt open with a worried look, he furrows his brows and searches your face in the darkness in recognition. He mumbles into your hand.

You remove your hand, his brows still tightly clenched together.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?”

You tilt your head.

“Oh hello to you to? Jesus don’t gotta curse at me.”

“You could have gotten shot? Did you think of that?”

He sits up.

You sit down on the bed next to him.

“Obviously i did, where have you been asshole?”

He pitches his nose bridge and slumps over.

“Shit happened since i saw you last.”

He looks at you, the glimmer of moon light shines on dark bruises and open cuts covering his soft face.

“Oh fuck, who did that are you okay??” You touch his face, he winces and pulls your hand away.

“I’m okay. It’s nothin’ darlin’- fuck.” He shakes his head and says your name.

You stand up, turning on the christmas lights that litter his ceiling. Getting a better look at his face, it was bad, beat to plup bad.

“Jesus Joel that’s not okay. You were gone and i had to come all this way and you’re fucking beat up?”

He stands up, picks up a shirt off the floor and throws it on shaking his head.

“Okay, you make out with me then just disappear? I risk my life for you and you won’t talk to me?”

You walk up to him trying to size him up, knowing he’s double your size. Fuck that.

“I can explain, uh i just-“

He studders, and places his hands on your arms.

God he looks like he wants to cry.

“You just got your dick wet and decided you didn’t want me anymore?” You snap back.

He looks down.

“I just can’t control myself around you anymore, it’s for the better.”

You take his hands off you.

“For the better my ass. Wasn’t you that said that thing about lying? You should listen to yourself.”

He looks at you, you can see his pride slipping away from his soft brown eyes.

“I got into a fight cause i was so fucking mad at myself for missing you so much.”

You start to understand, maybe you felt a little bad.

“I feel bad that your first real—I don’t know what you would call us, romance? Is so forbidden. You should be able to see someone everyday, not just weekly.”

He shakes his head and takes a step away, you stop him.

You grab his arm and pull him towards you, he looks at you, down to your lips and back up to your eyes.

“I needed you so fucking bad Joel.”

You step onto your tippy toes and kiss him, pulling away to see his reaction, he looks at you with those fucking puppy eyes.

He pulls you back into the kiss, deepening it and pulling you closer. He steps back, his legs hitting the bed frame, then pulling you on top of him onto the bed.

Your first real kiss with him, on a fucking bed. Is this real?

He holds your face with one hand, the other placed carefully on your waist. You regret your outfit choice now.

You pull away, he looks confused then you take your gun holster off your hip and place it onto the bedside table.

You straddle him, avoiding his lips and going down to his neck. You didn’t know what you were doing, or if it even felt good fuck man he was the first person you ever made out with.

Yet the way his hips rutted up against you and whimpers left his mouth told you everything. You kiss and suck up and down his neck, grunts of “fuck” and “oh thats so fuckin’ good” left his mouth till you pulled away to look at him. His fucked out face, bruised patches on his neck matched the same hue of his face.

“Oh fuck did i hurt you?”

“Huh?” He looks confused.

“Your neck, its bruised? I didn’t know I could do that.”

He just laughs and shakes his head.

“Shit, you gave me hickeys? You don’t know what a hickey is darlin’?” He squints his eyes at you.

You shake your head.

“I mean you’re the first guy I’ve made out with.”

He looks shocked, and kinda guilty.

“Fuck, really?”

You nod and trace your fingers along his bruised neck, down to his shirt collar.

“You want it off?” He looks at you with a grin.

“That okay?” You ask him nervously.

He reached to the bottom hem of his shirt and pulls up and off. Fuck. He looked even better with the lights on, his happy trail littering his stomach leading down to a patch of curly hair peaking out of his boxers.

He watches your eyes scan his body, pulling you into a kiss, his hand moving from your waist down to your hips.

His fingers burned into your skin with pleasure, god you wished he could touch you forever.

The kiss picks up in pace, so does his hips. Rutting into you, holding your hips tight to the hardness in his boxers. It was embarrassing how fucking wet you were.

A whimper slips out and into his mouth, he feels the vibrations on his lips, on his tongue.

He pulls away, slowly rutting against you with a groan.

“You like that? Make you feel good?” He asks you in a hungry voice.

You nod and hold back a whimper almost escaping your mouth.

“You wanna try something else? Make me feel good?”

Of course you wanted to make him feel good. You liked him, if you knew what love was maybe you loved him.

You nod, he scoots your hips back a little bit, resting on the top of his thighs. He pulls the waistband of his boxers back, his length snaps back hitting his belly button. It was fucking huge.

It was leaking and the tip was tan to match the length, thick veins littered his girth.

Your eyes open wide and the fire in your panties grew.

“You wanna touch it?”

You nod and squeeze your fist onto his dark blue blanket.

“Spit on your hand.”

His words are demanding but his eyes are dazed and glossy.

You spit on your hand, he grabs it and wraps it around him.

“You’re hands barely wrap ‘round it darlin’”

He grins, move your hand up to his tip brushing your thumb on it, collecting the precum. He brings the precum down, moving your hand up and down at a slow pace.

“Am i doing okay?” You almost whispered out.

He picks up the pace and removes his hand, leaving your hand to do all the work. It was making you needy. You wanted him, you wanted all of him.

“Mh just like that, fuck that’s good.”

You look away from your hand and up to him, his gaze is lost and his head is thrown back onto the bed.

A string of grunts and mumbles leaves his throat, encouraging you to move your hand faster, grip him tighter.

You start slowing rutting your hips onto his thigh, the rough denim of your jeans against his thick bare leg.

“You like this darlin’? Getting yourself off on my thigh, so fuckin’-“ a whimper leaves his throat and he continues “-so fucking cute baby.”

His tip is leaking profusely onto the top of your hand, aiding to the wetness seeping out of your jeans. The more you hips more, the faster, the rougher. The harder you grip him, jerking him faster.

Between the two of you there’s almost a single thought, almost. Both Chasing a high, a desperate one, no one has ever made you feel this way before.

He starts rutting into your hand, rougher groans leaking from his throat, just as you reach your high, he does. Leaking white strings all over your hand, and onto his hips. A fucking mess, the two of you are.

He pulls his head off the bed and looks at you, fucked out glossy eyes, so fucking fulfilled. If it wasn’t for his face littered with bruises, you’d think he was the happiest man alive.

“Ah fuck, there’s shit in the bathroom if you wanna clean yourself up.” He leans in and kisses your lips.

A gentle, soft plush kiss.

You get off him with achy knees recollecting your thoughts, your brain as a whole.

“Fuck, you made a mess all over my thigh.” You watch him reach down, collecting some on his fingers and sucking on them.

A stupid fucking grin rushes to his face, a adorable grin.

You walk over to the bathroom, wet a face cloth with warm water and wipe off your hands, looking at your watch smeared with cum. Fuck. It’s already four in the god damn morning.

You bring out another face cloth, throwing the other into a laundry basket thrown into his bathroom.

He accepts it with a smile, cleaning himself up, disregarding his boxers for new ones.

“Cute ass.” You say smiling and sitting onto the bed, watching him clothe himself.

He laughs back at you, a forced one. So fucking sassy.

“You know, i’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout that since i met you.”

You shake your head as he walks up to you.

He places a kiss onto your neck, not one. Kissing up and down your neck with gentle kisses.

“It’s fucking late. I should really go, don’t want your boys on me, do I?”

He shakes his head, that god damn sad look in his eye made you want to stay forever, it was intoxicating.

“Friday? I mean it. I don’t know what i was thinking, i really fucking missed you.” He places a kiss onto your forehead, hugging you. A genuine comforting hug, a drug. You drink in his scent before getting up to leave.

Maybe it was love. Maybe you did love him.

My masterlist

Taglist: @paleidiot @slvbl @princessanglophile

AN!!!! God damn this took a while, my writing schedule has been so fucked up recently. Send request or questions to my inbox! I hope yall liked this

[lunarfleur]

Promise ~ Earth 42! Miles Morales

Tagging: @hiyaitssans @juneberrie @sluggmuffin @ggucafe

Warnings: low-key toxic relationship

A/N: inspired by Promise by Laufey. There’s some translated Spanish in here (not from Google Translate) so please lmk if anything of it is wrong 🙏🏻🙏🏻

This is x gender neutral reader!

I made a promise

To distance myself

“Baby, don’t you dare do this to me.”

You stood out like a sore thumb in his bedroom, his hoodie hanging loosely from your body. Your hands sat limp at your sides, watching Miles’s expression change.

“Miles, this…isn’t working.”

“What? We been working perfectly fine.”

His eyes bore into you, giving a silent plea. You watched as tears threatened to spill from his eyes, the same eyes you’ve grown to love.

But he knew you were right. He was so busy all the time, doing things that were beyond dangerous. He’d flake out on dates constantly. Some days, you’d wake in his bedroom at 3:00 am, completely alone.

“I’ll be better,” he always said.

“I’m sorry Miles.”

“But-but I love you, you know I do.”

“I know, Miles. This just isn’t right.”

“No me dejes, please.”

(Don’t leave me, please.)

“I’ll see you soon.”

Took a flight, through aurora skies

Honestly, I didn't think about how we didn't say goodbye

Just see you very soon

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

——————————————————————————

“Miles, man, how you doin?”

So I didn't call you

For sixteen long days

Miles didn’t answer. For a little over 2 weeks, he did nothing but stare at his ceiling. His bed, somehow, still smelled like you. There was a hoodie draped over his desk chair, the same one you wore when you left him.

He wasn’t upset with you. No matter how much he ignored it, he still knew he was ruining it, ruining you. Someone was bound to get hurt. More than anything, he was glad it was him.

And I should get a cigarette

For so much restraint

No matter how long I resist temptation

I will always lose

It was for the better, right?

In the 8 months you had been dating, you always somehow managed to end up missing Miles more than you could love him. Too many nights, you woke up alone. Too many of your texts had been left on read. No matter how many times he came back, he always left again.

You still had his hoodie, his favorite one. It no longer smelled like him, was no longer warm like him. It was nothing more than a reminder of everything you did, and everything Miles couldn’t do.

So, it was for the better, right?

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

Yet, you couldn’t forget about the nights he’d come back to you. Sneaking in through your window, trying his hardest not to wake you as he slipped into your bed.

Every time he held you, it was tight and close and warm. Every time he kissed you, it was sweet and loving. So many nights, you sat in his lap, kissing the night away until neither of you could breath.

“I’m yours, amor.”

I've done the math

There's no solution

We'll never last

Why can't I let go of this?

——————————————————————————

So I broke my promise

“Hi, Miles.”

I called you last night

“Y/N?”

I shouldn't have, I wouldn't have

“Hi.”

If it weren't for the sight of a boy

“What-what is it?”

Who looked just like you

“I’m sorry, really.”

“It’s alright. You deserved better.”

“But I-”

“Don’t. It’s ‘aight. You should be out there, living your life. It ain’t fair the way I made you worry about me.”

“I can’t stop, though. Funny as it is, I’d rather live my life worrying with you than not worry at all without you.”

Standing out on Melrose Avenue

“Volver conmigo. Please, I swear I’ll be better this time.”

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

“Promise?”

“On my life.”

“Miles, those 8 months were-”

“Awful. I know.”

“You said you’d be better. You never were. How do I know you’re not just gonna break the promise again.”

“Cause, before, I guess I didn’t realize how much I had to lose.”

It hurts to be something

It's worse to be nothing with you

It was all for the better. Right?

[silenceofthecookies]

Top shelf - Rocinante x reader (GN)

Genderneutral reader Warnings: none Word count: 713

More and more clouds were rolling in, blocking out the bright rays of the sun. Judging by the color, it would rain soon. With a sigh, you walked to your closet and grabbed one of your sweaters. It seemed summer was officially over, and fall was coming. The thought saddened you a little. For 3 months, you had enjoyed the rays of sunshine on your skin, sitting in front of the fan, having an excuse every single day to go swim... but now, that was all over.  

Not wanting to ruin your mood, you started thinking about everything good about fall. The beautiful colors of the falling leaves. A nice hot beverage to warm you up from the inside. Soft blankets to sit under. Nobody forcing you to go outside because ‘it’s such nice weather’. And how could you forget? Sitting side by side with your lover, his coat wrapped around both of you.  

There was something safe about sitting together with Rocinante like that. You were never sure if it was his height, the warmth of his body and his coat, or the way he’d always casually sneak his arm around you to hold you close.  

A cold wind coming through the open window snapped you out of your thoughts. You closed the window and left your room, hoping to find the person who had been occupying your thoughts for the past few minutes. You found him pretty easily, standing outside to smoke. You smiled and opened the door, peeking only your head out, wanting to stay in the warmth of your home.  

“Cora, I’m a little cold so I’m gonna make hot cocoa. Do you want some?” It was as much a question as it was a subtle hint. ‘I’m cold, so come snuggle me’.   Rocinante only nodded in response, still pretending to be mute in case someone overheard. 

Satisfied with the answer, you walked towards the kitchen, ready to make some hot cocoa. First you opened the fridge, noticing the milk was on the top shelf. You grabbed the little stool you had in the kitchen, just for occasions like these. The house was made for Rocinante’s size after all, and you were smaller. Once you got the milk, you went to grab two big mugs. Noticing the bottom shelf of the cupboard was empty, you groaned. You looked at your trusty stool, but realized that you’d have to get something bigger to reach the mugs. The chairs at the dining table would do.  

As you were pulling the chair to the cupboard, Rocinante entered. He smiled as you struggled with the size of his house. From the moment you had moved in with him, it had been an obstacle. But no matter how often he had offered to grab things for you, you’d always insisted on doing it yourself, climbing onto everything in the kitchen to get what you wanted.  

“Babe.”  

You were standing on the counter, your back facing him, holding on to the shelf you were looking into. Rocinante recognized the tone in your voice, and already was struggling to suppress his laughter. You slowly turned to face him, holding the bag of cocoa powder in one hand, while holding on to the shelf with the other.  

“Can you stop putting everything on the top shelf?!”  

Rocinante couldn’t hold it in anymore, laughing loudly at your outburst. He had been putting everything on the top shelves on purpose as a way of teasing you. For weeks now, he had been waiting for you to notice. And your reaction was worth it. Seeing you standing on the counter, a little frown on your face, holding on to the bag of cocoa powder. You looked so small. And so done with his shit.  

Noticing your struggle to safely climb off the counter, Rocinante walked towards you and picked you up, pulling you into a hug.  

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s just that you look cute climbing on everything like that.”   “I am not cute!”   “If you say so. Now, let’s make that hot cocoa, you went through so much effort to grab everything, after all.” Rocinante couldn’t stifle his laughter anymore at the end of the sentence, laughing loudly while still holding you against his chest.  “Oh fuck you, Roci”  

[channoticedmeuwu]

💭 txt's choi line as . . . EVER AFTER HIGH CHARACTERS ! ☆ ♡ ༶⁠ 

p — CHOI LINE × FEM!READER | g — fluff, suggestive, eah!au + soobin has princess charming!reader | w — yeonjun's is suggestive, a lot of destiny&fate talk, eah terms used

a/n — I couldn't get choi line and them as eah descendents out of my mind so lo and behold, I caved. never forgiving them for cancelling this show + posting cuz it's my bday we gon party like it's my bday

♡ DON'T FORGET TO READ TAEKAI'S VERSION !!

YEONJUN, SON OF SLEEPING BEAUTY

rosy pink lips and a piercing gaze, choi yeonjun was the definition of the rose his mother was destined to represent. from his harsh grip on your waist to the soft, peppery kisses he'd leave on your neck when you'd sneak into his room after night curfew, choi yeonjun was casting a spell upon you. your heavy eyelids threatening to shut as he had his legs thrown over you while he spooned you, whispering “how pretty you are” and how lucky he is to have you. sharp yet maintained nails combing your scalp as he ran his fingers through your hair, the sensation sending pulses down to your toes.

choi yeonjun would fall asleep in a class, only to be woken up by a smack on his wrist and the threat of "DETENTION!". he'd have his fun with the gawking looks of everyone as he'd walk by, a pink mist of flowery drowsiness settling through the halls, making everyone's stomachs feeling like they'd just digested thorns.

but with you, oh, he was on his knees. puffy red lips and eyes bright n’ shiny when you'd kiss him, his lips leaving different shades of roses on your skin, like he was a rose himself— the color of his petals bleeding into the cracks of your skin. he'd find himself hiding between the alleyways behind the son of cinderella's shoe shop, your fingers tracing the wrinkles his smile would make near his eyes as he gazed at you like you were a happily ever after he was promised.

and he knew that even if his destiny didn't allow it, he'd prick his finger a thousand times only to be awoken by the drowning feeling of your lips on his own.

SOOBIN, SON OF SNOW WHITE

when choi soobin's mirror answered your name instead of his after he questioned, “who's the fairest of them all?” things got a bit messy. who even were you, making your way to ruin his happily ever after? rolling his eyes and shutting his locker, he'd come face to face with you, wearing a charming, a prince charming, smile and tilting your head at him. now, children of the prince (or now, king) charming weren't exactly his type, but god, who on earth gave you the right to charm him with that pearly, enchantingly cursed smile? even if you technically belonged in his destiny, you weren't supposed to rob off his title of being the fairest of them all, anyway.

but as he stared from across the classroom, he started to understand why tones of red and blue were such an eye-catching match. from the way you'd glow in the silvery moonlight with your blue, he'd watch from his window, gold in his candlelight, as you'd practice lifting the weight of a sword passed through generations of your family. he'd mumble to his pet animals, telling them how embarrassing it was for a son of snow white to fall for the princess charming before he could even choke on that fucking apple, before his roommate would tell him to shut up!

and when he finally buried his ego into the glass coffin he was destined to lie in, poisoned and cursed for eternity, he faced you—heart throbbing in his chest and silky black hair flowing in the wind as he took your hands. it was unsettling, how he went against his destiny at that moment just to find you and give you an untraditionally abrupt kiss on the lips, even if no one was poisoned.

but, his true love's kiss promised, it sure woke him from a slumber he didn't know he was already in, reality seeping into his eyes like a curse finally being lifted. and his chest heaved, breathless, staring at you like you were the apple of his eye—the true fairest of them all.

BEOMGYU, SON OF THE BEAUTY & THE BEAST

choi beomgyu was like streaks of gold sunlight peering onto a flowing river. with his sharp teeth and hair destined to flow perfectly in the wind, he would sprinkle his charm into any situation to win whatever he wanted. being the son of the beauty and the beast, he got the best of both worlds, athletically charming and annoyingly witty. and if you do say for yourself, unfairly attractive.

it was not irregular for choi beomgyu to intrude wherever and whenever he wanted to—a charming wink to a group of girls and they'd be squealing over him, or guys lifting him into the air when he'd score the winning goal for the bookball game, he had it all. and beomgyu wasn't really much to you, either.

except, when he'd sit with you in the enchanted forest, book in hand and pencil between his teeth, confused glances and nervous smiles as you tried to teach him the course for home evilnomics to impress a crush he had on a rebel. choi beomgyu didn't faze you— his smile cast no spell upon your senses; his beauty was meant to just be savoured by the eyes. his voice like honey didn't sooth your soul like it did to everyone else, and beomgyu was starting to realize that the more time he spent with you, the more he was drawn closer to you.

the genuinity in your smile set his cheeks rosy pink, the way your fingers would graze over his ever so slightly to show him how to cast a spell, the way you bit your lips and stared at him sheepishly when you didn't know the answer to a question he asked— you were finding ways to make him experience aspects of romance he's never witnessed first hand. and he'd find himself looking for you on the bleachers after scoring the winning goal for yet another bookball game. and he wouldn't shoot a wink to a group of girls who'd coo his name until he'd see you nearby. and he'd startle you from behind when you'd look for books in your locker, leaning nearby to shut the space between you two and watch your focussed eyes, a rosy tint in his line of vision.

you had the school's pride and joy wrapped around your finger, following you around like he were underneath a trance, head on your shoulder or arm around you as you roamed around town together. and you knew the rhythm of his heartbeat would change when you'd get especially close to him, finger on his chin as you'd smirk up at him. and you'd see the way his eyes would dart around your face, his light brown locks cast in front his eyes, glittering gold as his fingers would sneak up your blouse to feel the skin on your waist grow warmer at his touch.

txt — masterlist

main taglist (hmu to get added!) — @koishua @navyhyuck @allegxdly @daystiny  @kdyism  @neotism  @bluejaem  @radiorenjun  @sleepylixie @oifelixcmerebrou @mrkcore @imdamnconfused  @sicluvz @abhirami20 @tyongishs @emvrd @brxght-world

I’d appreciate if you’d give me a little feedback on the drabble if you read, whether it’s an ask, a reply or in the tags of the rb! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[justanotherfanwriter]

and they were ROOMmates

Cht list: (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n: this one took me awhile, but hopefully, you can see Soul's other points of stress!

fyi I put this story on ao3 (as requested), so don’t forget to leave a comment or kudos (if you want lol). I’ll continue to update on tumblr as well!

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

The bus jolted Soul awake. Its brakes squealed as it came to a halt, and his head bounced against the bus window. He hissed in pain and scrambled for the package the sudden stop had knocked off his lap. When the package was back in its proper place, he rubbed at his head, poking around the still-tender flesh. 

“Shit,” He cursed, flinching away from his hand when it grazed against the goose egg that was beginning to form. The woman caddy corner to him, cradling a sleeping toddler, glared, which he returned, though he hardly believed she could tell. He was moving around Death City incognito with oversized sunglasses, a baseball cap, and his hoodie with the hood up. 

It was a cakewalk going to the post office as an oddly dressed stranger compared to going as the Last Death Scythe. He couldn’t make it two blocks down the street without being stopped if it weren’t for the sunglasses, never mind the setting sun. 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the bus. Even for a weapon, it wasn’t a bright idea, but as Maka had guessed, the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. Being a weapon obsessive over protecting his meister was easier said than mentally done. He sighed and gently placed his head back against the window, relying on the bus to keep him jostled awake.

There was some shifting as the group from the back of the bus got off, and a new group got on. He watched the departing group’s reflections as they walked past. Each was sporting DWMA memorabilia, but he couldn’t recognize any of their faces, so he assumed they were a few years younger than him. Of course, that didn’t mean they didn’t know him, and because of that likely possibility, he was glad they hadn’t seen through his poorly-made disguise. 

When things settled back down on the bus, he turned his attention out the window and blankly stared past his reflection. They were near the school but closer to the airport. He didn’t come to this side of the city as often as he once had and was only there now because Maka had accidentally sent her package to their old PO box. The ride from the DWMA clinic where Maka was staying to their old post office wasn’t a bad commute, but because it was in the opposite direction of their new apartment, he still had fifteen or twenty-ish minutes until he made it home.  

He let out a deep breath, temporarily fogging the window. Mentally, he counted how many stop he had left until he got off, and then couldn’t stop himself from counting down how many stops were left between here and their old apartment.  

DWMA’s independent student-living complexes weren’t glorious by any means, but it hadn’t been bad. Like sure, the air-conditioning busted on the days it was most inconvenient, and there was a minor bug problem, but when he thought of his childhood home, he didn’t think of the estate in Maine, but the two-bedroom, one bathroom mold-infested hellscape he had lived in with Maka. 

He missed that apartment. 

A lot. 

They had moved out of their old apartment the moment he turned eighteen and could legally sign a lease off of DWMA property. They had left for no other reason besides the fact he had become too famous to stay there, especially with the amount of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed underclassmen wandering around this part of Death City that wanted nothing more than to meet the great, stupendous Last Death Scythe in all his freaky albino glory. 

It wasn’t just the underclassmen, though, that wasn’t fair to the underclassmen—sorry, underclassmen—because the upperclassmen would sneak by too, but they, at least, tried being cool about it. Still, some piece of shit had ruined it for everyone and leaked their apartment address to the general public, completely destroying the low-key vibe. They tried their best to stay in the apartment, but after Maka had thrown away the third pile of used underwear from a “NO RETURN” sender, she had declared it was time they thought about moving out. 

“Unless,” She had paused drying the dishes, looking at him almost shyly, “I mean, unless you want to live by yourself. We’re graduating soon, after all. There’s no reason we have to stay roommates. I can—” an uncomfortable look had crossed her face, and she swallowed past her discomfort, “—move back in with my papa, you know until I’m old enough to sign a lease somewhere.” 

He could clearly remember the way he had stared at her, taking in the brave look on her face and considering, for the first time since they had moved in together, living alone. He had almost laughed at her. Maybe when he was thirteen, and she was twelve, yelling at him about leaving the toilet seat up, he had longingly thought about his own apartment without any roommates breathing down his neck, but now, he couldn’t imagine a life without Maka’s daily lectures. 

And besides, he had asked, “Is that, like, even possible? Do I even make that much money now?” 

Clear annoyance had pulsed through her features as she gritted out for the umpteenth time, “Soul, please, you have to start paying attention to your finances.” 

“But then, what would you bitch about?” He had asked her through a toothy smile, “You know, besides the laundry, and the cleaning, and the cooking, and the—” 

“—I’m not helping you anymore!” She had snapped, throwing the dish towel at his head, “Your money! Your checkbook! Your problem!” 

She had stomped away to the sound of his cackling, and neither of them brought up the idea of living apart again. They had simply moved to another apartment together. Maka, of course, had taken care of everything, and he, of course, bitched about the thousands of cumbersome books he had to move while she stood around, clipboard in hand, nagging him and all the other poor suckers she had roped into helping them move. 

Their new apartment complex was farther away from the school and, thus, the main part of the bustling city. They lived closer to the outskirts where the townies lived, where Death Children, like Maka, were raised. The people there wouldn’t have given two shits if he were the Death Lord himself. Death Children had seen plenty of Death Scythes come and go that Soul didn’t bother with the shitty disguises he wore everywhere else if he wanted a normal outing. In fact, the only person who seemed to care about them at all was Mrs. Ranger from across the hall, who hated Blair (human form) with a passion but loved Blair (cat form) like no other. 

He readjusted his baseball cap down his eyes and nestled further into his seat, groaning at the thought of Blair. She had probably caused more trouble than she was worth while they were gone, and now, he’d have to deal with it. Alone. Just uncool. 

“Hey, hey—” Someone belched, and Soul dragged his gaze away from the window to look back toward the bus aisle.

“Yes?” He bit back actual tears as the drunk guy, who was supposed to be sitting four seats behind him, leered down at him. Why couldn’t anyone leave him alone? 

“’ Ey, do I, uh, I know you, right?” The man asked around another burp. 

And, Lord Death, how many times would he be asked that today while he was just trying to exist in fucking peace? 

“No. You don’t,” Soul lied, pushing his sunglasses back up his nose. 

“Are you—are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure, man.” He turned to look back out the window, but the guy persisted.

“Nah,” He said, sitting down, “I know youse. Uh, shit—” Another burp, paired with a hiccup, “—got a package, huh?” 

“I do.” He glowered at his reflection, flipping the package label down so it wouldn’t give him away. 

The drunk hiccupped, blinking rapidly as he stared at him. He pursed his lips in thought before his face lit up in recognition. Obnoxiously, he snapped his fingers and then jabbed one in Soul’s face, “Youse look exactly like that guy!” 

“I don’t know you,” Soul repeated, knocking the drunk’s hand away just like he had knocked away Marc’s not even two hours before. Seriously, did manners mean nothing anymore?

Unbothered, the guy continued smiling. He looked five seconds away from passing out or throwing up, and Soul didn’t want to be involved either way. “Yeah, but youse—” the drunk man yawned and shook his head to keep himself awake, “—youse look like that guy, ya know, he, uh, he’s that, um, guy!” 

“Nope.” Soul shook his head, tempted to jump out of the moving bus just to get away, but with rush hour traffic in Death City, his odds of survival didn’t look good.

Seconds ticked by without a peep from the drunk, and for a beautiful, wonderous second Soul thought maybe the interrogation was over. He chanced a quick look at the drunk just in time to watch the man slump forward as he passed out. In that instant, the bus hit a bump, and the guy’s head lulled to the side, landing on Soul’s shoulder. A snore erupted from the man and a wave of bad breath and booze crashed over him. He pulled a face and followed his gut reaction, shoving the man away.

Unfortunately, this woke him up. 

The drunk shot up with a clap, evidently proud of himself, and bellowed, “The Last Death Scythe! That’s who!”  

Soul froze for half a second, then shook his head, “Never heard of ‘im.” 

“You don’t know who that is!” Some rando behind them cried, sticking his head between the seats. His eyes were rimmed red, and he smelt like weed. It pissed Soul off, but mostly out of jealousy. “You a tourist or sumthin’?” 

“No.” He seethed, slouching further down his seat.

“You’re not a tourist, and you ain’t ever heard of the Last fucking Scythe?” The high man was flabbergasted, hitting the drunk man on the shoulder, “I don’t believe it! Do you believe it?” 

“I do’not fuckin’ believe it!” The drunk man agreed enthusiastically, jolting up and confused but happy to be included. Out of the corner of Soul’s eye, he watched the lady with the toddler shoot the three of them a dirty look, and again, he glared back. Obviously, she also had an issue with him.  

“Well, do.” He sneered, returning his attention to the men, but they both ignored him; the high guy was sputtering his continued disbelief, and the drunk man was wiping drool from his mouth.

“Don’t he look like him? The Last Death Scythe?” The drunk man slurred, asking the high man, who, in turn, said to Soul, “You don’t gotta be embarrassed about being a tourist. I know all the good spots, ya know. I run a little tour business; a bit of a side hustle, you understand. I can give you a discount, and show you around. For just a small fee, I can have you running around this City like an authentic Death Child. We’ll check out the school!”

“I’m not—” Soul paused and gave the guy a dry look, “—the school? You’re leading with the school? Everyone knows the school. That can’t be your first suggestion.” 

“What’s wrong with the school?” The high man gave him a dirty look.

“You can’t just say you know all the good spots and name the one spot everyone knows!” 

“What would you know? You ain’t fuckin’ from here!” The man bristled, and the drunk man followed suit, acting as a useless echo, “Yeah, you ain’t fuckin’ from here!” 

“I live here. I work here.”

“And what do you do?” The high man leaned forward.

Soul gritted his teeth, “What does it matter? 

They went back and forth like this, their argument getting progressively more aggressive the nearer they got to Soul’s stop. He let out an annoyed groan, rubbing a hand down his face as he, again, shoved the drunk guy’s sleeping head off his shoulder. 

“Listen, buddy,” He addressed the high guy for the umpteenth time, “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this. I’m not a tourist. I’m not interested in your tour program. I’m just trying to get home, so get off my dick about it.” 

“If you ain’t a tourist, you shouldn’t have a problem confirming where you work.” The high guy countered. 

“Fine!” Soul rolled his eyes, pushing the drunk guy away again, “I’m an agent working for DWMA.” 

The high man fell quiet, and for one foolish moment, Soul believed he’d stay silent, but as soon as he had thought it, the man began laughing loud enough to wake up both the sleeping toddler and the drunk man. While the drunk man snorted awake and started laughing as if he had been cognitive throughout the whole conversation and not drooling down Soul’s shirt, the toddler began to scream, just like Soul wanted to. 

“But you don’t know the Last Scythe,” the high man (impressively) cackled over the screaming, “fuck off, kid. Just admit it, you’re a tourist.”  

“Excuse me,” The lady with the now-not-sleeping toddler snapped, “could you three stop with the cursing? There are children on board.” 

“Lady,” Soul snapped back, already pissed off and matching her energy, “you’re the one who brought a kid on a public bus, okay. We’re not the problem here.”

“Can you believe this kid?” The high man asked the lady, “A tourist thinks he knows more than us!” 

“I’m not a tourist!” 

“You’re certainly acting like one! So loud and rude! This whole ride!” The lady turned her nose up into the air, and Soul gasped, affronted and offended.  

“Does it really sound like I want any of this conversation to be happening?” His voice was a touch bit hysterical, “How is this my fault? I was just sitting here. This is so stup—I-I am not a tourist! I work for DWMA. I went to the school! I don’t need advice!” 

“Then you’re a liar.” The lady sneered, “And that’s worse than a tourist.” 

“And now I’m a liar.” He threw his hands up in disbelief, “How am I suddenly a liar?”  

“You work for DWMA and don’t know who the Last Death Scythe is? He saved the world! You should do better to know your superiors.” The woman tsked, and he covered his face with his hands, muffling something akin to a high-pitched scream. More people on the bus were chiming in now, accusing him of lying, causing a scene, and thievery, for some fuck up reason, and slowly the world around him began to spiral out of control.

Like the concerts he performed when he was a child, all the attention quickly became suffocating, and the noise amplified in his head, a constant drumming beat behind his eyes. His lungs began to constrict, his vision started to tunnel, and just as he began to panic about spiraling into madness—with Marc and Kid’s bullets still on his mind—to his relief, he felt the bus decelerating as it came to its next stop. 

“Fine! Fine! You wanna know why I don’t know him?” In one fluid motion, he shot up and threw off his cap and sunglasses, “Because I am him! See,” He motioned to his face, “not a fucking tourist!” 

He gathered his duffel bag and package before jumping over the drunk guy. Heat continued to prickle the back of his neck, and he hardly paid attention to the group’s faces as he yelled, “I’m not a liar! So, fuck you, fuck you,” He flicked off the high guy and the drunk guy, then the lady, “fuck you,” and after tucking Maka’s package underneath his arm, he double flicked off the crying toddler, “and double fuck you!” 

He turned down the aisle before anyone could say anything else. 

“Fucking bus,” He grumbled, bounding off the steps and pushing through the crowd. 

“Holy shit, is that the Last Scythe?” He overheard one person say, and there were a few other shouts of recognition as he elbowed his way to a more secluded side street. Once there, his actions caught up with him, and he immediately regretted tossing his glasses and hat to the side. Hunkering into the hood of his hoodie, he walked the remaining few blocks to safer territory with his head down. 

He cringed at his supreme idiocy as he thought about the baby he double-flipped off and kicked a can against an ally wall

“That’s gonna bite me in the ass,” he predicted out loud, sucking his teeth. Karma never not bit him in the ass. 

Given the substantial detour he had been forced to take, he got back to their apartment way later than expected. The heat of the day had lingered well into the evening, and by the time he bounded up the eight flights of stairs to his apartment—because, of course, the elevator was out—with all their shit still cradled in his arms, he had sweat pouring down his temples. Fucking Nevada, right?

He was hot, sweaty, tired, and felt guilty about everything under the sun, and all he wanted was to make it without another bad thing happening, but just as he had predicted, karma, of course, came walking around the corner. 

“Please don’t see me. Please don’t see me,” Soul chanted under his breath, breaking into an awkward half-run-half-walk toward his and Maka’s apartment door. 

“Soul!” 

He froze, glaring at his doorknob like it had murdered his family before plastering on a fake, toothy grin. 

“Hi, Mrs. Ranger,” He gritted out through his teeth, “how are you?” 

Mrs. Ranger wasn’t a tiny, frail old woman. The seventy-something had a spunk in her that wouldn’t die. She wore bright red-rimmed glasses that enlarged her eyes to a comical degree, always wore a shawl or scarf in the same uppity fashion, and, worst of all, was the biggest busy-body he had ever met, and one of his best friends was Liz Thompson. 

“Not well!” She snapped at him. 

Go figure, he thought as he said, “That’s too bad.” 

“Your wretched cat-sitter was back again!”  

That checked out too. Fucking Blair. 

“That does happen when we leave,” He remarked, fumbling with his door keys as he balanced Maka’s package and their duffle bag in his other arm. 

“I don’t know why you two insist on hiring her. I’d be more than happy to watch Blair for you while you’re gone instead of having that—that—” Mrs. Ranger’s cheeks tinted red with anger, “floozy coming around, making noise, talking to my Jeffery. I had half a mind to call the police on her, Soul, half a mind. Now, I respect Maka and you more than that, but still something has to be done,” She continued to screech. “Someone has to do something! So, I’ve talked to the Board. I’ve done it. I’ve had enough! Something must be done. Must be!” 

He swallowed a broken sigh. Jeffery Ranger was quite the opposite of his wife. Mr. Ranger hated Blair (cat form) but loved Blair (human form). He and Maka had told Blair hundreds of times to avoid their older neighbors, but each Ranger was a horrible enabler to the side of Blair they preferred. Mrs. Ranger left out treats and toys, and warm milk. Mr. Ranger—well, quite frankly, Soul did not want to know what Mr. Ranger got up to with Blair in her human form, but at least he didn’t kick her while she was in her cat form, which Soul was sure Mrs. Ranger would do one day while Blair was in her human form. 

Gah.  

“Mrs. Ranger, Blair’s a—” 

“I don’t want to hear it!” The woman cried, cutting him off like she always did when they tried to explain what Blair was. “I think it’s admirable that you want to help that poor girl. She needs all the help she can get, but there are certain standards we abide by in this building.”

She thrust an envelope into his crowded hands, “You’re being summoned by the Board. I’m sorry it’s come to this, but her type is truly not welcomed here any longer.” 

He gawked at the red slip, “B-but, wait, we—we pay the pet fee!” 

“And we all love Blair,” Mrs. Ranger announced as she crossed the hall, “but the cat sitter has to go.” 

With a dramatic flourish, she yanked open and slammed her door shut, making him flinch. 

“Jeffery!” He heard her scream, “Jeffery! I’ve done it! It’s over, Jeffery, it. Is. Over.” 

“For fuck sake,” He spoke under his breath, staring at the incriminating red-letter envelope. He didn’t know whether he was annoyed or offended on his and Maka’s or Blair’s behalf. Death City was progressive, but sex workers still got the shit end of the stick. Of course, they had repeatedly warned Blair not to mess with the Rangers, but still. 

“For fuck sake,” He growled again, crumpling the envelope before turning to their door. Just another damn problem to solve! 

He ignored the happy little ‘Welcome!’ sign and started fumbling with his keys again. After dropping them twice, he threw open the door. When he was finally inside, he let out a puff of air, closing the door with his back and leaning against it. The pleasant thrum of their air conditioning met him like a caress, and he sighed again, relaxing further, pushing “out there” farther and farther away from the forefront of his mind.

He dropped their duffel bag unceremoniously off his shoulder and onto the floor, stepping into the living room before pausing. A flash of guilt filled him as he looked back at the limp bag, which had probably endured more hardship this past weekend than all of them combined, and yet, here he was, tossing it to the side like it had done nothing for them at all. 

He groaned and shuffled back to the bag, berating himself for personifying a thing, but hey, he was a part inanimate object on his mother’s side; for all he knew, he could have just tossed his cousin.  

“Oy-vey,” He muttered to himself, scooping up the bag and laying it down more carefully than necessary onto the couch along with the package and the letter. “Soul, for fuck sake, you’re losing it.” He stepped away from the sofa and continued to talk to himself, “Sides, I’d be more related to a butter knife than a bag anyway.” 

Fathers hide your daughters, he snorted; a Death Scythe and a comedian.

He stood straight, cracking his back before calling, “Blair! You little shit! Are you home?” When he got no answer, he scowled, “Blair, get out here now. You can’t hide! You’re in deep shit!” 

He pulled out his phone, snapped a picture of the package, and sent it to Maka.

Got the package, he texted her and debated mentioning Mrs. Ranger and the Board summons. Before he could decide, she texted back, You’re the best <3 I owe you

Something warm flooded his guts, and he bit the inside of his cheek before responding, duh. Wha’s in this thing anyway its heavy as hell?

She didn’t text back immediately, so he picked up the duffle bag and walked through the apartment, checking each room and all of Blair’s hiding spots.  

“Blair!” He called, looking for her, but she was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t in his closet, curled up on one of Maka’s pillows, or in the bathtub. After circling the living room and the bedrooms, he dropped the duffle bag on top of the laundry machine and went to the kitchen. There on the counter was a handwritten note.

His phone buzzed. 

Don’t worry about it, Maka answered him.

He groaned and rolled his eyes, Maka fr. It better not be more books. We don’t have any more room. The PANTRY has books in it.

I said don’t worry about it, didn’t I?

Your ridiculous. 

And *you’re worrying about something I literally said not to worry about. 

He shook his head and shoved his phone back in his pocket, turning to the mysterious letter on the counter. Purple glittery ink, screaming of Blair, stared back at him. 

Kitten, the letter began,

Mama’s with her other kitten! Blair switched shifts with Lay-Lay, so she could make sure Maka-baby has all the extra purrs she needs to feel better! But don’t worry~ Mama left you something yummy in the fridge! <3 <3 <3 Blair will see you soon! Sleep tight! 

Love,

Bu-tan, nya~ 

P.S.xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooooooxxxxxxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxxxxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxxxxxxxxxxxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooooooxxxxxxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxxxxxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Soul quickly flipped through the next three pages of Blair’s note, which were all filled with the same sequence of X’s and O’s, so he tossed the rest of the packet to the side and stared at the fridge with deep suspicion. Anything could have been in that box; if it was like last time, he wasn’t looking forward to it. 

He pulled out his phone and shot a warning text to Maka, FYI Blair Incoming. 

Her response back was almost immediate, She’s already here. 

As evidence, a photo quickly followed suit, depicting Blair cuddling Kid. He snorted, Better him than me.

Next, he cropped the picture so it was just Kid’s face. His eyes were wide and embarrassed, shit, is that the Gay Panic Liz is always talking about???

Maka sent three laughing emojis, shut up it still hurts to laugh. You should have seen how fast he booked it out of here. 

What’d Black*Star do?

Oblivious, as always. 

shame. 

Truly.

He placed his phone down, squared his shoulders, and turned to the fridge. He took a deep breath and counted to three before yanking the door open. He jumped backward, ready for anything to pop out, but what awaited him were four dead mice lined up in a row right in front of the milk, all in various states of decay. 

“Better than last time,” He mumbled, reaching for the plastic gloves Maka kept on the counter as he recalled the (very much still alive) python Blair had once dragged home. Still, the fridge would need to be wiped down. He glanced at the clock and tried to figure out how much time he had until Spirit bludgeoned down the door. 

“Better safe than sorry,” He shrugged, letting the fridge close and making a mental note to come back later. 

He circled back to the laundry room, dumped their dirty clothes in the wash, and pulled out her toiletries. He took those and the package to her room and looked around for another overnight bag, or at least something cleaner than the duffle. He found what he was looking for stored in her closet, and while there, pulled out two days’ worth of comfortable clothing, stuff he knew she could sleep and walk around in without feeling “silly in public.” 

He folded the oversized shirts and shorts, and then, popped into her attached bathroom. He had let Maka have the primary suite, and he used the bathroom in the hall. The separate bathrooms were meant to minimize their morning arguments, but it didn’t appear to matter because there was the pile of his headbands that she was hoarding next to her sink. He rolled his eyes and tossed two in, along with her hair bonnets. He skipped over her books, found an extra charger, and packed her a box of her favorite tea and a few protein bars to tide her over until he could locate some real food. 

Next, he stopped in his room to grab a sweater from his dresser. He almost tossed it in the bag, but thought twice and held onto it, debating if it was a good idea. It was only a regular black sweater with the school emblem on the chest pocket. While Maka always insisted she didn’t steal his clothes, he had caught her one too many times to believe it and knew she liked this one. Most everyone at DWMA had some variation of the same article of clothing, so if someone saw her wearing it, they likely wouldn’t think anything of it. But what if they did think it was his? What would they think of him giving it to her? Was it odd or desperate? Did it prove some disloyalty to Kid?

He huffed, shaking his head, and stuffed the sweater into the bag—other people be damned.  Maka liked wearing his sweaters because she liked wearing sweaters, nothing more to it. It meant nothing at all. Not to her. Not to him. Not to anyone.

And if wearing his sweater brought her some comfort, or made her feel safe, or—

“Stop.” He commanded himself, zipping up the bag.

He couldn’t think of much else to pack but tucked in her headphones just in case and tossed the bag onto the couch. The very moment his ass touched the sofa, there was a knock at the door. 

He groaned as he stood up.

Spirit Incoming, came Maka’s warning text. 

Already here. 

The knocking increased in volume the longer he took to get to the door, and his mood soured even more. 

Ugh. Stall him, please, Maka responded. 

“Hello, Spirit.” He deadpanned, opening the door. Spirit didn’t stop knocking until it was completely open, and when he did stop, he glared at him. They were now the same height, so if Spirit’s glare was ever intimidating, it was now completely lost on Soul.  

Spirit stuck out a hand, “What took so long? You know Maka’s waiting! Give me her things!” 

Soul turned away from Spirit’s outstretched hands, letting the door fall wide open, “Her shit’s in here, old man. Calm down.” 

“Old man!” Spirit sneered, stepping into their apartment after him. 

“I was just getting all her stuff together,” He sighed, ignoring the way Spirit was practically breathing down his neck, “it’s right here on the—” 

He reached for her bag, but Spirit snatched it up before his fingertips could even graze its handles. Soul felt a vein pop in his forehead, but he gritted his teeth and bared it. Spirit was Spirt, and their relationship had always been strained. 

But, hey, it took two to tango.

“I’ll take that!” Spirit announced, clutching the bag to his chest, “I need to see if you actually packed useful things—” He unzipped the bag and began to root around it while he lectured, “—my daughter’s very particular, and she only gets the best, especially when she’s hurt. You know, she shouldn’t have even gotten hurt in the first place! What a useless weapon you are, by the way. You’re supposed to protect her! If she just let her papa take care of her, this wouldn’t have—” 

Spirit stopped short. Slowly, he raised a garment from the bag, revealing one of Maka’s compression shorts. Soul’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before Spirit could even say anything.

Here it comes, he thought; here comes the drama. 

“What, Spirit?” He sighed, crossing his arms and leveling the older man with a look, “It wasn’t like I was going to let her go without underwear.”

“You went through my daughter’s delicates?” Spirit asked through gritted teeth, letting his voice fall into a whisper at the mere mention of her “delicates.” 

“No.” He disagreed, “I went into her dresser and pulled out underwear.” 

“Who gave you permission to do that?” 

“Maka.” 

“No.” 

“Oh brother,” He muttered, then said, “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. We live together. We do laundry together.” He rubbed at his face, exhausted, “Anyway, sorry, but Maka’s boy underwear doesn’t do anything for me, Spirit, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Admittedly, he added that last part to piss off Spirit, but it was true. It wasn’t like he was rooting around in Maka’s underwear draw for fun. If Maka even had sexier underwear, he wasn’t privy to it. 

“This isn’t boy underwear!” Spirit shook the compression shorts in his face, “You’re saying this doesn’t do it for you? What kind of guy are you, huh! My Maka isn’t good enough for you? I don’t believe your lies. Where’s Blair! She should have packed her underwear. I know she’s not working tonight!”

“Are you keeping tabs on our cat?” He drawled, but the accusation didn’t faze the pervert. 

“Blair!” Spirit called out, turning in circles, still flapping Maka’s underwear around, “Blair! Where are you!” 

Soul massaged the bridge of his nose, “She switched her shifts, Spirit. She wanted to make sure she had time to see Maka. I think she’s planning on staying the—” He paused and cursed, “—shit, hang on, I forgot Mak’s sleeping mask.” 

“You forgot!” Spirit chided, “See! This is exactly what I’m talking about. She needs someone more dependable.” 

“You’re the expert,” He mumbled under his breath, slipping down the hall to her room. 

Spirit followed after him, “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” He sighed, nudging her door open. Spirit didn’t follow him inside. He stopped at the threshold of her room, going still and quiet, as Soul rooted around her bed in search of her sleeping mask.

The sudden change in Spirit’s behavior wasn’t as odd as one would believe. Of course, it had nothing to do with any sudden appreciation for personal space, but instead, everything to do with the constant fragile state of his and Maka’s relationship.

Soul stole a look at Spirit’s reflection in Maka’s mirror, and he seemed to be taking in the entirety of her bedroom in an awe-like state. It was likely the first time in years Spirit had seen the inside of his daughter’s room, filled to the brim with potted plants, books, and hundreds of to-do lists, calendars, and agendas. It was cluttered, but it was Maka’s, so at the same time, it was all very organized. 

This was the deepest Spirit had ever gotten in either of their apartments. Usually, Maka didn’t let him get any further than the living room or the kitchen. Soul was fine with this rule, but Spirit didn’t listen to him.

Out of some strange pity for Spirit—even if he didn’t deserve it—Soul took his time finding the sleeping mask, purposefully letting him soak it all up. It wasn’t like he was a bad dad; he was just, well, Spirit—too desperate for her attention and prone to fucking up. Embarrassingly, they had this common whether Spirit knew it or not.

So, Soul gave him those extra few seconds before tossing over the mask, “Here it is.” 

Spirit caught it without looking, his eyes tracing the collage of pictures she had stuck in the frame of her mirror. On top, partially hidden by a picture of him, Maka, and Crona, but still visible if you knew what you were looking at, was a baby picture of her and Spirit. 

“About time,” Spirit ripped his gaze away from the picture, “you’ve held me up for so long, I bet she’s wondering where I’m at.” 

“Sure,” he rolled his eyes, ushering him down the hall, “tell her I’ll stop by tomorrow. If she needs anything, she knows to text me.”  

“No need,” Spirit squared his jaw, “I can get her anything she needs.” 

“Right-o, pops,” He mock saluted him, opening the door, “best of luck to ya.” 

Spirit glared, “Keep it.” 

He slammed the door shut on the heels of Spirit’s feet and flopped face-first onto the couch with a loud groan. When his body registered he was practically suffocating himself, he turned his head to the side and stared blankly at their tv. 

With another sigh, he pulled his phone out and quickly texted Maka, Spirit Incoming. 

Dammit Soul. You couldn’t keep him with you any longer? She replied five minutes later. 

Mak, I love you, but not that much.

BOOOOOO!

He snorted and rolled off the couch, the silence of the empty apartment suddenly too much to bear, and crawled his way to his turntable. 

After the week he had, he needed at least a month of musical therapy to unwind. He plugged in his headphones and started flipping through his vinyl. All of his regulars were there and accounted for and guaranteed to make him feel better, but why feel better when you could wallow and feel worse?

There was certainly nothing like being self-destructive to end an already shitty week.

He hopped up and made his way into his bedroom. Carefully hidden in the back of his closet, behind the mountain of clothes Blair seemingly nested in, was a box he didn’t break out often. Tonight, though, he yanked it out of its hiding spot and peeled back the flaps to reveal the variety of keepsakes he had taken with him when he first set out for DWMA. 

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for since it was still right on top, just as he had left it before their work trip. The record cover was a sleek black, and on the front, in embellished font, was his mother’s first name. His father had composed this record as a twenty-fifth-anniversary present. There were twenty-five tracks—a two-record album to hold it all—and each song marked a year of their marriage. His father’s recording studio had only released a limited number of copies the same year Soul had left for DWMA, and despite it having been his father’s passion project for as long as he could remember, Soul hadn’t heard a single note of it. 

Of course, he had known about the release. It hadn’t been any secret. The music world had been buzzing for it, and despite what other people thought, he still kept tabs on his family. 

What could he say? He was a masochist. 

He had counted down the days before the album’s release, and then, on the day of release, he locked himself in his bedroom, cried his eyes out, and stress-ate two large pizzas by himself. He hadn’t gotten his hands on a copy of the record; he hadn’t wanted to, but the night before he and Maka were set to leave for their mission, Liz and Kilik had dragged him to the record store for a blow-out sale. 

He had found the album in the used section and couldn’t help feeling insulted. Objectively, Soul knew it was a good album; his father didn’t compose bad albums. His father’s limited-edition vinyl didn’t go for cheap, to say the least, so why anyone would want to resell it was beyond him. 

He had tried to ignore the record, purposefully picking up more albums than he could reasonably afford. Still, after he eyed some old guy examining his father’s music, he returned to the resell section, snatching up the vinyl before someone else could. Liz or Kilik hadn’t known any better, which wasn’t unexpected; he didn’t talk about his parents. 

“Hey, what’s that, Soul?” Liz had asked, “Jazz?” 

“Yeah,” He had shrugged, placing it carefully in his bag, “just replacing an old one that got ruined in the move.” 

Kilik had tsked, “I told Black*Star not to fuck with those boxes. He just doesn’t get it, man.” 

He felt bad letting Black*Star take the blame for a split second but figured the guy owed him one or two. 

“Eh, it’s whatever,” He had shrugged again, “you two hungry?” 

He had gotten home that night without looking at the album. He had shoved it directly into his keepsake box, hoping Maka or Blair wouldn’t notice anything wrong with him. He suspected Maka knew something was up by the way she kept staring at him, but he refused to acknowledge her stray looks. 

Despite buying the record, he had never actually planned on listening to it. He had only wanted to save it from that store and the old man, but Spirit had triggered something within him like he often did. How much Spirit cared about Maka despite her thinking otherwise made Soul think about his father, and he wondered if he hadn’t left for DWMA what their relationship would have been like now. 

“The piano ain’t got no wrong notes,” His father had always told him, quoting Thelonious Monk, who would have been his name’s sake—and in some ways still was—if not for his father putting his foot down. 

He could remember the conversation he and his father had about his name perfectly because it was during one of those rare instances his father had the time to help him with his piano scales. Soul had never expected his father to seek him out, but there he had been in all his musical glory, choosing to help him get out of some piano-related punishment his mother had ordered, instead of using his precious little free time to do something more productive.  

“I suggested Monk to go with Wes, but she’d only agree to Monk if your real name was Thelonious, and I wasn’t going to do that to ya, kid.” His father had explained one night, “Which was a shame; it was hard enough getting her to agree to Wes. You know what your mom thinks of jazz.” 

He had rolled his eyes because, of course, he knew. His mother’s heart had and always would belong to the classics for reasons beyond him. If everything had gone his mother’s way, his name would have been some horrendous mash-up of Mozart, Bach, and Beethoven. 

“Aw,” His father had winked and laughed, stretching his fingers across their grand piano, “she means well, you know that. You were a stubborn kid. You hardly kicked or moved when she was first pregnant with you, so she thought you were a goner. Completely gave up on names, no matter what I said. But the first time you heard jazz—” his father had run his fingers across the keys in a fast flourish, “—boom! It was like you had finally found your soul! She cried for weeks. You should have seen her.” His had father laughed again. It had sounded warm and fond. “I said, I told her, babydoll, it’s like they always say—” 

“—ya gotta have soul, Soul,” Soul snorted, finishing his father’s lamest joke as he gently placed the record on the turntable.

He turned it off before it reached his birthday. He wanted to hurt, but not that much.

[mrprettywhenhecries]

billy with a boombox outside win's window but the music coming from the speakers is decidedly not appropriate

Say Anything

⇾ w.c. 623 words ⇾ warning(s). none really ⇾ a/n: let's just pretend that say anything didn't come out in '89 for the sake of this timeline lol. Also, it's been a bit since I've written Win & Billy, so hopefully I'm not completely out of practice 😅

Sighing heavily, Win grimaced as she realized she’d just sighed again for the umpteenth time in the past ten minutes.

She’d been irritable all morning, snapping at Billy for something dumb he’d said – she couldn’t even remember exactly what it had been now – but she’d stormed off, coming home to fume about it.  On any other day, she probably would have scoffed at him and rolled her eyes, or tell him to fuck off half jokingly and then forget about it, but today she’d taken it personally, even when she knew he hadn’t meant it that way.

It was stupid.  And now she was in her room crying over it, wanting to call him, but too stubborn to, half hoping he’d call her.

The faint sound of music drifting through her window caught her attention and she wiped at her eyes before lifting her head from her pillow and rolling out of bed, grabbing the first thing she found to throw on, which happened to be one of Billy’s cutoffs she’d stolen, the Ratt logo on the front faded.

Pushing the window open, she found Billy standing outside by the curb next to his Camro, boombox hoisted over his head as it blared KISS.

“What the hell are you doing?” Win exclaimed, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music.

I really love you, baby, I love what you've got.  Let's get together, we can get hot.

“Apologizing,” Billy called, walking closer, a grin tugging at his lips.

“As far as apology’s go, I’m not really sure about this one,” Win teased, leaning against the window sill, trying to keep the amusement from her face.  As soon as she’d seen him standing there, she knew she’d already forgiven him.

No more tomorrow, baby, time is today.  Girl, I can make you feel okay.

“Aw c’mon, what’s so bad about it?” Billy asked, raising an eyebrow at her.  “I thought you were into this romantic shit?”

“Romantic shit?” Win repeated incredulously.  “I don’t know if I’d exactly call this romantic,” she huffed, her chest aching with affection.

“What’s not romantic about it?  Is it the choice of song?”

No place for hiding, baby.  No place to run.  You pull the trigger of my, love gun. 

Win snorted, clamping her mouth shut to keep from laughing.  “Yeah, that might have something to do with it.”

Billy frowned.  “I thought it expressed my feelings pretty well,” he explained, biting his lip to keep from smirking.

“Oh– oh, I see,” Win quipped, shaking her head.  “So you just wanna get in my pants, is that it?”

“Well, that’s part of it,” Billy shrugged.  “But I really am apologizin’ here.  I was an ass earlier.”

Win’s lips curled slightly.  “Yeah, I know.”

Billy directed her a long suffering look.  “I’m sorry!” he exclaimed.

You can't forget me, baby, don't try to lie.  You'll never leave me, mama, so don't even try.

“Do you forgive me yet?” Billy called over the music when Win didn’t respond, half afraid she was gunna tell him no, just get back at him, but when she broke into a grin, he knew he'd succeeded.

“Yes, okay!” Win exclaimed, leaning further out her window.  “Now will you shut that off and get over here before you wake my dad up?” she cried, her voice tinged with laughter.

Billy shut off the boombox and set it down, striding to her open window.  “You know, your room being on the first floor kinda ruins the effect somewhat,” he pointed out, stepping closer so Win could wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah, a bit,” she agreed, “but it makes it so much easier for you to sneak in,” she grinned, letting him kiss her.

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @b1tchy3lf @afestivelegend @heartbreak-sandwich @sugarcookiesteve @birminghamshelbyboys @elliethesuperfruitlover

[aubriereddie]

Reddie fanfic I wrote on AO3

When Eddie biked to Richie's house normally he was excited, he loved seeing Richie even when he would sneak out to see him he always felt at ease, but right now his palms were sweaty and his heart was racing. He snuck out once he heard his mom snoring, but the fact that he was out wasn't what scared him it was why he was out.

He stopped at Richie's driveway and parked his bike. He could feel his heart beating in his chest as he tiptoed over too Richie's window. He grabbed a rock and went to throw it but hesitated. "Am I making a stupid decision... No I'm doing this" He chucked the rock at Richie's window.

He saw the window open, and then Richie's head pop out. "What are you doing here" he whispered.

"Does your mom want me back for the night cause I'll-- Ouch" Richie said as Eddie threw a pine cone at him.

"Beep Beep trashmouth I need to talk serious with you now help me up." Eddie said rolling his eyes.

"Ok" Richie said helping Eddie in through the window.

"Ok Edward Spagehtward what is this meeting about" Richie said doing a business man impression.

"Richie I said we need to talk serious." Eddie said even though he did like Richie's impression.

"I am being serious thats why I called you Edward and by the way my name is Richard not Richie sir" Richie said raising his eyebrows.

"You know what forget it" Eddie said upset.

Richie frowned, "No Eddie, look I'm sorry I will be serious I promise, you have my attention."

Eddie took a deep breath in and sat on the bed next to him. "Well recently, I've noticed that you make me feel a certain way, not a bad feeling I guess, I mean, I don't really know. All I know is when I'm around you everything feels better, even though I don't act like it I really do enjoy some of your jokes Richie, when I see you I get butterflies and I feel on top of the world..." Richie blushed.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I like you Richie, and I know you would never feel the same but I just knew I had to tell you, and if you don't want to be around me anymore I understand" Eddie started to get teary eyed.

Richie's face turned red and his eyes got wide. Eddie looked away not hearing a response made him think the worst. "I should have known this would ruin our friendship" Eddie said feeling a lump in his throat form

Richie's eyes darted around as he comprehended what Eddie had said, and as Eddie turned to look at him he saw a smile started to form on his face.

"You like me, holy shit you like me" Richie sad staring at Eddie

Eddie was confused, "Yeah thats what I said"

"Eds do you know what this means?" Richie asked standing up

"What" Eddie asked nervously.

"It means I can finally do this" Richie grabbed Eddie's face and pulled him into a kiss.

Eddie felt his heart rate slow at the touch of Richie's soft lips. They pulled away and stared at each other, smiles growing on there faces. And at the same time they both said

"I love you"

[2x4plank]

I'm absolutely going out of order going over these episodes but if I don't talk about Season 2 it will kill me.

⚠️This post is very long. It's a commitment to read, so be ready to scroll if you wanna!⚠️

We start with Omid getting shot. I feel like how it played out was pretty realistic. His quiet sneak-in--it made sense. I don't know if I entirely feel bad for Michelle, but I don't feel good about her getting shot neither. And then Christa dies off screen. Maybe not the choice I would've made, but I'ma let it slide--if only because Clementine was trying to be outta there! I love Clementine's lil backpack. I wish she kept it.

I honestly don't dislike Clementine as a protagonist. In fact, I like spending a lot of time with her and letting her have more autonomy in the story. However...it does bring its own set of problems.

The theme of this story seems to be dangerous incompetence--which is a personal pet peeve. There is so much reliance on Clementine and this burden of accountability the adults around her make her take. Like, it was good of Luke and Pete to carry her back. I liked Pete (and then he died real soon after). But then they fumble on locking her in a shed. To die of either illness or the walkers that surround her. And Nick almost shoots her too! It was cool of him to draw the walkers toward him, but like...you're very trigger happy buddy. I never really warmed up to Nick before we turned his head into a salami log. He was on a streak of poor decisions (see: Matthew's murder).

Leaving Clementine to do her own sutures in the cold and rain instead of just having Carlos at the very least fix up the obvious animal bite is really stupid of them. I felt like I was CPS reviewing a case while playing this game, and I'm not even a decade older than Clementine here. So to find out that these adults (with Luke, apparently one of the younger members at 26-27) were okay with leaving her there? That makes me mad! She shouldn't have had to do that.

Then we have Sarah, the tall dork kid, who is willing to help you out because she has more than an ounce of good sense and understands that this is unfair. But then they do her real dirty! She is abused and dies a horrible painful death after being riddled with anxiety and watching her dad get devoured. And then everybody just...forgets about it! Not even a forlorn look at her pair of glasses or whatever remains of her. Wow! That is awful! I completely disagree with those choices. Sarah absolutely deserved better. I mean, I don't really care about Carlos, but Sarah deserved better. Forget Arvo! We need more cute fanart of her.

Then there's Carver. Pretty good and believable antagonist. He has a doctrine that is unfairly and irregularly enforced. Less a ruleset and more of whatever he feels like at the time--which is mostly anger. He does some recon before striking which is also pretty cool. And maybe it would've gone better if Carlos hadn't let two children stay home alone. Ain't that like...Parenting 101? If you're so keen on protecting your daughter, why ya leaving her alone in the apocalypse? Maybe she wouldn't be taking photos if you were there with her. Maybe she would've been better about not opening the door. Don't force children to watch children.

And then Bonnie does the second round of recon, which was really obvious. If I walked around the corner of the lodge and saw some guy looking into the window and acting real surprised to see me...I would probably think they were counting how many people were inside to launch some sort of attack. I knew she wasn't a good person, and that remained true to the very end. Despite her sorry attempts to make amends, she really wasn't nothing. She ruined Christmas! I'm not even religious, but the decorations were so pretty...and she was an agent of its destruction.

Reuniting with Kenny at the Ski Lodge was nice. I felt happy to see him. As I said before, I was absolutely sitting at his table because he is Clementine's secondary dad. As we'll find out later on, he kinda toxic, but I was still loyal to him because...the devil you know, right?! That is literally one of the worst perspectives, don't listen to me, but it's the one I had. And also I felt like he wasn't really going to hurt-hurt the kids, but he did still hurt Clementine emotionally. I felt like he was the best guardian out of the ones presented to us (outside of maybe Rebecca).

The addition of Sarita brought some problems too. They did not flesh her out. She deserved better also, outside of being Kenny's new wife. I know that:

She likes...Christmas.

She found Kenny somewhere.

She thinks his beard got bigger.

She had to listen to Kenny tell his sad backstory before she went to sleep at night.

She got bit on the hand.

Sarita didn't get enough space outside of Kenny--who I still like, for some reason.

Then there's Kenny's other friend, Walter. After watching Breaking Bad, I was not ready to trust this dude. I mean, he mixes peaches and beans for Pete's sake. But he was actually factually nice! Not even taking vengeance on Nick after he shot his bestie--that was a real kindness. And yes, I did tell him. Seems kinda hypocritical considering my position on Ben telling the truth, and maybe it is, but I think he deserved to know and that he'd find out pretty soon otherwise. I felt like it was wrong for Luke to cover for Nick so hard--especially sending Clementine out there to do so, putting her in the line of fire as they so often do. I mean, they're friends...but your friend has a history of going off and killing people with no real reason. I completely forgot where Nick was during the Carver Cult situation, so no more about him. But back to Bill Depot.

We meet some dude named Mike and another one named Jane. They help the crew escape while Kenny absolutely defaces Carver with a crowbar. He deserved it, no question about that. I think it's hilarious how if Clementine just insists, she can stay and watch. "No, you can't watch this guy get massacred. Okay, only if you really want to."

Carver's behavior towards Rebecca is extremely disgusting. This ownership of her is gross and the entitlement towards AJ, regardless of their prior relationship is gross. And while I do not blame Rebecca one bit, it's all Carver's fault, I couldn't help but keep thinking: "If I hadn't got mixed up with this group, this wouldn't have happened to me! I don't even really care about these people!" It was moreover the group's collective incompetence that made me feel that way.

Reggie was pretty funny. One thing this game is never lacking is in humor, and I liked Reggie...kind of. Course, his cavalier attitude towards imprisonment is not good, but he had been left there. I'm still confused as to how his arm was cut off. Was it really a walker bite, or a punishment? I really felt like he was lying to make Bill Depot look like a better place to be, and as we can see with Lee, amputation doesn't typically work. But maybe it's a time thing and something to do with using sterilized tools.

Clementine being the linchpin in their escape is kinda cool, kinda not. She is the smallest and least likely to get noticed. But they let her out in that bright ass jacket. Get 'er in something darker, at the very least! And of course, I was thinking: "Lee wouldn't let her do this. Lee wouldn't make her do any of this." But Lee did let her sneak through the vents, so...? I don't know.

Mike & Jane are pretty cool at first. Mike is funny, seemingly reasonable, and Jane is strong and collected. That definitely changes pretty soon with catching Luke and Jane fooling around and the introduction of Arvo.

I was completely against robbing Arvo and disagreed with Jane escalating things. She did still rob him of his gun, but not his medicine, but that put Arvo in danger on his return so I understand him being mad at HER about that. But the way he treats Cleemntine no matter what and holds the wrong people accountable really soured me on him. He held Clem at gunpoint first, even though she's not even a preteen in a rainbow sweater.

However, the way Kenny beat on him? I didn't agree with that, nor did I agree with leaving him in the cold. Additionally, the xenophobic names Kenny called him were rude and nonsensical. You're calling him a commie but you want to go to Wellington? A supposed COMMUNE?! Aight.

But Kenny's anger is not unjustified. It's not like Arvo didn't lead a crossfire that put everyone, including the kids in danger. If they weren't shot, they could've died of hypothermia. And in Kenny's eyes, being held up might've led to Rebecca turning.

I didn't want Arvo to be tortured regardless. He was young and there really wasn't any point to beating on him. That is, until the very end--but it's not like Kenny knew what was going to happen.

When Kenny is talking to Clementine alone in that truck, my soul was screaming. I know exactly how she feels, what position she's in, and God it is icky. I still like Kenny for the most part, somehow. I still feel like he was there for the kids, kind of. However, this bouncing off of Clem to make serious decisions after snapping at her, telling her she was at fault for Sarita's death (he did apologize at the very least, which is more than I've gotten most of the time). This isolation and weight Clementine felt is awful. Not to mention he was so consumed by anger at Arvo that he let Clementine sit there freezing and wet for longer than she should've had to instead of finding a log or something. Some of the burdening on Clementine is realistic. Children of color especially are often expected to act more adult than they should, but uh, don't ask me why I know what that feels like. On the other end, some of the decisions Clementine has to make are purely done for story reasons.

The betrayal? I thought it was pretty good. I don't think it came out of nowhere and it riled me up. I know Mike seemed like a nice guy, but his connection with Clementine was shallow. People normally have the common decency to protect kids, but it's hard to tell until you gotta. And he'd been talking to Arvo, seeing how Kenny mistreated him, he wanted to get them away from Kenny. But he was content to take away all the food that could've been used for AJ and Clementine. In the cold. In the snow. He thought less about protecting the most vulnerable and more about taking his favorites with him. And then there's Bonnie!

I knew she couldn't be trusted. She clearly didn't know her place after being part of the reason the crew got kidnapped. And then she pulls that stuff, after blaming Clementine for Luke's death. Saddling the pre-preteen with something else. By the way, I didn't feel much at Luke's death. Maybe he should've got some skis from the lodge. The only thing Bonnie did was give her a cool jacket THAT SHE STOLE FROM THE SKI LODGE!!! I hope she didn't make it. Flaky-like-a-pastry-ass-Bonnie.

Then comes Arvo's shooting of MY BABY! MY LITTLE RAINBOW BABY CLEMENTINE! HE SHOT HER! WITH A RIFLE! A GUN THAT WOULD GIVE YOU TIME TO NOT SHOOT A CHILD! OOH, I WASN'T OKAY WITH BEATING HIM EARLIER, BUT I THINK HE DESERVED A PUNCH FOR THAT!

But then they make you mild with that Lee flashback. Lee is just so concerned with keeping this child safe and comfortable. He really was father of the year.

I'm glad Clementine survived, but then comes another ordeal. Jane v. Kenny. Okay, I was half with Jane. She wasn't completely clean (seriously? you were so willing to give up on Sarah twice), but neither was Kenny. She seemed to want to get Clementine out of a possible volatile environment. But that stunt she pulled? You heard of leaving a baby in a hot car. Now how about LEAVING A BABY IN A COLD CAR TO DIE AT SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES! I wasn't willing to shoot Kenny because I didn't know what Jane did to AJ. "Just trust me," told me nothing. I was certain he wasn't dead, but I still didn't know if he was in danger. So I let Kenny kill her. Guess I'm going with truck freak--at least he won't leave me in a car.

Now, Kenny did make me uncomfortable. Especially with his steep change in emotions, like saying, "Race ya!" after violently killing someone Clementine was close to. Like, I understand why, but still.

Finally, Wellington. Kenny's last good deed. He does what's best for Clementine and AJ without giving Clementine shit about it. He helped her get there and seemed genuinely happy to make sure they'd be safe. That's one reason...I still kinda like this guy!

But damn, Clementine has to watch another person she trusted and felt like watched over her disappear. That is very bitter, slightly sweet. I hope they have apples at Wellington.