#no thoughts only their domestic silly life in sweet chapter

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[i-am-hungry-24-7]

List (Sorted by Characters)

list sorted by story content

fics rec 1

status update: life’s super hectic, not sure when I’ll start updating fics again (but I hope I can finish 🐬 anon’s request first)

Hello, I’m HalloHello. Thanks for reading!

This is a side blog so I can’t leave likes or follow others with this blog I’m so stupid I’m sorry :(

Simon "Ghost" Riley

New Year Fireworks + We Both Broke Our Promise (F)

Invincible (F)

My Heart Can Sleep When I'm with You (F)

Daisy Dukes - 1 2 (F)

His Only Asylum + Bring Me to Heaven (F, 18+, gore and knife)

Bed All Day (GN) (18+)

Inhale Our Sorrow, Exhale Our Future (GN)

Bedtime Story (F)

Unexpected Encounter (F)

Ghost*Reader with Scars and Hide Their Face (GN)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Husband!Simon with Car Crash Wife!Reader (F)

Simon Got a Flu (GN)

Nine things Simon Riley Might Annoy (intentionally or not) His Shorter Partner (GN)

Sleeping (truly) with Simon (GN)

Domestic Life with Retired Husband!Simon (GN)

Simon with A Gammy Reader (GN)

Perv!Simon Riley with Yandere!Reader (GN)

It Isn’t Fate Bringing Us Together (It’s Me) - 1 2 (Dark Fiction, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat)(GN)

Palette (F)

Ex-bf!Simon Riley*F!Reader (F)

End This Repeating Dance (GN)

Silly Moments between Simon and Reader (F)

Simon Taking Care of You When You Accidentally Injured Yourself (F)

Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me? (F)

Soulmate AU - Separate Endings (GN)

How To Remember? (F)

Voicemails (F)

Your Inviting Lips (GN)(anon ask)

Remember-me-not (GN)

The Last Dance (GN)

Two-way Trap (F)

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions (GN)(evil 🐼 anon)

Simon Loves Your Chubby and Adorable Face (GN)(🦈 anon)

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple (GN)(req)

Hey, how are you? (F)

Grim Reaper!Ghost*Reader That’s Always Alone (GN)

Shower with Simon Riley (GN)(anon req)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

Till It Blooms Again (F)(🐬anon)

John “Soap” MacTavish

Smut Challenge - Neighbor!Reader (F) (18+)

Regret Devouring Me (GN)

John Price

How To Remember? (F)

The True Me (GN)

Watch You From Afar (GN)

König

Spider Webs - 1 2 3 bonus chapter 1 (F) (18+)

His Only Asylum (F, 18+, gore and knife)

NSFW Alphabet (F, 18+)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

TF141

In Pairs - Price Soap Gaz Ghost (GN)

What Makes You Unique (GN)

Cream Puffs (GN)

Sweet Flavor of Your Lips (F)

Vampire AU Headcanons (GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (GN)

Wild Pets - 1 1.5 (F)

Tf141 with a Fragile Reader (GN)

Tf141 with a Reader Who Sucks at Baking but Wants to Bake Them a Valentine’s Day Dessert (F)

Tf141 with gap moe (contradictory-characteristic cuteness) reader (GN)

Melt Down The Snow (GN) (🦈 anon)

Some Thoughts about Demon!TF141 (GN)

More About Demon!TF141 (F) (18+) (anon req)

Demon!TF141 but Reader Becomes Demon Too (F) (anon req)

No Tolerance!! + It's Nice To Come Back Home (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141 men seeing you wearing face chain for party (F) (🦈 Anon)

TF141*Reader Angst in Few Sentences (GN)

Always By Your Side (GN)

TF141*Reader Fluff in Few Sentences (GN)

Not Dying Alone (GN)

Counting Down To Heaven (GN)

Each Other’s Shelter (F)

TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime (GN)

Spine Chill (GN)

Mafia!Tf141*F!Reader ch1 ch2 ch3

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

I loved The Webs in the Rafters! How’d you come up with the idea for it?

Dude I’m so stoked you liked it!!! And how TWITR came to be is kind of a crazy story lmfao

So my whole life I’ve had super bizarre, extremely vivid dreams, and one night back in late September, I essentially dreamed what would eventually become chapter 17, from the pov of the Kenny character. I’m talkin (minor spoilers from here on out for those who haven’t read it) the sleet hitting the dry grass, the cricket hopping through my vision, Sansa the dog telepathically telling me to whistle, helicopter blades whirring overhead, the supernatural barncats jumping the bad guy. I also remember having dreamt random other parts, namely the prologue “crawlspace”, with the new hire that ended up being Kenny getting stuck inside the wall and meeting long time ranch hand Butters. When I woke up, I was like oh my god I have to South Park all over this.

And so I started thinking it out; right away I knew I wanted my “new guy” to be Kenny, simply because I LOVE the idea of him being overly perceptive and incredibly observant, even when no one can outright answer his questions. I knew I wanted Bunny endgame, and originally the story was going to be a lot more Kenny centric in general, but I’m glad I gave most everyone their time to narrate, to see things as they were across the board. I had also initially planned on the dark themes being even darker, which brings me to:

Why dark Cryle with Style endgame? Aight so if we recall, TWITR dropped during a period where there was kind of a lull in the sp fandom, which is when I was binge reading fics with some seriously depraved stories and characters, and a lot of the time that fucked up character was Craig, and the victim of his depravity was Kyle. I do enjoy a nice cryle plot too, but I ADORE the idea of a headstrong, inquisitive and intuitive, largely optimistic and idealistic passionate Kyle knowing he has to walk on eggshells around Craig or there will be consequences. I’m glad I stuck more to the gaslighting and manipulation rather than going full out with the domestic violence route, not only because I don’t think I could stomach it (chapter 14 was painful enough as is) but also because I think the subtlety was more cohesive with the themes of secrecy in the story. And Style endgame, because I AM a Style gorlie at heart and I fucking love writing my sweet boy Stan.

Now, why spiders? Simply because I am so incredibly goddamn arachnophobic. Y’all I’m terrified of spiders. I don’t like the way they just appear out of nowhere, the way you can walk through a web you didn’t see, the way they move, how dangerous some are, all of it. So that struck me as the perfect motif here.

I had a rough outline before I started writing; I knew I wanted the demise of the Spider, that part of my dream, to be the climax of the story, but I wasn’t sure initially what I wanted the catalyst of Kyle accepting that something was up and the ranch hands joining forces to be. I wound up driving 6 hours to a friends wedding earlyish into writing the story and RAWDOGGED that drive, no music no podcast no nothing, just mentally writing and structuring. Yes I’m insane. But, I’m happy with the structure and pacing I wound up with ultimately so it worked lmao

I had a lot of fun writing characters I hadn’t written from before at that point, and deciding everyone’s role and personality and the dynamics in the universe. TWITR was also the reason I started writing Cartman, whereas before I struggled a lot with him because for a long time I thought he HAD to be a villain, and I generally stick to fluff and hurt/comfort in my silly little WhumpShots so I’d usually leave him out. But planning this fic made me see the light of how much NUANCE he can have (this is when I wrote A Movie About A Boy And His Dog to get a feel of how I wanted to write my favorite abrasive fuckwad) and now Cartman is one of my favorites to write into a story. Also him and the cats lmfao iconic.

At the time I was posting TWITR, it was NOT a hit at all. I’ve mentioned this before, and I had a few SUPER KICKASS PEOPLE reading and hyping it up in the comments (Nina and Ana are whole ass a huge part of why I didn’t get frustrated at the extremely low kudos to hits ratio I love y’all) but it was REALLY discouraging to feel like I was so stoked about this story only to have it flop with everyone but me and a handful of diligent readers. Seeing people read my weird ass story now is SO RAD DUDE like when it started getting more love fairly recently I was AWESTRUCK! And I know I’m more small time; I’m not getting hundreds of likes every story, and I’m cool with that. I’m not writing legendary fics; my most kudosed story is a few over 200 and I am perfectly chill with getting under 50 likes on my silly whumpshots. I am human tho (tragically) and seeing anyone read or ask about any of my stuff makes me SO excited, even if it’s an unserious little 1.5k story about the main 4 tripping on shrooms in the woods or something. I write what I want to read and enjoy doing so, so it’s kickass when other people enjoy it!

As for the sequel oneshots in the series, I wanted to explore the aftermath and healing following the events of the main story, with Kyle finally coming to terms with the abuse he’d been blind to for so long, with the realization that he’d been in the dark, because realistically he would NOT be okay after all that. I almost didn’t write No Strings Attached or Trapdoor, just bc TWITR was kind of niche in general and I knew it wouldn’t get a whole lot of engagement since you do kind of need context, but I’m very glad I wrote em lmao

Ok kinda went off topic there, but I am THRILLED that you enjoyed The Webs In The Rafters and thank you SO MUCH for this ask!!!

[jarfulloftears]

when there's no more room in hell [6/7]

picture source: the ocean (dir. seye isikalu, 2016)

find the masterlist here!

the following chapter includes: vulgar language and mentions of domestic violence

word count: ~3k

Rome had fallen. 

In the quiet afternoon with me nestled in his care, the last of his defenses had fallen.

He wasn’t ready to see it all tumble, but he kicked down his own walls anyway. And in the midst of the rubble, he stood with scars and thorns all from this lifetime.

He was scared, terrified that once I saw him for all he was, I’d run. I’d leave. 

And I saw him for all he was— just a man who used to be just a boy coping with lovelessness. A man who was still fighting off habits that were beneath him, habits that predated his current self. 

A man who caused destruction within himself to show me the only part of him that was still hidden.

It was the last of him left before he surrendered all of himself to me, and now that I could see him— all of him— I made the choice that I would still love him. 

The wafting dirt of crumbling masses hadn’t even settled yet, and here I was, running through it.

Sprinting and jumping and tripping— full speed ahead until I had him in my arms, thorns and all. 

He cried and so did I.

And in his tears, through my tears, I could see God. 

We fell apart and put ourselves back together again.

And Cortez found his words, “I heard somewhere that… those who don’t love still reside in death… and it’s like… my new life didn’t begin until I knew you… Five years of searching, man… Where the fuck have you been all my life?” He chuckled his way out of his tears.

I wiped them away, kissing his wet cheeks and holding him close. 

And after a while, we sorted through the mess he’d made, and he made sense of it all for me. 

“The first one was a girl from my past life. I woke up still in love with her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, and when I realized she could be turned, I took the first chance she allowed.”

By now, he was feeding me cherries and grapes and triggering a gust of wind in the storm of déjà vu.

My body remembered his sweet touch and his suffocating grip. I soothed such unease by changing our position, a quick and thankfully effective action. 

My head rested in his lap, tears having long dried as I lent an ear and catered to his emotions as he’d done in the past for me.

“I thought it’d make her love me,” he simpered as if he saw himself silly for such a thought, “but she loved somebody else.”

“That must’ve been hard to deal with,” I empathized. 

“It was easier than the second one,” he shrugged.

“How’d the second one end?”

He sighed deeply, reaching for another bundle of grapes. He devoured a couple, lips smacking humorously as he lowered the miniature branches to my lips. 

“I was wrapped in my own shit. My fear of being left— replaced. My ego… It wreaked havoc on a good thing,” he shook his head. 

“What happened?” I muttered, indulging in my own lip-smacking at the organic sweetness. 

“I got too possessive. I disregarded boundaries… I was too involved. Too caught up… I couldn’t even see how much I was hurting them… not until it got really bad.”

What wasn’t said was left for me to gather from his headspace. 

What wasn’t said was how he was so steeped in his insecurities that he camped out in their headspace in an attempt to manipulate and monitor them. 

How they’d cry and shove. It was with a knife gleamed in his face that it became clear: it was over, and it was for the best. 

I didn’t judge him. I didn’t have a judgmental bone in my body when it came to Cortez, but I admired the fact that he seemed to have learned his lesson by always giving me space when I requested it.

But with such a piece of him revealed— and not the prettiest image either— I could see his internal battle in not overwhelming me with his emotions or allowing himself to love me as freely as he wanted.

He didn’t want a repeat of what happened before: becoming so wrapped up in his love that he wouldn’t realize he was suffocating me. That he wouldn’t see himself harming me until I threatened to harm him. 

And though he can’t be killed, the gesture from Lover #2 was enough to indicate the end. 

He feared that if he allowed himself to love without parameters, we’d crash and burn just like they did. 

As for me though? The only love I’d known had rules and conditions and boundaries.

As unhealthy as it probably sounds, I wanted to get lost in Cortez. I took on all of the abuse of Micah, I’m sure I could take on all of the love of Cortez. 

“I can take it,” I assured him with a whisper. 

To that, he said, “I love you too much to love you so recklessly.”

He caressed my face, my cheeks probably still stained with the watercolor of teary mascara. And that’s when I was reminded of his ability to love with intent.

I couldn’t argue with his methods, not with those brown eyes gazing into mine. Not with things going so well with us. He knew what he was capable of, and to spare me the weight of all he came with was the noble thing to do. 

I purred at his touch, his kisses becoming stamped all over my face. Waves of warmth washed over me as I gave myself over in exchange for his affection. 

A million butterfly wings fluttered within me, and my heart felt like it’d collapse on itself. It was a foreign feeling, being so adored— being a target of not just lust but genuine and innocent fondness. 

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” I attempted to laugh but only found myself getting choked up.

“I’m sorry,” he stroked my hair and sat up again, his back propped against pillows.

“Don’t be. I’ll just try not to be in my feelings so much,” I cracked a smile. 

He mirrored my expression for only a moment before imploring me not to change. “Nah, embrace all that softness. Everybody and everything else is hard enough.”

I relaxed against him, briefly closing my eyes as his soothing touch lulled me into a dream-like trance. 

Until I remembered I had one last question. “What about the third one?”

“Huh?” his head lifted from resting against the headboard.

“There were three before me.”

“The third left once she felt like she didn’t need me anymore,” he shrugged. 

I had a more relevant question to ask but let my curiosity take me off course. “Have you only been with the people you’ve turned?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. 

“Okay,” I said, a bit relieved that there wasn’t necessarily a pattern there. 

Only being with the people you turned couldn’t be the healthiest thing with there being a bit of power imbalance and all. 

I wondered if he had a complex, where he felt entitled to people just because he turned them. 

I hadn’t seen any signs of that, even when we’d brought another person into the fold of our lovemaking.

But that didn’t mean the signs wouldn’t show up later.

I locked such a thought away, stashing it with any other festering doubts. 

Now wasn’t the time to fuck up my new understanding of Cortez, especially when he’d been so good to me. 

How stupid would I be to cave into self-sabotaging tendencies because of trauma that wasn’t even a part of this lifetime?

I forced myself out of my ever-swirling thoughts to ask the relevant question I previously withheld. 

“Do you have any fears about me?”

He looked at me for a while, his touch leaving my hair and meeting my hand. “It was Micah, but… there ain’t nothin’ I can do about that one.”

“I don’t love him anymore,” I stated what I thought was the most concise and truest way to put it. 

He trusted me enough not to dive any deeper than that. 

“I know, baby… but maybe, he ain’t all the way out of your system yet, and that’s okay.”

I scoffed with the roll of my eyes. “Whatever love I had left was burned off at that fucking funeral when I saw him still being a coward in men’s clothing.”

“Yeah,” was all he said, eyes stuck on the ring he gave me.

He had his doubts, and he could see me sifting through them. But that didn’t stop him from tucking them away as he kissed my hand. 

“Come on. You wanna help me cook?” It was with ease that he lifted the tension between us and held it as I sat up and led the way into the kitchen. 

I didn’t have much of an appetite even as we were snacking on fruit, but I didn’t want to pass up on the opportunity to spend time with Cortez.

With the unveiling of his latest collection fast-approaching, the majority of our time would soon be spent gearing up for that. 

And one thing about me, when I’m in work mode, I’m in work mode.

No distractions, not even Cortez, although I’ll miss his morning pillow talk and abundant displays of admiration. 

In the meanwhile, I’ll attend rehearsals and very final fittings and try not to get caught up in the chaos of it all. 

But I couldn’t do it as myself. 

Nala was dead. I needed a new name to go by. 

This was a fact that presented itself sooner than now, and a filler name was given but it was time to think of something that rings. 

Zyà. 

Ooh, that’s cute, right? That was on the first try too. 

“I think I’ll be Zyà from now on,” I announced.

Cortez smiled as he glanced up from the cutting board. “That sounds good, baby.”

“Yeah… but you can still call me Nala. I love when you say my name.”

“Oh, is that so?” he raised an eyebrow flirtatiously. 

I playfully rolled my eyes. “Not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” he chuckled softly. 

“Is Cortez the name you picked?”

“Nah, it was my middle name in my last life.”

“So, what’s your name now?”

“Ryan.”

I nearly laughed.

“What?” he was grinning too, already knowing what I was going to say. 

“Seems like a downgrade. That’s all,” I offered a one-shouldered shrug. 

“I needed something that looked good on paper.”

“Cortez has more character. No offense.”

“None taken,” he chuckled. 

“So,” I hopped up onto the counter, sitting just inches from his knife, “What’s our game plan for tomorrow night?” 

Micah’s birthday party, a shindig being hosted at his estate. 

There was essentially an open invitation for anyone in the industry, and with Micah being as big of a deal as he was, it would surely be a packed house. 

With his fiancée, Lily, organizing the entire event, the décor would be lavish and so would the food and entertainment. With so many things keeping so many people busy, the party would be the perfect place to strike. 

Cortez thought so too, and now we had to square away the timing. Would it be during the entertainment? Would it be before the cake was served? 

Cortez mulled over the possibilities, his thoughts continuing to roll as he diced meat. 

He instructed me to get a few ingredients out of the fridge and pantry. I did as told, assuming the role as his little helper. 

He handled everything else, preparing the signature meal of a Parisian chef with his own spin, of course. 

I wondered where this life had led him in his travels, and as I watched him sautée onions and create sauce, I fantasized about living someplace overseas with him.

Maybe Italy. 

I’d always wanted to go.

Micah even promised to take me one day. 

My jaw clenched at the memory of yet another empty promise. My mood soured instantly as I reached across the island and grabbed a handful of the cubed meat. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I muttered before shoving my handful into my mouth for the sake of having substance in my stomach. 

Cortez faced me with a query written on his face, but I left the room before he could speak. 

I was silent for hours, anger simmering in me. 

Why was I still so upset over Micah? Any emotion other than vengeance was supposed to disappear after all the sobbing I’d done earlier.

I pondered Cortez’s doubts— Was Micah still in my system? Did I still love him, deep down?

When I’d see his face, up close, would I really be able to kill him?

That’s what it all came down to. That would be the moment of truth: when it would just be me and him. 

I broke my silence in the dead of the night. After dinner, after bathing, after Cortez had settled in bed next to me. 

“Tezzy,” I said. 

“That’s new,” he chortled at the nickname, amused. 

“Tezzy, I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it,” I clutched the bedsheets to my chest, hoping some of my anxiety would dissipate within my tight grip. 

“Do what?” he asked. 

I looked at him, finding what little light survived the night in his eyes. 

The realization dawned on him within seconds, and he didn’t skip a beat, offering me comfort with a kiss on top. 

“I’ll be right there with you, Nala… Whatever you can’t do, I’ll be there to do it for you. You don’t have to worry.”

“What if I don’t want to kill him? What if I don’t want anyone to kill him?” my voice shook, tears on standby for the disappointment I expected from him. 

He was quiet, silent. 

“Nala, I’ma be real wit’chu… That nigga’s done for, whether that’s what you want or not.”

“Cortez, please,” I whispered, tears beginning to brim my waterline. 

“You wanna just let him rock? Nah, that’s not what you really want, Nala. You’re just scared. You’re doubting yourself.”

“I don’t want him to die,” my voice cracked as I tried to swallow my tears. 

“After all the shit he put you through—”

“Yes! Even after all the shit he put me through,” I insisted. 

Cortez wasn’t satisfied with that. 

I tried to get him to lighten up, my hand resting on his bare shoulder. “I mean, let’s just forget about him altogether, Cortez. We have each other. Who gives a fuck about Micah?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because he hurt you.”

I parted my lips to speak but found my words becoming chopped by the ax of Cortez’s tongue. 

“Baby, he cut you so deep that you’re carrying that shit with you in your next life. Got’chu feelin’ unworthy and shit. Can’t even accept that I love you, can’t even accept the fact that you love me— because what? He said you wouldn’t be worth somethin’ real? That you were pathetic?

“Baby, he’s just a man. Whatever fuckin’ power he made you give up back then, ain’t worth shit now because now you have his life in your hands,” he explained. 

He allowed his words to fade in the darkness before continuing, this time completely impassioned. 

“Go get your fuckin’ power back. Make him pay. It’s what he deserves, and if you ain’t got it in you to give him what he deserves, then you can do whatever the fuck you want.

“But me? I’m handling that shit, and you can resent me all you want, but just know that I’m doing this because I respect and honor you that fuckin’ much.”

I quipped, “You sure it’s not because you want me to feel indebted to you, so I won’t leave you like the others did?”

He was stunned into silence. He stared at me with eyes that caught even more light than before. They were becoming glossed as the feeling of betrayal buzzed through his head and pierced his heart. 

“Cortez,” I whispered. 

He was unmoved, and just as I feared that I’d turned him to stone, he came alive with an abrupt snatch of his pillow. 

“Cortez,” I repeated as he stood and circled the bed. 

“Back up,” was all he said as I reached for him. 

I let him go, watching him leave the room.

Hours passed, and soon, dawn would be breaking. Yet, I hadn't had much sleep, too haunted by my own cruel sentiments to do so. 

I rose from bed, hunger and self-loathing gnawing at me. 

I could barely even think straight as I dragged myself into the kitchen, where I found that I wasn’t the only one in need of some food. 

The incandescent lighting of the fridge was a stark cut in the blue-hued home. Cortez stood in the yellow doorway of light with a hand planted against the freezer side of the icebox.

His skin was beautifully brown in the light although he looked tired, so tired. 

He sighed deeply, going for last night’s leftovers of pasta and rarely cooked meat.

And just as he was about to close the door, his eyes found mine.

We held one another’s gaze for what felt like both an eternity and a millisecond. 

The door closed with a soft thud. The plate found the island while I found him. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, kissing his cheek as my arms snaked his neck. 

He accepted me into his warm embrace, arms encasing my waist as he leaned down into my own warmth. 

“I’m sorry,” I said again. 

“Me too.”

Before I was ready to let him go, he pulled away from our embrace and offered up his plate. 

I feasted while he rubbed my back. And once I finished, he carried me back to bed. 

He lay me down, kneeling at my side. 

In hushed assurance, he vowed, “You’ll never have to do anything you don’t want to, so if you don’t wanna kill him, then don’t… And I’ll never go against your wishes again… if you just let me have this one.”

It was a hell of a deal, a deal I knew he was fully capable of following through on. 

“Why does it matter to you so much?” I searched his eyes.

“Because I don’t want the pain he caused you back then to dictate you anymore. It’ll be easier to let go, once he’s gone. Trust me.”

“Is that what Number One taught you?” I was referring to his very first heartbreak of this lifetime. 

He reluctantly nodded, “I just don’t want you to suffer anymore.”

“I’ll always suffer. It’s all I know.”

“That doesn’t have to be your truth anymore, Zyà.”

I leaned into his touch, my eyes closing as I reveled in the feel of his palm against my cheek. 

He was right. 

I was shackled to my past, allowing it to have more power over me than the future did. I would be walking a fashion show within hours, and here I was going back on something I’d been hoping for since before I died. 

Just because I loved Micah? Just because I’d rather not face him at all?

What was I so scared of? I had the power now. And I would soon have his heart too, this time by force rather than by bartering my dignity.

It was his turn to get on his knees and beg for his humanity to be seen. 

And it would soon be his turn to face his judgement day. 

And what a glorious day it would be. 

“You’re not doing it, Cortez,” I shook my head. 

He was visibly disappointed at my words but accepted them anyway with a solemn nod. 

“I am,” I declared.

His eyes lit up with suppressed glee, and he only allowed a quarter of a smile to tug at his lips. 

“You sure?” he prompted. 

I nodded, holding his palm in place as I turned my head to plant a kiss at the base of his lifeline. 

“A’ight,” was all he said.

With that, our mission was back in motion.

Micah was a dead man walking.

[seven-tastic]

lukerosa my beloved

[vendetta-if]

okey, okey, i was just chilling, reading chapter two (a really master piece, like always) and... its just a silly thought but for example:

mini spoileeer:

«The volume of his voice drops a notch softer and you involuntarily strain your ear to try and catch what he's saying. You can't help it, okay? You're curious. "Okay… We're still down for tomorrow night, right? Promise you won't stand me up again like last time?" You catch Uncle Luka's lips tugging up slightly in a smirk. "Okay, okay. I'm just teasing you. So, you want me to pick you up or…" Another beat of pause. "Alright. Well, it's a date then," he chuckles before saying goodbye and hanging up the call. He then turns to you, a small smile still gracing his lips. "Sorry about the wait. It was a pretty important phone call." »

In this scene I feel so good and the same time so protective towards uncle Luka that I was impressed myself, like, Jakal, dear, bro, if you ever EVER do ANYTHING wrong to Luka, if I found out you answered or even looked at him bad, I will become the heir of the family only to go after you. Luka deserves the best of the best and I won't settle for less 7.7r

I mean, just how I say early, it is a little silly, and I was been able to write this piece of post only with this little quote, but Luka just give a wave of sweetness and protectiveness and I cant help myself to feel this way lol

Aww 🥰 I’m glad and overwhelmed by all the Luka-love you guys are pouring out 🥺😭

I know I definitely have to give a chance for MC to give Jackal a shovel talk and maybe pester him with some sweet domestic questions 😂

Luka is also definitely one of the characters that I enjoy writing along with Viktor and small MC and small Ash ☺️ I hope to be able to write some short stories and/or snippets with Luka and Jackal in them in the future 😄

Poor Luka, MC actually feared that he would be single for the rest of his life because he was too busy and focused on raising them and Ash while also taking care of our family’s business 😭 Just imagine, being Luka, shifting from one day being a free bachelor in your early 30s to suddenly become basically a single dad for his niece/nephew/nibling in a night and not long after that, taking in another child, Ash 😭😭

[keanureevesisbae]

But professor… - c.4

Summary: Penny is going to see her professor for the first time again after they kissed.

Professor!Walter Marshall x Penny Townsend (Asian ofc)

Wordcount: 5.1k

Warnings: Thunderstorms (?)

Masterlist // But professor… masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

The next day it’s time for my criminology class, the first one I’ll have after our kiss. I haven’t spoken to Walter since the kiss, because a) it was literally yesterday and b) after I told him I was going to bed, I actually went to bed and fell asleep.

To make matters even worse, our meeting isn’t even gonna be in a private setting.

It’s in lecture hall setting.

Despite me falling asleep not long after I arrived home, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back to sleep. Since I was hungry, I decided to have some late night snacks, but I am incapable of eating normally, because I totally spilled some sauce on Walter’s sweater.

In other words: I had a little early morning laundry moment.

With Walter’s sweater neatly folded in my backpack, I take a deep breath for some encouragement, as I walk into the lecture hall. There are already around ten other students in their seats and Walter sits on the edge of his table, as he reads through his notes. He looks up, but his expression barely changes. Emphasis on barely. There is a slight shift in his eyes, but it’s hardly noticeable if you don’t know him that well. ‘Morning, miss Townsend.’

Like nothing ever happened between us.

‘Good morning, sir,’ I say, before walking up to my assigned seat. I should not let out a sigh of relief, but I still do. I tell myself I shouldn’t be this nervous, however it’s an impossible task. My leg moves up and down in a restless pace and my jaw is painfully clenched.

I try my best, but it is out of question to focus on the entire class. Thankfully, Walter must’ve noticed that my brain is everywhere but in this class, because he doesn’t call out my name once. For the first time in forever I don’t have any questions about the assignment, so when a few other students hang around after class, I manage to sneak passed them and make my way to the library.

My brain really is malfunctioning, because I keep staring at my screen, unable to do anything slightly productive. I look into my backpack, to see Walter’s sweater. About an hour has passed and maybe… Maybe I could bring it to him now?

I grab my phone and decide to just send him a text. I can take the first step after yesterday, right? I’m a big girl.

Me: Can I come over to your office now?

I don’t get an answer straight away, which is only fueling up the doubt that has been brewing inside my heart. Not quite the big girl after all.

What if he thought this was a mistake? Oh shit, the kiss was terrible, he hated it and I should therefore never ever kiss again!

My breathing stops when I see his answer.

Walter: Of course, princess 💕

I swallow hard. This is a good sign, right? The heart emoji and the nickname that led me to internally screaming all night indicate he didn’t think the kiss was terrible, what we did wasn’t a mistake and that we should totally kiss again.

Right?

The hallways are empty, as a lot of people are already back at their dorms due to the bad weather that is forecasted for later today. Normally, I would do the same, but I think I lingered around campus, so I had a chance of talking to Walter. I walk towards his office and knock on his door. I hear a deep and annoyed: ‘Come in’ and I take it as my cue to open the door.

‘Hello,’ I say, ‘you sure I can come in?’

He looks up from his desk and smiles. Small crowfeet appearing near the corners of his eyes, a tiny bit of evidence that he is genuinely happy to see me. ‘Of course Penny,’ he says, standing up from his seat. He walks towards the corner of his office, lifting some stuff up,  to reveal a chair. He places it on the other side of his desk. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he says, holding out his hand.

All of this trouble for me? ‘I wasn’t planning on staying long.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ he says, waiting for me to take place on the chair and I quickly do so. When he sits on his own chair again, he asks: ‘How are you?’

That’s such a sweet and darling question of him. ‘I’m okay. I just came by to give you your sweater back.’ I pull it out of my bag and say: ‘Thank you for lending it to me.’

He nods. ‘Of course.’

‘I washed it,’ I add, ‘since I kinda dropped some hot sauce on it. I hope you like my laundry detergent.’

I hand it over the table to him and he presses his nose against the fabric. ‘It smells great, thanks.’

I smile at him, since I can’t really stop it. He is so different around me, then he is when he’s a professor. There is no annoyance, no boredom. Only adoration if I’m correct. It feels good to be on the receiving end of it. ‘That was all actually. For once I don’t have questions.’

‘I see,’ Walter says. ‘You got a lot of work to do?’

I shake my head. ‘No, not really. Just your class.’

He chuckles. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Anyways, I should go. I have a few things I have to pick up from the grocery store anyway. Forgot some things yesterday,’ I say.

Walter nods. ‘Of course.’ While I said I should go, I can’t seem to stand up. Walter tilts his head and asks: ‘What’s wrong, princess?’

‘Nothing,’ I whisper.

‘Is it… The kiss?’ he carefully asks. ‘Because if it is, I have to apologize. I was crossing multiple lines with that.’

I shake my head. ‘No, Walter, don’t worry about it. I enjoyed it. It’s just… It was my first kiss.’

His eyes enlarge, nearly rolling out of his sockets. The surprised emotion is one I haven’t seen with him in real life. I actually thought nothing could startle him. ‘Your first kiss?’ he repeats. A few seconds pass by slowly as he runs his fingers through his disheveled curls. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

I shrug again. ‘I don’t know. It didn’t seem relevant.’

He sighs. ‘I’m so sorry, princess.’

‘There is nothing to worry about. If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad this was my first kiss.’

He leans back in his seat. ‘Penelope Townsend,’ he says, with a slight smile on his lips. ‘You’re quite something.’

Oh shit, he uses my full name. That… That can’t be good, right? Panic is taking over and I quickly say: ‘I really have to go.’ I grab my backpack and shoot out of his little office space, not even waiting for him to say something.

My brain is fried.

On autopilot, I managed to find my way to the grocery store, where I buy more instant noodles. I don’t know why, but I even grab some hair products for Walter. It’s getting ridiculous that I’m actually going to buy this, but on the other hand, he told me I could help him out with those slightly dry locks of his.

I spend little to no time in my dorm, because I am unable to stop thinking about Walter. I shouldn’t have left like that, I think to myself. He now must think I don’t like him, when in reality: I like him a lot.

As I am pacing through the room, nearly ripping out my hair out of pure frustration, I hear the rain against the window. It’s mild,  especially if you compare it to the forecasted weather. I check my weather app and realize that with this type thunderstorm, I really don’t want to be alone here.

Without even thinking about the pros and cons of this plan, I pack some stuff I need and when I walk outside, the bus to his place is thankfully already there. The clouds are turning a darker shade of grey, as I’m hopelessly walking around the block after I got off the bus. My sense of direction is severely lacking and it takes me awhile before I even see his building.

It starts to pour and I turn into a shivering mess. By the time I’m at his door and knocked on it, I realize that I should’ve called.

This, Penelope Townsend, was a very poorly thought out plan. This is terribly rude and there is no turning back now. Oh no, what if he thinks that—

‘Hey,’ Walter says when he opens the door and smiles as he notices it’s me. ‘What are you doing here, princess?’

He doesn’t seem mad, that is a good sign. ‘I am terribly sorry, Walter, I really shouldn’t be here. I don’t know why I’m here even. Okay, I do know, because I don’t want to be alone with this weather, but I should’ve at least called you. I mean, you probably aren’t even in the mood to deal with me, which is totally understandable. I’m so sorry, please forget this ever happened and I’ll just go.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ he says, holding my wrist tightly in his large hand, not allowing me to leave. ‘Come in.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m very sure. They say it’s gonna be shitty weather anyway and I’d hate if you had to go back. Besides, you’re soaking wet.’

‘You really sure I’m not bothering you?’ I ask, as he gently pulls me inside, still unsure whether or not I’m welcome.

‘Positive.’ He helps me out of my coat and tells me I can change in the bathroom. He grabs some of his own clothing and hands it to me. ‘Now, I’m gonna tidy up in here a bit,’ he says, ‘because I left some crime scene pictures around.’

I smile as I grab the clothing. ‘I should’ve called,’ I try to sort of apologize again, but he is having none of it.

‘Nonsense,’ he says, ‘you don’t have to call. You are always welcome here.’ He places his hand on my cheek, before pressing a soft kiss on my forehead. ‘Besides, I’m glad you’re here. I kinda missed you.’

I let out a chuckle. ‘Walter, I’m sorry I left your office. I was freaking out.’

‘I know,’ he says. Of course he knew. ‘It’s okay, Penny.’

‘It is?’

He nods. ‘Now get changed, you’re freezing.’

✎ ✎ ✎

After I changed into some of his clothing and hung my own clothes over the heater, I walk back into the living room, only to see him preparing some dinner in the kitchen.

That is such a domestic move.

‘Thank you for letting me stay here,’ I say, causing him to look over his shoulder. ‘I’m not great with this kind of weather.’

‘Figured,’ he chuckles. ‘You’re afraid?’

‘No,’ I answer, as I walk up to the counter. ‘Absolutely not.’ Almost on cue, a loud bang of thunder fills the room, causing me to yelp. ‘Okay, maybe a little.’

Walter starts to laugh. When I’m within arm reach of him, he lifts me up on the counter like I weigh nothing to him. ‘Sit still and be pretty, okay?’

I frown. ‘How am I supposed to be pretty?’

‘By being yourself,’ he says, ‘and smile at me from time to time. Seems doable, right?’

‘I can try,’ I say, a smile already appearing on my face. ‘What are you making?’

‘Some pasta,’ he answers. ‘You like that?’

‘I do,’ I say, pushing my glasses better on my nose. ‘I really do. Especially when someone else makes it. Don’t you have that, when someone else makes the food, it automatically tastes better?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, I don’t.’

Leave it to him to be an exception. ‘Why not?’

‘I like making my own food,’ he says.

‘Hm.’ I lean my head back against the cupboard. ‘I really can’t cook well,’ I admit. ‘My mom was always the one that would make my meals back home. I’m a disaster in the kitchen, hence the reason I live on ramen, which I can easily screw up as well.’

Walter smiles, placing one hand on my leg, as he holds a wooden spoon to stir the sauce. ‘Here, taste this,’ he says, grabbing a string of pasta and blows on it so it can cool off a bit. He brings it to my lips and it’s such an automatic move to place my hand on his wrist.

‘It’s good,’ I say.

‘I’ll grab a plate for you. How about you get comfortable on the couch?’

I jump off the counter and walk towards the living room area. His couch looks kinda dull, in a beige tint that reminds me of my grandma’s wardrobe, but don’t be fooled: it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat on. I grab a blanket and place it over my lap.

Walter joins me, handing me the plate with pasta and sits next to me. It only takes a second, before I flinch as the thunder is now accompanied by lighting. ‘You’re so easily scared,’ he snickers. Without me doing it on purpose, I scoot closer to him. I know he cannot  psychically protect me against it, but not being alone with weather like this, is a relief itself. ‘Careful, princess,’ he says, ‘it’s hot.’

As we eat in silence, I keep thinking about what I can say to him. ‘I brought some hair stuff with me,’ I say. ‘Bought some today.’

‘For me?’

I nod. ‘For you,’ I confirm. ‘Maybe you want to use it.’

‘Or you use it on me,’ he says. ‘I have no idea what I’m doing anyway.’

As I finish the pasta (which was delicious), he takes the plate from my hands and places it on the coffee table next to his own empty plate. ‘Come here,’ he says, pulling me closer in his warm and protective arms.

I wonder whether or not it’s odd that I’m this comfortable with him this soon. I usually have a warm up period of at least a few weeks when I meet new people. When I worked in a cafe back in Japan during my gap year, it took me a month before I wasn’t painfully shy with some of my coworkers.

But with Walter, I am still shy and sometimes a bit awkward, but it doesn’t feel unpleasant. It’s like he understands and is patient with me.

I place my legs over his and hold his hand in both of mine. My fingers trace over his knuckles, where I notice some slight scarring. ‘How did you get this one?’

‘Bar fight,’ he says, ‘before I joined the academy.’

‘You were that type of guy?’

Walter doesn’t say anything and when I look up, I see he is not even looking at me. He is staring at the window. ‘Yeah, something like that. In case you wondered: he kinda asked for it.’

There is so much I want to ask him. What he was like when he grew up. What he thought of the academy. Interesting cases he solved.

However, a loud bang brutally interrupts my thoughts. At the exact same time, the lights shut off. My breathing stops. Oh no, a power cut? I’m so glad I’m not in my dorm alone. I might’ve called Walter crying, ask him to risk his life so he could pick me up.

Good thing I’m already here.

‘Great,’ he mumbles, turning on the flashlight on his phone. ‘There isn’t much I can do,’ he says, ‘except wait for it to come back. You want me to light some candles?’

I hate the dark this much, that I quickly say” ‘Please.’

He stands up, but I hold on tightly to his hand. ‘What’s wrong, princess?’

‘Can I walk with you?’

‘Of course.’ His fingers lace through mine and together we walk around his loft, looking for the candles and a lighter. We scatter them around the apartment and it gives a soft  and warm ambiance, one that is slightly misplaced here in his loft. I can unclench my jaw from the painful grip and Walter pulls me back on the couch.

‘Did you feel awkward?’ I ask him. ‘In class today?’

He shakes his head. ‘But I know you did.’

I purse my lips together, as I feel completely caught. ‘Was I that obvious?’

‘Not to others, but to me you were.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He shakes his head. ‘Don’t apologize for that. I just wished I knew what I could do for you to feel less awkward about it.’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Never thought my first… Whatever we have, would have to be in secret.’

He sighs, clearly agreeing with me. ‘I wish I could show you off,’ he says. ‘Wish I could tell Fitzgerald to stop ogling you.’

‘He doesn’t do that,’ I say.

Walter scoffs. ‘He totally does. It’s not even subtle anymore.’

I place my head against his chest, melting in his arms. I close my eyes, as I enjoy being engulfed in the warmness and protectiveness of his embrace.

No one has ever held me like this before.

‘Walter, why me?’

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Why are you even paying attention to me? I’m such a nobody.’

‘You’re not a nobody,’ Walter retorts. ‘I like you, Penny. You have an ethereal beauty, combined with an adorable and kind nature. It’s so rare to meet someone like you. I see that there is so much potential in you, no matter what you choose later on in life. It’s just that you don’t know it yet, which is such a shame really. Besides, princess, I’m not risking my job for simply anyone.’

As much as him being my professor should turn me away from it all, should make me walk towards the door and not associate myself with him anymore, I don’t feel that way. Part of me wants to hide my smile, but I can’t. ‘I kinda like you too.’

‘Just kinda?’ he asks, pretending to be offended. ‘What can I do to change that?’

I smile. ‘Kiss me again.’

He doesn’t answer, simply leaning towards me to press his soft lips on mine. One of hands squeezes my thigh, as I wrap my arms around his neck. It feels so good to kiss him. ‘Can’t believe yesterday was your first kiss,’ he whispers against my lips. ‘You’re quite talented, princess.’

‘I just follow your lead. I think that says more about your kissing skills than mine.’

‘Knew you were an excellent student.’

✎ ✎ ✎

The lights aren’t restored by the time I grow more and more tired. It’s Walter actually that tells me to go to bed. When I’m tucked away underneath the blankets in just his thick sweater, he sits on the edge of the bed. ‘I want you to be honest,’ he says in a stern voice. ‘Do you want me to sleep here or on the couch?’

It’s a sweet thing of him to ask, especially since it did cross my mind a few times. I grab his hand, my thumb caressing his knuckles. ‘I don’t know,’ I whisper.

‘Why are you hesitating?’

‘Because… I don’t want you to think I’m a prude or anything.’

He smiles. ‘Princess, I can sleep on the couch. Don’t worry.’

I blink my eyes a few times, slightly nervous. ‘You don’t mind?’

‘Of course not. Just call for me when you need me, okay?’

‘Okay.’

He gives me a quick and loving kiss on my lips. Checking with me one last time, he carefully makes his way back to the living room. While I can hear him making himself comfortable on the couch, I roll around the bed. There is an inability of mine to fall asleep, something I barely encounter. There is this annoying, but also terrifying ticking like sound  against the window and I can’t wrap my mind around it what exactly makes that noise.

The thunder and lightening are dominating the skies and my state of mind.

‘Walter?’ I finally ask him, after rolling around, being all ears and incapable of falling asleep for at least an hour. It takes only a few seconds before he walks into the bedroom. His hair is disheveled and he looks like a sleepy owl in a cartoon. It’s adorable, a word I never expected to use to describe him.

‘What’s wrong, princess?’ he asks me.

‘What is that noise?’

‘Just the water and a branch. It usually taps against the window from time to time.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I whisper. ‘Sorry to wake you.’

‘Don’t be,’ he says. He leans against the doorframe. Despite it being dark, I can still see the contours of his large body. ‘You seem wide awake.’

‘I am,’ I admit. ‘It’s just that I can’t sleep. There is too much noise here I don’t know.’

‘Want me to join you?’

I nod, only to realize he might not be able to see it. ‘Please.’

He walks over to the bed and gets in underneath the covers. I can already feel his warm body heat closer to mine and I hold my breath. ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Walter chuckles. ‘It’s just me.’

I can’t stop being “ridiculous”. I mean, I am completely overstepping all sorts of boundaries. I mean, I’m in my professors loft. The same professor who I kissed. Whose clothes I’m wearing.

Who I’m severely falling for.

Walter holds out his arm and I turn to my side, nuzzling against his warm frame. He only wears a simple shirt and a pair of boxers. ‘Why are you shivering?’

‘I’m a little scared.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s just all those new sounds and a different bed,’ I mumble. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You have nothing to worry about,’ he says. I place my chin on his chest. As my eyes get used the dark, I can sort of see more of his face. I don’t have my glasses on, so it stay slightly blurry. ‘Nothing is gonna happen to you now, princess,’ he continues to say. ‘Not when I’m here.’

I smile. ‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s just all so new to me.’

‘Yet you adapt perfectly fine.’

I bite my bottom lip. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ He places his hand on my cheek and leans a bit forward, planting a soft kiss on my lips. It’s not my plan to deepen the kiss, but when someone’s lips taste this good, of course I don’t mind deepening it. His teeth slowly sink into my bottom lip, careful not to hurt me.

When he lets go of me, his hot breath tickles my already sensitive lips. Walter presses a kiss on my nose and whispers: ‘Go to sleep, princess. You seem tired.’

‘I am,’ I chuckle. ‘Quite the detective you are.’

✎ ✎ ✎

The next morning when I wake up, I’m still engulfed in Walter’s arms. He looks so innocent and vulnerable when he sleeps. His hand has slipped underneath my shirt, his warm palm on my back. For a second, my mind wanders to a time where it’s more than this. More than just a hand on my bare back.

It’s about him seeing me naked, him touching me and whispering sweet nothings in my ears.

It doesn’t take long for Walter to wake up as well and he smiles when he sees I’m already up. ‘I don’t mind waking up like this,’ he admits. ‘Seeing your beautiful face first thing in the morning is a lovely surprise.’

Don’t blush, Penny. Don’t you dare blush.

‘Give me a kiss, princess,’ he says.

‘I haven’t brushed my teeth yet,’ I mumble.

‘Doesn’t matter to me.’ He leans in to give me a gentle peck on my lips, followed by a few more. I giggle against him, as his fingers softly—and probably unintentionally—tickle my sides. ‘I’ll go see if the power is back on,’ he says. ‘Want something to eat?’

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Doesn’t really matter what.’

Walter kisses me one more time, before he gets up out of bed. It doesn’t take long before I slip out of the bed as well, putting on some socks and sweatpants.

This morning is the prime example of how a domestic couple behaves. I always envied my parents, for being able to find the love of their lives, living according to a certain routine with one another. I remember sitting at the dinner table, watching them dancing in the kitchen as mom would make dinner. I remember sitting in the backseat, hearing my parents sing along with the radio.

They have always been outgoing people, in complete contrast to me. Mom always comforted me telling me that one day I would find my soulmate. Dad always told me that the so called soulmate had to be approved by him.

I wonder what would happen if they found out I met Walter. It’s way too early to think about that, but my brain isn’t stopping this thought process. Especially when Walter lifts me up the counter. When he presses mindless kisses on my forehead. When he lets me use some of the products on his hair. He smiles when I massage his scalp as I’m washing his hair over the stink and use the conditioner on his dry hair.

It’s great to see Walter with his guard a bit down. Allowing me to see who he is hiding when he’s teaching and maybe when he was at work as a detective as well. His touches are soft, are kind and not once is he overstepping. He carefully reads me and my body language.

But at one point, I realize that it’s time for me to go back. My mom used to say to leave a party when it’s still fun, instead of waiting for the awkward moment where you are practically forced to leave after you overstayed.

With his curls nice dried and less frizzy, he drives me back towards the train station and the parking lot and the station itself are almost vacant. People are probably still hiding inside their houses, not wanting to deal with the aftermath of the storm yet.

‘I hate that I have to drop you off here,’ he admits. ‘You have to walk for a while. Wait, I have an idea, you call me as you walk towards your dorm. I’ll leave here when I know you’re safe and sound in your room, okay?’

‘You really don’t have to do that,’ I chuckle. ‘I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.’

‘I know that,’ he says, ‘but I care a little too much about you. I don’t want anything to happen, okay?’

It’s nice to be taken care of like this. I could get used to this. ‘Okay,’ I say, before I give him a kiss. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘I’ll miss you too, princess.’ He pulls out his phone and says: ‘I’ll call you in a second.’

A second truly is a second, because my phone rings when I close the door. ‘Really?’ I ask him as I pick up the phone, still being able to see him.

‘Yes, really.’

I wave at him, as I walk towards the dormitory building, which is about a ten minute walk. ‘You have a cute walk,’ he says, when I’m out of sight for him. ‘There’s almost a little skip in it.’

‘Way to make me more self conscious than I already was.’

‘Ah, princess,’ he says, ‘don’t be like that. You have nothing to be self conscious about. You’re beautiful, you’re cute and you are the sweetest thing alive.’

‘Don’t say stuff like that. I’m blushing.’

I can hear his chuckles from the other side of the line. ‘Where are you now?’

‘I can see the dorms already. You really want me to call you until I’m in my room?’

‘Yes.’

I can’t argue with that determination. While I simply chat to him about the damage done by the storm, I see Fitzgerald near the entrance. Great, I really can’t use this now.

‘There she is,’ he says, when I open the door and walk passed him to get inside.

‘Is that who I think it is?’ Walter asks me.

‘Yes.’

‘He does that often?’

Correct me if I’m wrong, but he sounds kinda possessive. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Sugar plum,’ Fitzgerald says as he follows me inside. ‘I have a question for you.’

‘I’m on the phone,’ I tell him, hoping it’s enough for him to get lost. ‘Can’t really wait.’

It seems like he didn’t pick up on the underlying no in my answer. ‘Where have you been?’ Fitzgerald asks me.

My mouth grows dry. Does he know? Have Walter and I not been subtle enough? Oh my gosh, Fitzgerald totally knows. Do not start hyperventilate, stay calm, Penny. ‘Ask him if he’s stalking you,’ I hear Walter’s soft tone in my ear.

That seems doable. ‘You stalking me?’

He must be surprised that those words roll out of my mouth. I mean, I didn’t expect them from me either. ‘No, just wondering. Saw you getting on a bus after class.’

‘He really is stalking you,’ Walter says in my ear.

‘Sounds like you’re stalking me after all.’ Oh my goodness, Penny! What on earth is happening? I don’t know if I was supposed to repeat that.

Fitzgerald is flabbergasted to say the least and he actually walks away. Did I just do that? ‘He’s gone,’ I whisper.

‘That’s my girl,’ Walter chuckles. ‘Proud of you, princess. Asshole really doesn’t take no for an answer. I am tempted to fail him for my class.’

I start to laugh, as I make my way to my dorm. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘I hate his guts.’

‘Don’t use the word hate,’ I scold him. ‘Instead, use the word despise.’

‘Not with him, I won’t.’

I quickly walk up the stairs and let out a deep sigh when I’m back in my own dorm. ‘I arrived safe and sound in my room,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you for letting me stay over at your place. I really don’t do well in thunderstorms.’

‘Of course,’ he says, and I can almost hear the grin in his voice. ‘Can’t have you alone during a power cut. Also, it’s quite nice not to be alone.’

A certain vulnerability I was not expecting from him, let alone over the phone. ‘It sure was,’ I agree.

‘I’ll call you later,’ he tells me.

‘Alright, of course.’

‘Take care, princess.’

[lilacmeadows]

Made For You pt. 2

Omg you guys thank you so much for all the support! Part 1 was my first fic and you guys were so sweet. I had to get started on part 2 right away. If you want to be on my taglist, just let me know! This is just leading up to the next few chapters that’s just gonna be FILTHY. I needed a bit of backstory to be satisfied, but now that the boring part is out of the way, I’m gonna go research other names for genitals. Hope you enjoy! -Savvy

BUCKY X READER

Summary: Hydra had just finished training you to be the Winter Soldier’s perfect mate when the Avengers saved him. But what’s going to happen to you now that Hydra has deleted your old life and left you with nothing but a soldier that needs to learn to love himself before he can love someone else.

Part 1    Part 2     Part 3

WARNINGS: explicit sexual content, explicit language, underage reader (nothing sexual happens underage), stockholm syndrome, mentions of family death, eventual dom/sub dynamics, mentions of captivity and kidnapping. violence- guns, mutual pining, eventual smut, fluff, angst if you squint (must be 18+)

WORD COUNT:  2.9k

“Make the Soldat happy. He is my mission.” 

When she was first taken, of course she was scared. She didn’t know why, where she was going, if she’d be rescued. It was a painful adjustment, and some days it was as if the tears would never stop. It’s not like she was worth anything to anyone who mattered, her family wasn’t rich. Just her mom and brother. They lived a happy and normal life. 

She’d guess it didn’t really matter. At the age of 10, y/n was old enough to understand basic concepts, carry a conversation with adults, and she had strict teachers in school, so she knew how to behave. 

What she didn’t know was how to be a wife. Or a ‘life-partner’. None of the Men would ever call her a future ‘wife’. She was training to be a mate. Someone the Soldat could own and connect with so he didn’t fly off the rails if things got out of control. If he got out of their control. Every morning, a watcher would wake her up at 8AM so she could stretch, eat, and meditate. By 10AM, her first trainer of the day would come in and teach her the schooling she was missing. Just basic math and reading, a little German, and a little Russian. Not enough for her to eavesdrop on their plans, but enough to understand her Soldat if he didn’t feel like speaking English. 

At 1PM, another trainer would come and bring her to the small kitchenette down the hall. They had no intention of domesticating the ‘couple’, but she was learning to be a woman- of course the Men would have her start in the kitchen. She would learn very simple meals that could feed a fully grown man, and usually had something light for lunch herself. The men brought her the other 2 meals a day. At 3PM she would have lessons on ‘Womanhood’. At least that’s what she called it. A trainer would come in and teach her a never-ending list of rules that she had to follow in order to be a ‘lady’. It reminded her of an old Barbie movie she would watch when she was little. There was a song called ‘To Be a Princess’, where a poor girl learned how to act proper. Once she started seeing herself as that princess, the days got a little easier. Some days, they would go over how to sit and lie down like a lady. Others, they would walk laps around the halls open to her, reviewing how to walk on the balls of her feet. She learned to talk in short sentences with excellent manners, and how to brush her hair, so she could look more presentable for her Soldat. 

Over the years of compliance, the trainers softened on her just as the watchers had. Of course, they were still horrible people, but they knew she was a kind girl at heart and wouldn’t cause trouble. Some days, she would be made to sit perfectly still with a stack of books on her head, while her trainer would tell her something silly happening outside the walls of the building that became her home. She learned little bits of information about their lives, music, art. But never anything political or having to do with who the Men even worked for. That was strictly forbidden. They would let her color in her free time. Sometimes a watcher would bring a book from his home for her to read, and when she was old enough, she was given a few colors of yarn and started knitting sweaters and scarves on plastic needles. She didn’t have a clock, but she would learn by the rotating shifts of her watchers what time of day it was.

There were children whose lives sucked more than hers. And for that, she was grateful.

When she got older (let’s say 18), the training started to change. She never knew what day it was, or even what year. She had stopped keeping track so long ago, but the changes were made gradually. She would be made to read books on intimacy, and then watch videos of men brutally ravishing ladies about her size. She had to learn what to do to please her Soldat, without being taught physically. This made her happy. The thought of any of the watchers or trainers doing that to her made her sick. And everyone thought it was in her best interest to be completely innocent to the touch of a man when she has her first encounter with the Soldat.

Which turned out exactly as planned. But on the day Steve and Sam plucked her out of her bedroom, she was not expecting the Soldat to be sitting right in front of her. In all his glory.

The quinjet was eerily silent for all of seven seconds before Clint had the audacity to continue the conversation he started.

“You make the soldier happy?” was the best the shocked man could come up with.

“I haven’t met him yet, but I’m ready. They made me ready for him.” y/n said with bright, hopeful eyes. Her words flowed so easily, they sounded rehearsed.

“Do we tell her?” Tony asked Steve, who was getting greener by the second. He couldn’t believe he just got his best friend back, not two weeks ago, and now he has to worry about a girl who’s obsessed with said best friend.

“I don’t think we really have a choice.” Steve replied, taking a deep breath. The whole quinjet looked like they were holding their breath. y/n still didn’t know the names of the three men on the opposite side of the quinjet. Two of them standing together, pausing their conversation, and the brooding man, who everyone keeps looking at.

“y/n, meet Bucky.” Steve said, pointing at the man across from her. But ‘Bucky’ went completely over her head- the name being unfamiliar to her.

“Hello, sir. Pleased to meet you.” She said, offering a genuine smile, but clearly not picking up what Steve was putting down. Clint chimed in again, wanting to be out of his confused misery.

“Wait a second. Y/n. You mean the soldier, as in the Winter Soldier?” Y/n immediately nodded at hearing that name. She knew her Soldat went by that name. “As in that guy right there?” 

Her eyes went wide at the realization. He was sitting right in front of her. Staring at her since the minute she stepped onto the plane. And he was gorgeous. Long hair, thick thighs, piercing blue eyes, and a jaw that could probably cut glass. But he looked upset. Pissed really, and that scared her. She had one job: Make the Soldat happy. And there she was, barely presentable. She hadn’t even addressed him properly, how she was taught. With all the eyes on her, she felt a blush rush through her whole body at the embarrassing thought. But she had to. He wouldn’t like her if she didn’t follow the rules she grew up with.

Y/n daintily stood up and walked until she was right in front of Bucky. He held her eye contact the entire way, still not having said one word during this whole exchange. She gently knelt down until she was on her knees in front of him. 

“I hope I can make you happy, my Soldat. I am a gift from the Men who take care of us, and I am entirely yours.” Bucky’s jaw twitched. He hadn’t said anything this whole time, but his mind was moving at lightning speed. He watched this gorgeous, barely dressed girl sit across from him, and was already in awe. But then that girl got on her knees and declared her loyalty to him? In front of everyone he knows? He couldn’t lie to himself, he’d never been more turned on. But everything about this was wrong. She was just a Stockholm Syndrome’d girl who wanted to follow orders. But her orders were to make him happy. He finally broke eye contact with her to see Tony’s shocked face looking over at Bruce and Thor, to make sure he’s not hallucinating this. 

“Y/n, you should stand up.” He said to her in a hushed tone. Probably harsher than he meant to. He could see her visibly take a breath at the sound of his voice, his eyes followed the gentle slope of her neck down to her breast. She dreamed for years about what his voice would sound like, and it just rolled over her. But she quickly obeyed and stood in front of his seat. He expected her to say something else, but she was silent then. Her previous outburst was one of the few exceptions to her ‘only talk when spoken to’ rule. “What do you want? Where is your family so we can take you home?” He asked her. She could feel the tears well up in her eyes. He didn’t want her was all she could assume. She was made for him, so why was he turning her away?

“I want to make you happy, sir. It’s all I want. Please let me be good for you. I promise, I’ll be so good for you.” Begging was familiar to her from her studies. She didn’t expect to be begging for her to be able to please him, but she would do whatever it took to get him to keep her.

“No. Y/n. This isn’t right. You were being kept there, whatever Hydra told you to do is over. You’re free now.” The tears flowed freely down her cheeks and it broke his heart. She tried to cover her face with her hands. He didn’t want to see her cry, nor did he want to turn her away, but he also couldn’t just let her be his sex slave. It wasn’t right. 

“Please don’t be sad. This is for the best-” He tried to reason with her, but when he took her hand off her face so she would look at him, the contact only made her sob harder. This was all she wanted. 

“Buck, I think we should just let her sit for a minute. Can you grab her some water? Tony and I will try to figure out where she was from.” Steve said to Bucky- trying to end this painful and awkward situation. Bucky stood and walked to another area of the quinjet. He was grateful to be able to use this time to think.

“Y/n, we’re gonna need your help to get you home okay. What’s your last name? How old are you?” 

“Y/L/N” And then she went quiet. It never occurred to her that she didn’t know how old she was. Of course, she remembered her birthday, but she couldn’t tell the weeks and months apart, so she hadn’t celebrated it since she turned 10 in 2006. “What year is it?”

“When did they take you?” Steve asked gently. Being a man from another time, he could remember well the day he woke up in 2011 when it was supposed to be 1944. He knew how jarring it was to discover all the time that’s been lost, and wanted to spare her that grief.

“2006. I was 10.” She looked at him, and she could tell it’s not just 2008 by the look on his face. She knew her body went through changes over her time with the Men, but between the ‘dietary supplements’ they gave her, and the fact that she wasn’t looking in a mirror- much less shopping for clothes- she didn’t realize she had fully completed puberty. 

“Y/n, it’s 2016. You’re 20 now.” And that made the tears come harder. But she wasn’t so upset about the 10 years of her life. She was mad at 20 years of her life wasted. Since Bucky didn’t want her, all of the training was for nothing. She knew living for him made her the definition of a broken person- she wasn’t dumb. The idea of her Soldat was what grounded her all that time. When she was lonely, she’d think about the man the Men always tell her about. They told her how he was their ‘greatest asset’. And she often fantasized about if he would fall in love with her. So by the time she met him, she had already been in love with him for much longer than she’d care to admit- which makes the heartbreak of rejection hurt that much more.

Unfortunately for Bucky, his heart was heavy too. He tucked away into the tiny bed area on the jet after quickly handing Steve the water to give to y/n. It was too much. Being in that room with her, she looked at him like he hung the moon. But he most certainly had not. He was a murderer. Tony’s father was a scientist during the war, and Bucky knew him pretty well through Steve. And he killed him. He had scattered memories of hurting dozens of people, so why would she be so willing to be with someone like him?

Part of him wanted it. After almost a century of not owning anything and not having a choice, he was given the opportunity to have something that belonged only to him. A gift from the men who take care of us. If it wasn’t cruel, he would have laughed in her face. Maybe she was taken care of, but he most certainly wasn’t. She was brought in young enough to still be under the impression that Hydra wasn’t evil, just strict. He imagined for a minute how things could have turned out for the two of them if he hadn’t gotten free. If Hydra really was planning on giving him a gift. He didn’t like the last gift they gave him in the shape of an arm, but y/n was perfect. She was the perfect size for him- although his broad frame could dwarf most women. And her smile pulled at his heart.

He wanted to kiss her the minute he saw her. He knew he wanted to make her his.

And that was bad.

He rubbed his hand over his face and decided to rejoin the group in the middle of their conversation. Thor and Bruce decided to stop being passive members of the conversation and introduced themselves. Y/n was very confused at Thor’s proclamation as ‘God of Thunder’, but with all that was happening, she didn’t feel it was her place to question it.

“- a good thing we have spare rooms at the compound. You can stay as long as you like.” Tony finished speaking to y/n just as Bucky was walking into the room. “We’re gonna have a new house guest MC.” He waggled his eyebrows at the man who caught the back half of that conversation.

Bucky’s jaw dropped. This would only make the situation much harder than it needed to be. He looked to Steve for an explanation. The blond stood up and made his way over to Bucky.

“Look, Hydra scrubbed her records off of every database and-” He took a deep sigh, “Her family is dead, Buck. They probably killed them after they took her.” 

Then it was Bucky’s turn to sigh. He knew the right thing to do was to help her, but he also knew how much he wanted to feel her soft skin in his hands. And that made her dangerous to be around. 

What nobody knew was why Hydra took the 10 year old from Georgia. In 2006, the Winter Soldier was sent on a mission to kill a scientist that lived there. Of course the poor guy didn’t have a chance when the Soldier was sitting in his house, waiting for him when he got home, but what the Soldier wasn’t expecting was a little girl to be coming inside with him. The scientist looked sleazy and didn’t have any children, so who knows what would have happened to her if the Soldier didn’t get there in time. She screamed and cried. The comm in his ear commanded him to kill the girl for being a witness. But the part of the Soldier that was still Bucky wanted her to be safe. He shushed the little girl and asked her for her address. When she recited it to him, he rubbed her head and told her she was a good girl, before he dug his metal fingers into the child’s pressure points and she fell limp into his arms. y/n woke up in her bed, crying at the bad dream she must have had- her mother not even home yet. That was the first act of defiance Hydra ever experienced from the Winter Soldier. First sign of humanity and compassion. They knew if the mind control was getting weaker, he would be harder to control next time they unfroze him, but his protective nature of the girl would make her an asset to them.

Her capture was arranged before his heart was fully frozen in the chamber. Neither Bucky nor y/n remembered this- Bucky only remembering parts of his time under their control, and y/n never thinking about that bad dream again, but the connection was still there as strong as it was that day 10 years ago.

Part 3

[gb-patch]

Ask Answers (March 3rd, 2021)

Here’s our latest batch of anon ask answers! Thanks for waiting for them.

Will there be a 'Our Life' game for each season? Please say we're getting a winter one! 

As of right now we’re only planning on making two, summer and fall. They take quite a while to finish and we’re not sure where we’ll be when the second OL is truly wrapped up. But it’s not impossible we can do a third. Though, four Our Life games is probably not super likely, honestly, aha. Maybe the third game, if we make one, could be switch between winter and spring or something.

What engine/engines do you use to make your games? 

We use Renpy for all our projects!

For version 1.2 of OL, did you make any changes to the DLC? If so, could you post a changelog detailing what exactly (or at least a general overview)? If it's not too much trouble, could you also elaborate on the bugs/errors you fixed in the base game? 

There aren’t really any changes to the DLCs, except for the voiced name DLC getting an expansion. We fixed very few small typos and added a couple extra lines. Unfortunately, we don’t have a list of exactly what all the little fixes were.

I've been playing OL and I love the characters! As soon as Baxter showed up, I knew I wanted to learn more about him! Would you consider adding him as a prospective LI in the future? 

Yep, Baxter (and Derek) will be getting his own romance story as an optional DLC late in 2021! Glad you like him.

Hellooo! First off I'm a huge fan of the game and can't stop playing it. However, I was wondering about how much domestic life with Cove we'll get to see in step 4. Meaning the time before the wedding and the time after. In my game Cove and I talked about having children and I was hoping that would be an option in step 4. Either way, I cannot wait for the release and I send my best to everyone working on the production :) thanks! 

I’m sorry, there’s no children or scenes after the two are married. There’s sort of endless possibilities for what that future could be like, so we unfortunately can’t depict it. You only get scenes before they’re married and, if you get the wedding DLC, you can see the day they get married. It ends there, though. But thank you for the well-wishes!

Hello! I was just wondering, so step 4 is going to be similiar to the prologue/epilogue scenes of the game. Is the Wedding DLC going to be one long scene too or will that have moments? (I love the game by the way, its ruined all other visual novels for me in the most wonderful way <3 ) 

Yeah, Step 4 and the wedding DLC will be like the prologues/summer ended parts of the game. There won’t be separate Moments you can play in any order. I’m really happy you like the game so much!

You said that the OL MC's birthday can't be in summer, but what if you headcanoned it to be? 

You can headcanon it as being in summer! There just aren’t birthday events in the game even if you do know your MC was born in summer. We had to leave those out, since some people might not want their MC to be born in summer and then they’d miss out on extra birthday scenes because of it. It wouldn’t have been fair.

Hello!😺 I absolutely love your game!😻 I can't wait for DLS with Derek and Baxter. And I wonder if Baxter could have seen Cove and MC at the party during their first failed dance? Or is Baxter only paying attention to who he's dancing with, or is he not dancing with anyone at the soiree at all then? 

Baxter isn’t really paying attention to the couples on the floor. He’s just cruising the outskirts for someone available to dance with him. So he doesn’t get any memories of the MC or Cove at that party if the two just dance with each other. It’s great to hear you like the game!

time-wise/step-wise when does the nsfw dlc take place? 

It’s not super strict in terms of an exact of weeks/months, but generally it’s sometime not long after the end of Step 3.

Heya! I'm currently obsessed with Our Life (I played through the entire game on Valentine's Day, hahaha– ha... hah), and I have one silly question: if I start playing Step 3 with the less... "romantically inclined" interest levels (Fond & Disinterest), is there still a chance of getting a romantic ending with Cove? Can Cove and the MC realize "they're the one for me" in just one summer? Or... are confessions off the table completely unless at least at Crush level? Thank you in advance! 

So happy you’re having fun with it! In OL1 deciding that Cove is your friend means he’s truly only a friend. You can’t decide you have a crush partway through. But we are considering doing things differently in future games.

hey i have some questions about our life

a) is there a way to be friends with that mean bowlcut kid or is he always... like tha

b. what is coves ethnicity?

A. He is always like that, haha. At least as a kid, he does grow up to be different~

B. Cove’s mom Kyra is white, but Cliff’s race doesn’t come up and players are able to headcanon it. So Cove is half white and half whatever you prefer Cliff to be. 

how do you get to the two mc cut-in scenes from the new update?

&

Hiii! I'm doing another playthrough (it's only like my 100th time playing through the entire game) after the 1.2 update, and I was wondering how to get the new art? I also really love all the new stuff, thank you for working so hard and creating such a wonderful game :)

You can check our our CG guide on Steam for that! Thank you for the kind words.

Sorry to bother you, but I have a question about the Patreon moment. Will there be initiative settings there too? And if there aren't, will the MC lead the whole thing or will Cove lead at certain points too? Thank you~ 

There will still be flexibly in what you’re comfortable with and whether you want Cove to automatically do things or for choices to always be involved :]. And you don’t need to apologize!

Hello!! I wanted to ask a couple of questions about Our Life:

1. Will we able to buy all the DLC via Steam or will there be some of them only available in Patreon? Just to know if I should create a Patreon user XD

2. Will Our Life: Now and Forever be about the current MC, Cove and the other characters or will it be a game with a New MC, new romantic options and new characters?

1. There will be a Patreon-only NSFW bonus Moment. But all the normal planned DLCs will release on Steam.

2. Our Life: Now & Forever is about new characters- new MC, new family, new LI, etc.

just some small bug I noticed: even if you didn't ask Cove to dance, if he asks you at the Soiree in Step 2 later and you say yes to dancing, the MC acts like they got to dance with Cove again even if it was the first time. 

Thank you for the report on that! We thought it was fixed, but I guess it didn’t work.

I was messing around with the new update and I noticed that all the hands in the firefly CGs have the same skin tone regardless of what you put in, (with the exception of the really dark skin color) is this a glitch or something? 

The skin tones aren’t the same. It’s just because they’re out at night with only fireflies for light that it makes each image look dark and therefore similar. But if you line them up together it’s clear how there are changes in every option.

How long did it take to plan out and write the story for OL? Not including the programming, art stuff, or the DLC chapters, I mean just planning and writing the base game story alone. The base game story seems hefty as is, and then on top of that there's the changes to scenes depending on MC's and Cove's personalities and relationship, I'm curious how long that took 

It took basically the full development time, aha. I’m someone who doesn’t fully outline a project before start and instead continues to come up with stuff as a project progresses. There were new parts to the story being created right up to near the launch. So, starting in 2016 or so to later 2020, with some breaks/hold-ups throughout that time.

Hello! I'm really, really enjoying Our Life: Beginning and Always, it was the kind of sweet, wholesome content I needed during these past months. I had a quick question, will you be making any female characters for the MC to romance? In this game or any others like it? I'm a lesbian and I'd love to have a female love interest with such well written romance as yours! Thank you so much. 

Thank you for the nice comment! Our Life: Beginnings & Always won’t have a female LI since we didn’t want to treat other gender options as second fiddle to the male lead. But we have just started full production on Our Life: Now & Forever, which will have a starring female LI! There’s a silhouette glimpse of her Step 1 self here~

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

Thanks everyone for sending the questions :D

FAQ   If you prefer to just see the main posts without all the asks/reblogs, feel free to follow our side account instead: GB Patch Updates Bl

[no-psi-nan]

Extra Love Stories of Psychics, Volume 2

Experimental Censored Edition

Chapter 1: A Gender Agenda

Giddy with joy at getting to spend their college years as roommates, Saiki and Akechi settle in for a cozy chat & cuddle session.

Full chapter on AO3, T-rated version & featured headcanons/lore below the cut. More info about the Experimental Censored Edition here.

Censored content: neck kisses and light petting (head & back)

Notes: If Akechi's dialogue seems shorter than usual, it's because I've had to cut out some of his narration lmao. If you're just here for the headcanons at the bottom, scroll like hell cuz this is like 7k!

Saiki Kusuo lay back in his new bed, stared at an unfamiliar ceiling, and listened to the thoughts of his friends settling down to sleep all around him. He could never have imagined an outcome like this, where he could attend the average college of his dreams and still be surrounded by all the friends he had unwillingly made in high school. But through a twist of fate, he now shared an apartment building with the troublesome lot of them, and not many people more.

Compared to his old neighborhood, which had enough people in a 200 meter radius to sound like a mall's food court, Saiki could only hear the voices of around 25 people now. Most of them were soothing in their familiarity, while the other trails of thought belonged to Saiko's loyal staff. But there was one mental voice in particular that Saiki was very happy to hear at the moment. He sat up in bed expectantly and looked at his door.

[You can come in, Touma-kun.]

"Oh, hello Kusuo-kun! Thank you for pre-emptively letting me in, as usual~ Gosh, even after knowing about your powers for so long, they still surprise me!" Akechi shut the door quietly behind him, then launched himself bodily into Saiki's arms.

Saiki laughed and caught him, hugging him carefully close and humming in delight when Akechi peppered his face with little kisses. Perhaps Akechi still gawped and gasped at Saiki's powers, but Saiki still couldn't fully wrap his head around how much Akechi loved him either.

As soon as Akechi pulled away a bit, Saiki returned the affection, grinning when the solid essays of thought evaporated into little murmurs of joy. Saiki loved this, when Akechi relaxed in his arms with a head full of fuzzy warm feelings.

[Won't you snuggle with me?]

Akechi smiled, his thoughts quickly ramping up again to his usual high-speed patter. His mental voice was the telepathic equivalent of a thunderstorm: terrifying when exposed to its fury, but comforting, soothing white noise when it drummed harmlessly nearby.

"Oh Kusuo-kun, you know I would absolutely like to snuggle with you~ You've surely heard my thoughts at school, looking forward to each Saturday because it meant I could sleep over at your house and enjoy your warm embrace all night long! Certainly you've noticed some of the excitement I've been feeling all day at the euphoria of getting to live with you during my college years! Cohabitation!! I can still hardly believe it~ What a treat it will be to live so closely together, especially since we'll be attending different schools all day! I never thought I could understand your interest in normality until I pictured us preparing dinner together after school and sharing a meal, though naturally I'm sure that even in the kitchen you would be using your powers in very obviously paranormal ways. It seems like such a romantic thing now, and yet what fascinates me even more is the possibility of a future where this level of domesticity is just a mundane part of our lives. A life where we're just ordinary husbands going out to get ordinary groceries for an ordinary dinner…"

[How can you say such sweet things without snuggling me? Good grief. Don't you think I want to cuddle closer when you say things like that?]

Akechi laughed and cradled Saiki's face in his hands, pressing tender kisses onto his forehead. "I love you too, silly~ But perhaps I should have been more concise. While I would indeed enjoy sleeping with you in your bed tonight, I would really like to try having you sleep with me in my bed this time. Well, to be truthful, it can hardly be considered my bed yet since I haven't actually slept in it or even sat on it yet, but the fact remains that this would be the first opportunity for me to invite you into my own space for romantic reasons. Won't you come to my room, Kusuo-kun?"

[ … ]

[ … I'd love to, actually.]

"Will you let me carry you over the threshold? It would be so delightful! I believe I could easily transport you in my arms over such a short distance, and you can always levitate should I falter."

[Heh. You never did grow out of playing house, did you?]

"Heyyy, don't tease me, Kusuo-kun! Perhaps I was rather obvious about my little crush in hindsight, but you always patiently played along with me, even when I critiqued your obviously fake meals."

[Well, we didn't have any other friends to play 'imaginary divorce lawyer' back then.]

"Hahaha! Alright, that is quite a humorous thought! We would have had to debate alimony and custody over the pet rock. If only we had written prenuptial arrangements on fallen leaves or something of the sort!"

[What a pain. Who let these children elope in the first place?]

"It sure does seem a little irresponsible! …Actually Kusuo-kun, I wanted to thank you for your patience with me. I know I think about marriage a lot, and therefore end up talking about it when I think out loud like this so you can comfortably wear your germanium ring. And I know marriage isn't something you would even consider until you felt well-situated in your career. It must be a little troublesome for you to constantly hear about my desire to marry you. But still, you kindly let my remarks slide by, or redirect my thoughts, or play along a little bit, or gently remind me that it's too early to properly discuss, and I really appreciate it."

[You don't have to worry about that, seriously. You can't help your thoughts.]

[It's natural to daydream and think of future scenarios. Even at a first meeting, people might briefly imagine a future together.]

[But thoughts are very different from actions. Even while Teruhashi dreamt of marrying me, if I had proposed on the spot, she would have most likely refused.]

"Just so we're both absolutely crystal-clear on this subject, I would immediately accept a marriage proposal from you at any time. As Aiura might say, 'Rip to Teruhashi-san but I'm different'. Though I do know that you want to wait until we both feel comfortable in our life paths and are certain we want to walk them together, which is genuinely so admirable, Kusuo-kun! Just another thing I love about you!"

[ … I love you too, Touma-kun.]

[You're patient with me in your own ways. I wish I could understand and talk about my feelings as easily as you do.]

"I will be honest with you, Kusuo-kun, interpreting and communicating feelings is not as easy as I may occasionally make it seem! My feelings towards you are simply very blatantly clear, so I can easily describe them to you. But you have been making such great efforts to be expressive with me, and with all of your friends really, that I am incredibly proud of you. A far cry from the Kusuo who asked me to not return after our first horse-racing game. Ahhh, look at you! How can you be so cute when you're embarrassed, Kusuo-kun? Let me carry you to my bed for tonight. I do genuinely believe you would enjoy being physically carried around for a bit, especially as a precursor to more snuggling."

[ … That does sound wonderful. Please go ahead.]

"It looks like climbing off of you may be the worst part of this whole idea, you are so cozily warm! Though I suppose you seem a little less toasty than usual, currently… Wait, are you lowering your body temperature on purpose, Kusuo-kun?? Oh, look at your little smirk!! Very much a cat that has gotten the cream, aren't you, all at the expense of your poor sweet boyfriend? Though of course, adult cats are actually lactose intolerant– Okay, okay I'm getting up, brr! Please turn back to your normal temperature so I can carry you comfortably? Look, I'll kiss your forehead to motivate you~"

[Hehehe. Alright.]

"Thank you Kusuo-kun~ Now, let's see… I'll scoop you up like this, in what they call a bridal style! Much less efficient from an energy standpoint when compared to the fireman's carry due to the way it shifts our total center of gravity forward from my personal center of gravity, but certainly much more romantic! Oh yes, please do wrap your arms around my neck~ Wow, this makes me feel like some sort of hero! …I thought you might object to being compared to a stereotypical lady in distress, but you just gave me that affectionate look of yours in a way that tells me you think I really am some sort of hero. I'll politely request that you stop that immediately because you're making my knees weak and I'm trying to carry you at the moment! Oh I suppose I'd better get moving, I do so want to snuggle with you! Wait, how did I fail to take into account how to safely open the door while carrying you…? Ah, thank you Kusuo-kun, I appreciate it and hope you'll do the same trick with my bedroom door as well! …It's much more difficult than I thought to maneuver you through a door frame without bumping your head or feet, but I suspect you don't mind my delay too much based on your pleased hums. I'm so glad you're enjoying this too, Kusuo-kun! Ah, here's my bedroo– thank you~! Oh I am so looking forward to snuggling you tonight!! Would you like to lay on my chest this time? I want to pet your back, and if you'll consider it, maybe play with your hair a little bit? …Your eyes are shining at the idea, you really like it, don't you~? Hehehe, wait, let me set you down before you do that!! …There~! Now I'll lay down too, and– Oh you didn't waste any time snuggling close, huh?"

[I really missed this. You were away on that trip the last few weeks. I thought we might never get to do this again, good grief.]

"Kusuo-kun, don't be silly! You can teleport! And naturally you're invited to cuddle with me whenever you like~ That wasn't possible this summer because I was sharing a hotel room with my mother, but in college– Oh, I see, were you concerned that I might have roommates that could hear us? I suppose that's a valid concern, but you should know that I'd figure out a way for us to be together discreetly if need be. You know how much I love this, having long conversations and indulging in this kind of cozy intimacy. I know you feel like I'm missing out because you're unable to caress me the same way due to the gloves you have to wear. But your mental equation of how much we each enjoy this doesn't take into account how happy and satisfied I feel when you relax under my hands and forget all your troubles and trust me to take care of you for a while. And you do that lovely little thing where you accidentally transmit some of your warm and fuzzy feelings to me, and I know it's not really intentional and you find it a little embarrassing, but it is such a soothing experience and not something I can really give you an equivalent of."

[Actually… ]

[ …Sometimes I hear you thinking about how much you love me. When I'm not wearing the ring.]

"You do? I'm glad! I thought that the general volume of my thoughts might have obfuscated some of those specific musings but it makes me really happy to hear that you at least have some inkling of how much I think about you and how much I love you~!"

[Not even you can think so fast that I'd miss my name being repeated in a lovey-dovey voice over and over. Seriously, it makes me blush.]

"Oh Kusuo-kun~ I do love to say your name! Hehehe, it's only too bad that I miss your cute blushing face when you're hearing my thoughts from farther away! You should absolutely come show me next time~"

[As if you don't make me blush plenty already.]

"Fair enough! But it really is so rewarding to do so! You turn almost as pink as your hair when you get flustered a certain amount, did you know that? It makes me want to kiss you so much more!"

[Please do.]

Akechi smiled and pressed a soft kiss onto Saiki's already flushed cheek. He was rewarded with the warm weight of a very relaxed psychic boyfriend and his little unconscious hums of delight. It was always like this, no matter which way they settled down to snuggle. They took turns making sure the other felt thoroughly loved and cared for before settling down to sleep.

"Hmmm… Kusuo-kun, you don't seem quite as relaxed as usual? Is something the matter? Are you– oh, you're not wearing your germanium ring? That certainly is surprising, as you typically grab it right away when we get together to snuggle like this."

[Sorry Touma-kun… ]

[ … ]

[It makes me a little nervous, having everyone in one place. What if something bad were to happen?]

"Oh, you really are such a sweetheart, aren't you? My hero Kusuo-kun~ Don't hide your face, I want to kiss your forehead! Mm~ Now look at me, come on, look into my eyes, alright? Let's think this through logically. First of all, your premonitions are fairly diligent at telling you of anything really bad that will happen to people you care about, right? Yes, they do sometimes fail, but Miko-chan's visions provide some redundancy, and hasn't she started specifically checking for danger every day since that meteor? Yes? And even Toritsuka has a ghost army that reports to him anything interesting or out of place. And the other rooms aren't defenseless either. Aren't both Kuboyasu-kun and Nendo-kun in the same suite? Even with Hairo-kun asleep and Kaido-kun essentially useless, those two are tanks that can handle any threat. And the girls? They're under Mera-san's protection and Teruhashi-san's hypnotic effect on most of the population. Saiko-kun has a whole team of bodyguards, and even Satou-kun's suite is covered by his incredibly average luck. We are possibly the most well-protected college students in Japan!"

[ … ]

[What a pain. You're right again, Touma-kun.]

"Hehehe, I never get tired of hearing that~ Does that mean you'll wear your ring tonight?"

[Yes.]

[ …Thank you. For putting my mind at ease.]

"My pleasure, Kusuo-kun~ Now let me take care of you! You liked the idea of me playing with your hair, right? I must admit I've always wanted to do so, even as a child. Your hair looks so soft, and the color is gorgeous. I liked the cute hair pins you always wore, so you can imagine how shocked I was to hear that they were actually devices designed to pierce your skull and limit your powers! I've been very careful since then to avoid the area when kissing your head, though I've been ever so curious about the whole contraption… Doesn't your head feel a little delicate where the spikes went in? I believe you still have those… er, have those installed? Right? Even though you don't wear any limiters any more?"

[The spikes are still in there, since Kusuke said it would do more damage to remove them than to leave them be.]

[I don't think the area is delicate? Hmmm…]

[I guess I don't really know.]

[I got used to fixing my hair with telekinesis and hydrokinesis so nothing would bump the limiters.]

"Fascinating… They don't hurt, right? It's still so hard to believe you went through so much while we were apart. I wish I could have at least been there to support you when the spikes and the limiters were put in… It must have been terrifying…"

[ …Yeah. It was scary.]

[I'm glad I don't have the limiters any more.]

[I always used to worry about them being taken out somehow. First by Kusuke, then by Nendo. Or by ninjas. Or even by accident, like getting hit with a ball. You know. It was a serious pain.]

"My poor Kusuo-kun… I'll avoid the area around the spikes, just in case. I wouldn't want you to feel anxious when my goal is for us to have a nice time together."

[I don't mind if you try touching around the limiter entry points. I trust you. Your hands are very good at being careful.]

"Oh… That is very kind of you to say so, Kusuo-kun! I truly am floored sometimes by how deeply you trust me, and I can only hope to live up to it! Okay, let's get you all relaxed first, then. It's naturally so much easier for me to notice any tension in your muscles or an instinctive recoil when starting from a relaxed state, though of course I always encourage you to speak up if I do anything you particularly like or dislike. Or rather, you should [think up] perhaps, haha! Don't even pretend to look at me with disdain, your lips are curled in a smile! Your skin is soft, but you really are quite muscled underneath! Mm, I can feel you starting to relax against me, and it's lovely…"

[ …mmm… ]

"I know you aren't too sensitive to pressure, with your mild invulnerability and all. In fact, I could dig in my fingers with all of my strength, and it would still seem like a light touch to you. But the truth is that I enjoy treating you delicately. You get so warm and pliable and pleasantly heavy on top of me, like the coziest weighted blanket I could dream of. Mmm~"

[ …can't believe we get to do this more than once per week now.]

"You're right, we can~! I am so going to enjoy having you in my bed more often, Kusuo-kun~ You can come over whenever you like! …Well, unless I'm captivated by my research, or something of the sort. You know how I unfortunately get when hyperfocus grabs at me."

[I didn't think it was possible to think so fast and so much. What a pain. And you're not as perceptive when you're thinking like that, so it makes me anxious about wearing my ring… ]

[I had to teleport you back home two Saturdays in a row after Aiura talked about quantum mechanics that one time.]

"Please do not remind me, Kusuo-kun… I finally had to distract myself with other questions after losing too much sleep on the topic…"

[Good grief.]

[How about you touch my hair now instead?]

"That's a lovely idea, and you do feel pleasantly relaxed! I think I'll start by gently petting your head like this, and– oh, you're leaning into my hand already, Kusuo-kun? That makes me so happy… Your hair feels smooth when I stroke like this, but how about when I run my fingers through it? Ohhh, that is so soft and luxurious to the touch~ Hehehe, you really like this don't you? These must be new sensations for you, right? Okay, I'm approaching the spikes, and I'm a little nervous about it. Please do let me know if this bothers you in any way. …Hmmm, you seem quite neutral when I run my fingers lightly over the head of the metal spike. What happens if I tap at it– oh, that was a wince, I'm sorry Kusuo-kun!"

[It's okay. Didn't hurt, just felt unpleasant for a tiny bit.]

"Oh that's good. I'm glad I didn't hurt you, and it's good to know that I should be careful with you there. Would you mind if I explored around the spikes with my fingers? I'm curious as to the distance radius I should maintain from the spikes when I have my hands in your hair like this."

[I don't mind. But I'd like more kisses first.]

"Well of course you can have them, Kusuo-kun~! Especially since you asked me directly instead of just tilting your head hopefully like you usually do~ Oh, kissing your blushing cheek is such a luxury! Aww, you're hiding your face against my neck in embarrassment, and I love it when you do that too~ I love you so much, Kusuo-kun… I'm going to try touching around the spikes now, okay? That's a little kiss of agreement, so here I go… hmm… Your skin actually doesn't seem sensitive to touch even immediately around the spikes… You don't react to light tapping there either. That's a surprise, but it's helpful that only direct impact against the metal seems to bother you. I wonder what happens if I lightly press around the spike, like a sort of massa– Oh! Oh, you really liked that?? Did you just– did you just relax even more??"

[ …please do that again… ]

"Oh wow!! That's not at all what I expected, but I'll try it again… Ah, you're leaning into my touch. This must feel really good for you, which is definitely surprising. But I'm glad."

[ …warm… …like all my tension is just gone…]

"Really?? Wow, that's fascinating, Kusuo-kun… Do you think this could possibly hurt you at all? It is a delicate area, after all."

[ …I really don't think so.]

[It just feels like you're relieving pressure on my skull that I didn't even realize I had…]

"Oh, my poor Kusuo-kun… I'm very happy we discovered this then~ Perhaps alleviating the tension regularly might be beneficial? Hehehe, your agreement sounded very eager, Kusuo-kun~ Hmm… The more I learn about them, the more it seems your limiters were a double-edged sword in terms of functionality…"

[ …yeah.]

[They were a life raft at a time when my powers were drowning me. And I'll always be grateful to Kusuke for that.]

[No one else would have had any clue how to help me.]

[And considering how little was known about ESP, it was a miracle the limiters worked at all.]

[Of course, I would have been much more grateful if he hadn't also put in the left-hand limiter. What a pain. If the right-hand limiter didn't work then I would have had two holes in my skull for no reason.]

"…It is really rare for me to experience rage but I must admit that while I'm very much aware that he has occasionally been helpful and that he has somewhat turned a new leaf recently and that he is your blood family, sometimes I really really just want to fight Kusuke. Logically I know that it is unlikely I would win, and unfortunately he might actually enjoy the experience, but the amount of suffering he has needlessly caused you makes me so incredibly angry…"

[Shh… I know, Touma-kun.]

"Actually… You did something, didn't you, when Kusuke first met me, while we were having breakfast with your parents? He turned very pale suddenly, and gripped his chair like it was holding him up for a second, but then quickly recovered. Your parents didn't notice and Kusuke played it off, but he never did attempt to bully me like he did to Kaido and Nendo, as per your account. What did you do?"

[ … ]

[I just gave him a look.]

"Kusuo-kun, don't lie to me."

[ …Sorry.]

[Yes, I did something.]

"What did you do? Kusuke really behaved like a gentleman around me for almost a year while he must have been frothing at the mouth with rage."

[ … ]

[Final Warning.]

[A combination of telepathy, hypnosis, primal reversion aura, mild electrokinesis, mild cryokinesis, and optical glow. Just for a split second.]

" …!! Kusuo-kun?! You really hit him with all of that??"

[Yes.]

[Kusuke was truly lucky you weren't around when I was younger.]

[Maybe you couldn't have taken him down back then, but I'll always defend you a lot more vigorously than I ever defended myself.]

[You wouldn't have let me suffer his abuse silently as a child. So I made damn sure he knew not to try anything with you now.]

"Kusuo-kun… K-Kusuo-kun…!"

[Shh, shh… it's okay. It's okay.]

[Hey. We're here now. And we're boyfriends. Isn't that great?]

"Snf… Heh. You're right, Kusuo-kun. You really– you really love and trust me a lot, and it still surprises me sometimes. Snf! I'm so happy, Kusuo-kun…"

[Good grief. You know so many things but you don't know I love you?]

"I know, I know, Kusuo-kun~ Oh, this is such a treat! I wonder if I should try touching around your limiters again. I'm still fascinated. Does Kusuke himself even know how exactly the limiters have affected your body?"

[Hmmm…]

[What a pain. I really don't know…]

[One thing I never understood about my limiters is that I didn't seem to need them whenever I transformed into my Kuriko shape.]

"Really?? That's your female form, isn't it? Or rather, a uh, form that has–"

[Good grief, you can just call it my female form. That's how I think of it.]

"Alright, if you're certain… But you really don't need limiters in your female form, Kusuo-kun? Why is that? How did you find out? You've never really gotten around to showing me your transformation powers, or your size changing powers, for that matter, but I was under the impression that your transformed shapes always included your glasses and limiters, at least when you still used the limiters?"

[Those are great questions, but I don't have a lot of answers. What a pain…]

[Yes, usually when I transformed, my new shape included glasses and limiters. The position of the limiters was sometimes different, if the form didn't have as much space on its head for them.]

"What do you mean, Kusuo-kun? If there was no space on your head for the limiters, where would they go?"

[Uh. Depends.]

[On my collar as a cat, for example.]

"Kusuo-kun, don't the limiters have to be plugged into your brain to function?"

[ …Yes.]

"Then how can the limiters be on your collar as a cat?"

[Uh… In smaller bodies, I have to be creative about how I distribute key organs…]

"Hmmmmm… No, I do not enjoy thinking about that at all."

[Heh. Fair enough. I don't either.]

"But your female form certainly has enough room for the limiters to go in. Or do you have a significantly smaller skull then?"

[Same size skull. But for some reason, I don't need the limiters.]

[I noticed the first time I tried changing into a girl after getting the limiters. I could just… control my powers alright without them on.]

"Really?? Fascinating… But if you were able to control your powers in female form, why didn't you simply stay in female form? Or is there a statute of limitations on how long you can keep a particular shape?"

[No rules like that, that I know of. I could be a cat for the rest of my life if I didn't mind the hairballs.]

[But… ]

[ … ]

[Good grief…]

[I don't want to be a girl all my life.]

"Ahh, the gender. I'll admit that I've always been a little bit curious about your feelings on gender, Kusuo-kun. Not because of anything you've done yourself, simply because I myself have some complicated feelings towards it."

[Do you really? I'm curious now.]

"No sirree, I am not going to take this tangent right now because I want to hear about your gender feelings first! If that's alright with you, of course. It's just that you seem like you're comfortable enough to broach the subject now, and I get the distinct impression that you'll have a harder time talking about it later."

[ … ]

"What if I played with your hair a little while you tell me about it? And I'll keep petting your back, of course!"

[ … ]

[You drive a seriously good bargain.]

[ …Alright, I'll talk. Good grief…]

[Well, think. You know.]

[Um. Well, I was technically born female. But very shortly after that, I was male, and stayed that way. It went on the birth certificate.]

"Of course my Kusuo-kun would have the world speed record for transing his gender~!"

[Hey. Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to talk about this.]

"Haha, alright alright!"

[Thank you.]

[Anyways, I did a lot of transformation in the womb, according to the ultrasounds. But I've been male as long as I can remember, so I never really thought about it.]

[Until I transformed into a girl and didn't need my limiters.]

[Why didn't I need my limiters, as a girl??]

[It really bothered me. Was I supposed to be a girl? Were my powers so troublesome all this time because I was technically transformed into a boy??]

[What a pain. I lost a lot of sleep thinking about it.]

[Until I realized that I would prefer dealing with my limiters to being a girl.]

[I mean, I don't mind being a girl occasionally. Especially if it gets me into a dessert buffet.]

[But I'm a guy.]

[ … ]

[Yeah.]

"…Kusuo-kun, thank you so much for sharing, I know that was hard for you!! No, don't dismiss your efforts, I really really appreciate it! Here here here, let me kiss my wonderful boyfriend~ Hehehe, there you go~! Mm, I wish I could've been there to support you for that too. Gender feelings can be so hard, especially by yourself!"

[…Thanks Touma-kun.]

[You know, surprisingly, the volcano helped.]

"What? The volcano?? How did it help??"

[Well, I started experimenting with bilocation to stop the volcano.]

[And I noticed that no matter how many clones I made, no matter how little they resembled me, or whether they were able to sustain a human shape at all…]

[Every single one of them was male.]

"Wow!! Really??"

[Yes.]

[It was seriously a surprise to me too. I guess it means there must be something inherently male about me?]

[Because what are the odds of getting 37 male clones if the chances were really 50/50?]

"I'll get my calculator– oh that's a rhetorical question, isn't it? I think we can safely say it is a very very very small chance."

[Heh. Yeah.]

[But then again, all of my clones were in full possession of my ESP.]

[And that made me worry… ]

[What if I turned back into a girl when I deleted my powers?]

"Kusuo-kun…"

[What if that's why my powers came back? Because I was subconsciously fighting to keep my transformation?]

"Oh Kusuo-kun… I must admit that I'm grateful your powers returned in time to fend off the meteor, but at the same time, I have some idea of how much suffering your powers have caused you, so I am incredibly sorry…"

[Good grief… There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Touma-kun.]

[Besides, having my powers back has been good for my heart. No more jump-scares.]

"If that's the case then, Kusuo-kun, should I use he/his pronouns for you even when you're in your 'female' shape?"

[Hmm…]

[No.]

[If I'm a girl, then I'm a girl.]

[If I'm a cat, then I'm a cat.]

[That's how I've always thought of it. It would be a pain to change it now.]

"I'll keep that in mind then, Kusuo-kun~ Oh. Do you still go by Kusuo-kun when you're a girl?"

[No, because usually I'm undercover as a girl.]

[I was Kusuko at first, but that was really too close to Kusuo, good grief. So I'm Kuriko now, whenever I'm a girl.]

"Kuriko-chan… Is that okay?"

[ … ]

[ …It sounds really nice when you say it.]

"Hehe, really? Kuriko-chan~ I do like the sound of it~"

[What a pain. Hearing you say my name so sweetly like that makes me blush… ]

"Guess I'll just have to kiss your cute face then~ Hehehe~ My Kusuo-kun~ …Hmm, though now I'm wondering… Have you turned into Kuriko-chan since you stopped using your limiters?"

[No. Why?]

"Well, controlling your powers without your limiters is difficult and tiring, correct? I wonder if being Kuriko-chan for a while would let you rest and recover from having to control your powers for a while…"

[ … ]

[That's not a bad idea at all, Touma-kun. It's worth a try.]

[But… Um…]

[ I… ]

[ … ]

[Okay, this is seriously embarrassing to admit, but I really don't want Satou-kun to see me as Kuriko.]

"Satou-kun? Really? I don't think he would recognize you as Kuriko-chan. It would certainly not be normal to assume that sort of thing, if that's what you're worried about."

[Good grief… That's not– ]

[That's not my concern.]

[Um… ]

[You know how I kind of have a crush on Satou-kun?]

"I do, and it is so humorous to me, if I'm being completely honest. I'm not jealous, if that's what you're worried about."

[No. I know you're not jealous, and I appreciate that.]

[But it doesn't really matter. Because Satou-kun is unfortunately straight.]

[So it would never work out anyways.]

[Unless I… ]

[Unless… ]

"Oh– oh my goodness, I see what you mean. Gosh. Wow. That's– that's a hell of a choice to make, Kusuo-kun… You could be with him, but only if you were a girl all the time. And you'd have an easier time controlling your powers too, so it would be easier to be normal. But you'd really have to be a girl every day of your life. And hide your real identity and your powers completely. That is… Oof…"

[Yeah… ]

[What a pain.]

[People tend to find me attractive as Kuriko. So he would too. I could do all the cliché things and I know he would fall for me.]

[But…]

[But it still wouldn't be worth it.]

[Not to me.]

[Still… ]

[It would hurt if he saw me as Kuriko and fell for me.]

[I don't want to risk it.]

"My poor Kusuo-kuuun, don't you worry!! Snf!! You don't have to be Kuriko-chan, that was just a ham-fisted idea and I'm sorry to have said it–!"

[No no no no no, Touma-kun!]

[Sh, shhh, it's okay…!]

[You're right, after all. It would probably do me some good to be Kuriko for a bit. You have great instincts and are just looking out for my health.]

[I just…! I just don't want that one particular person to see me that way. I don't mind anyone else seeing me as Kuriko, really.]

"Snf… That– that makes sense, Kusuo-kun. Snf…"

[Also… ]

[Some things are a little easier to do when I'm Kuriko.]

[I guess it's just because Kuriko doesn't feel 100% like me.]

[It's okay if Kuriko does something a little embarrassing because it wasn't really Kusuo who did it.]

"Really? Do you see her as almost a character or more like another aspect of yourself?"

[Hmmm... Somewhere in between, I guess.]

[Closer to an aspect.]

[I don't feel like I'm acting, if that makes sense.]

[What a pain. It's even harder to figure out this gender stuff since I haven't been Kuriko or thought much about her for a while now.]

"What if we just stayed here, in the apartment, with you as Kuriko-chan for a bit? Oh… This is home now, isn't it? Why don't we just stay home all day, while you're Kuriko-chan, just to see how you feel? We can check if Satou-kun is anywhere nearby before opening the door for visitors."

[ … ]

[I would like that.]

[I never did demonstrate my transformation power for you, after all.]

[And it would be nice to cuddle with you and not have to worry so much about my powers.]

"Kusuo-kun, you're making me blush!"

[Good. I want to kiss your cheek!]

"Hehehe, mmmm~ You're really the best Kusuo-kun, I love you so much~!"

[I love you too, Touma-kun.]

[As much as Satou-kun fascinates me, he really could never understand me like you do. I could never feel this safe and loved and cared-for in his arms. And I don't think I could love him as much as I love you.]

"Kusuo-kun?? Kusuo-kun, how many times are you going to make me cry tonight?? Snf–ehehehe, those kisses are only going to get you partial forgiveness…! Hahaha, alright, alright, I forgive you, I forgive you…! Love you so much…!"

[Heh. It's your fault for making me get sappy.]

[I'm supposed to be stoic!! Good grief… You always make me have so many feelings.]

"Good ones, mostly?"

[Good ones, almost always.]

"Hehehe! I'm glad!"

[But tell me about your gender. I want to know.]

"Aww Kusuo-kun! It's going to be hard to follow your gender feelings! Mine aren't as complicated, to be truthful. I just don't feel very attached to gender as a concept at all!"

[Really? What do you mean?]

"Well, typically gender comes with certain expectations attached, correct? They're not necessarily correct or good, or even universal, but they exist nevertheless. I was assigned male at birth, certainly, but what does it really mean to be male? I never felt like I matched any of the pictures of masculinity I was shown. But neither did I match any depictions of femininity either. More broadly, I think part of it may be that I'm just not an average person at all. My mind works differently, as I'm sure is obvious. I sense things differently, I process things differently, I say things differently. Sometimes I've wondered if I was really human at all. And I think part of that is why you and I bonded so strongly and so quickly even as children, Kusuo-kun. We both struggled with that sense of distance from humanity, and the resulting loneliness. But I digress. I found myself wondering whether I really had any gender at all. The only gender feeling I really experience, after all, is amusement when a stranger struggles to place me in one of their neat gender boxes. Androgyny is quite fun! And I've found myself wondering what it might be like to try on some clothing from the women's rack. Sometimes I find the patterns or textures more appealing, but I've never gone through with a purchase. You know very well how I was bullied as a child, and while you made sure to put a stop to it with those rumors at school, they were really only effective as far as they could reach. Total strangers at stores could still easily cause trouble for me. So while I could relax a bit at school, I've always tried extra hard to perform normality while out and about, as tiring as it is. So in summary, I currently identify as agender and would like to present more androgynously, but I'm functionally presenting as a male for practicality's sake."

[Oh. Thank you for explaining it to me, Touma-kun.]

[Uh.]

[Should I still say Touma-kun? Er… Good grief… Touma-san? Just Touma, perhaps?]

"Hehehe! That does sound quite intimate, Kusuo-kun~ Maybe a little too intimate… I'm still getting used to you calling me Touma-kun instead of Akechi, after all! I don't think I could be functional if you called me Touma in front of everyone right now…"

[Heh. Fair enough, Touma-kun~]

"See?? You say my name in such a wonderful voice. I want to kiss you every time!!"

[Please do!]

[ …Mmm… ]

[Hm. And what about pronouns, Touma-kun?]

"That's an excellent question, Kusuo-kun… Personally, I would like it if everyone used the pronoun for me that would cause the most confusion at the moment. But I wouldn't like to cause trouble for my friends, because I'm so happy to have them, and we'll be living quite closely together too! So would you consider calling me he/him at home, but changing it up outside?"

[Hehehe. I'd love to.]

[And I'll do you one better. Would you like to go clothes shopping with me? I can use Hypnosis to make you look like an average girl.]

[No one will cause trouble for an average-looking couple.]

"Oh… Kusuo-kun, I absolutely love that idea!! You are so clever, that would be so much fun!!"

[Thanks~]

"Would you like me to try pressing around your limiters again~? I'm wondering if it'll feel the same, or if releasing the tension will minimize the feeling?"

[Please go ahead. That felt really good the last time.]

[ … ]

[ …mmmmm… ]

"Just as good as before, isn't it? Hehehe! I do love to see you like this, Kusuo-kun~ So beautifully relaxed and pleased~ Naturally I'd like to try this for Kuriko-chan as well! Since you never needed the limiters in that form, I wonder if you'll still enjoy this the same way?"

[ …no idea… mmm…]

"So cute~ What if I used both thumbs and rubbed circles around your spikes, would you like that even more? …Oh, you really like this, don't you~? I do love how you stay relaxed when I press here… I'm so happy to have you in my arms again, but I think maybe we should get to sleep a little early today."

[ … ]

[ …good grief. ]

[ …You're right, what a pain. It's been a long day… ]

[ … ]

[Just one more kiss for the night?]

"Oh, how can I say no to that, Kusuo-kun? Especially when you ask so sweetly, I– !!!!!!"

[ …Mmm… Good night, Touma-kun… ]

"Wh– wh… K-Kusuo-kun?? That– that was… that was the first time we kissed on the mouth!! Kusuo-kun?? You really– you really kissed my lips just now? I–"

[Would you like another?]

"OBVIOUSLY, but you can't just surprise me like that and– mmmmm… oh… maybe you can surprise me like that…"

[Hehehe. Sweet dreams…]

"…I'm going to be having a gay panic all night long and you know it. Look at you, smiling sweetly on my chest because you have your germanium ring on and all you have to listen to is my heart beating madly under your cheek. Evil!!! Evil!!! I should just keep chattering away all night as I try to process all of the thoughts and feelings I'm going through right now and keep you awake with me. It would teach you right for doing such a dastardly thing to your beloved boyfriend! You are certainly very lucky that I love you and won't do that, Kusuo-kun!!"

[ … I really am.]

Featured Headcanons / Lore

Saiki doesn't feel comfortable sleeping with the germanium ring on unless he's sleeping next to someone he trusts to be more alert.

Akechi qualifies as a sleeping buddy unless he's hyperfocused on some sort of research, at which point he's not alert enough to satisfy Saiki's anxiety and his thoughts are way too fast and loud for Saiki to be able to sleep without his ring.

Having to wear gloves due to psychometry means that Saiki mostly relies on kisses and hugs to express affection.

Saiki is reluctant to sleep with the germanium ring on at the apartment because all his friends are in one place and he's anxious something could happen to them during the night. Akechi soothes him by pointing out that each suite is actually well protected, since most of their friends are quite powerful in their own ways.

Aiura has started checking her crystal ball for danger every day since the meteor.

When Kusuke first ran into Akechi at Saiki's house, Saiki gave him such an incredibly venomous look that Kusuke has not even made the slightest attempt to bully Akechi, even though he was over almost every weekend of their senior year.

Post-Reawakened, Saiki no longer uses limiters, but still has two metal spikes in his skull where they used to go in. Kusuke says it would cause more damage to remove them than to leave them be. Anything hitting the spikes is painful for Saiki, but pressing on his head around the spikes actually relieves some tension on his skull and feels really pleasant and relaxing.

Controlling his powers now without the help of the limiters is tiring for Saiki, and he needs more rest than he did before. Having higher quality of sleep with the germanium ring and a sleeping buddy helps.

Saiki doesn't have visible limiters on while he's Kuriko, simply because he doesn't need them in his Kuriko form. He is fairly certain this is because he's supposed to be female. But he would rather deal with limiters and difficult powers than be a girl all the time, though he doesn't mind being Kuriko for short periods of time.

Saiki is so trans that all 37 of his clones were male, even when they didn't share any other apparent similarities.

Saiki worried that deleting his powers would turn him back into a girl again. He wonders if his powers returned/never left because he was subconsciously trying so hard to keep his male body.

Transformations into smaller animals require creative placement of organs and that's why cat Saiki has limiters on the collar and they still function when they need to be plugged into the brain. Neither he nor Akechi likes to think about this.

Saiki prefers his pronouns to reflect whatever shape he's wearing.

Akechi suggests that Saiki transform into Kuriko for a short period of time to see if that reduces the strain of controlling his powers for a while.

Saiki thinks this is a good idea, but he doesn't want Satou to see him as Kuriko. He doesn't like the thought that he could be with his normal and painfully straight crush but only if he returned to his girl shape permanently and hid his powers and true identity.

Akechi is agender and likes the chaos of presenting androgynously. He hasn't until now due to fear of bullies/running into trouble. He uses he/him pronouns while at home or with friends, but would like Saiki to use whichever pronouns are most confusing when talking to other people. Saiki offers to take him shopping for more feminine clothes while using Hypnosis to make them look like a "normal" couple.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know in my inbox, in the tags, or in the replies! If these censored edits aren't fun for anyone, then I'll just use my time writing more chapters instead lmao.

[asweetprologue]

Geralt decides to retire to Toussaint. He takes Jaskier with him.

Words: 4360, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Witcher

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion

Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Retirement, Getting Together, Domestic, Fluff

I promise I’m still writing stuff!! this is a soft little one shot I wrote a while ago and just cleaned up. read on tumblr below the cut!

In the end, it’s the weariness that does him in.

Once when they were both younger men, Jaskier had asked him about retirement for witchers. If they retreated to Kaer Morhen in their old age to train the new pups, or if they settled down across the Continent, or gave up the hunt to have families of their own. Geralt had snorted. “We don’t retire,” he’d said, mixing potion ingredients by the light of their camp fire. Jaskier had looked at him with wide, curious eyes. “We get old, and slow, and something kills us. We don’t - buy seaside cottages, or whatever.”

Jaskier had hummed at that, a mournful note that seemed to resonate in the air. It was unfair, Geralt had thought, that his friend managed to convey so much in such a sound while the witcher always managed to say so little. “Seems a bit unfair,” Jaskier added.

Geralt had blown out an amused breath, not quite a laugh. “That’s life, bard.”

But now, three decades and countless battles older, he just felt tired. Jaskier no longer traveled with him as frequently, and the Path was a lonely place. He and his brothers no longer met at Kaer Morhen to winter, not once Vesemir had passed. They would stop occasionally to meet up on the road, but never for too long. Even Ciri was going her own way nowadays, though he saw her the most frequently. As the years wore on, Geralt found himself visiting Oxenfurt more and more often. Itching for companionship, for a cease in the ever grinding motion of the Path. The routine that had once been a comfort was now grating.

Maybe it was time to take a break.

It was with this mentality that he turned to Jaskier on the last day of his stay in Oxenfurt and said, “Come to Toussaint with me.”

Jaskier blinked at him owlishly, the expression making him look ten years younger. These days his hair was streaked with gray at the temples, and when he chose to grow out a beard it was as silver as Geralt’s. “What’s so important in Toussaint?” he asked. They were seated at a table in the rooms Jaskier had been provided, for accepting a temporary lecturing position. The term had ended a few weeks ago, hence Geralt’s visit. Jaskier shuffled his gwent deck as he spoke, the cards weaving together like a cascade. Geralt found himself watching the bard’s slim fingers dance through the motions with an old fascination.

“I have an estate there,” he replied, pulling his gaze from the cards. He meant to look Jaskier in the eye, but a brief moment of contact with the bright cerulean had him turning his head, his heartbeat growing ever so slightly faster. It was too hard to ask this if he could see Jaskier’s face. Instead, he looked out the small window, overlooking the red tiled roofs of Oxenfurt. The city was painted a rich gold in the light of the evening sun, reflected warmly off of the river beyond the docks.

Jaskier spluttered across the table. “You have an estate? Since when?”

Geralt felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “It was payment for a job,” he said. “There’s a vineyard, gardens. I can send word ahead for them to start renovations on the guest bedroom. Come with me,” he said again, softly. He wasn’t above begging, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

Jaskier looked at him with a confused but affectionate look spread across his fine features, and said, “Okay.”

~

Geralt sent a letter ahead to warn the staff of their plans to summer at the estate, and they began their journey to the Duchy.

It was a long journey, but not an arduous one. For once, Geralt allowed them to stick to the main roads, and at this time of year even Velen was bearable. The sweeping fields spread out around them in swaths of green and gold, punctuated here and there by defiant patches of wildflowers. Jaskier wasn’t as quick as he used to be following Geralt on the Path, but they weren’t on the Path anymore. They purchased a second horse and rode side by side at a leisurely pace. When the day grew hot, they would post up in a convenient spot of shade and let the horses graze, lunching on sun warmed bread and sweetmeats. Jaskier rambled the hours away with stories of his students and old antics at Oxenfurt, and Geralt responded with his own tales of hunts and growing up in the keep with his brothers. It was good to have another voice on the road again after months of traveling alone. It was good that it was Jaskier. Geralt had missed him. Once he wouldn’t have been able to admit it, even to himself, but it seemed silly now to hide it. A wall put up against someone who had been inside for years.

They slept beneath the stars and in cramped inns, sharing small spaces like they had for decades. It was different, Geralt thought. Something had released in his shoulders when Jaskier had agreed to come with him. They weren’t in a rush - there were no contracts to fill, no galas to play at. Jaskier’s purse was heavy from his time spent lecturing, and Geralt was able to pick up a few simple contracts as they went. Easy jobs that would put some extra coin in his pocket and lift the tension from the shoulders of the locals. But for the most part it was just the two of them, drinking sweet summer mead and browsing morning markets, getting accustomed to each other’s presence again.

Sitting across the fire from him one night as they camped, Jaskier said, “You’re different, you know.”

Geralt lifted his head from where he’d been skinning the pheasants for supper. “Hmm?”

Jaskier smiled, his eyes soft. “Well, maybe not that different.” At Geralt’s odd look, he went on. “You told me once that witchers never change. That they’re set in their ways. I think you were talking about something like your potions routine when you said it at the time, but I thought it applied to the whole of the witcher experience.”

Geralt hummed again. “It’s true. We age slowly. Get set in our habits.”

“But you changed,” Jaskier said. “I’ve seen it. After Ciri, and now, since we’ve left Oxenfurt. You’re different.”

Geralt shifted uncomfortably. They’d never been on the road together like this, just the two of them as companions. Before Geralt had been focused on the Path, and Jaskier had been cataloguing his deeds as if he were some kind of hero of legend. He knew Jaskier admired Geralt’s drive, his ability to push on towards the next contract. Maybe the bard would think less of him, knowing that he was content to leave the Path behind for so long. “I’m still me,” he said aloud.

Jaskier gave him another smile, warm and honeyed. “I know it’s you, daft man,” he said. “It’s good. To see you… put down the torch for a bit.”

Geralt wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just gave an agreeable rumble in his chest. And then, because he’d spent so long learning how to use his words around his daughter, he said, “I’m glad you’re here, Jaskier.”

A brief moment of surprise passed over Jaskier’s features, his eyes widening. Though Geralt had become better at voicing his affections over the years, he knew that the bard was always taken aback by the behavior. After a second Jaskier’s smile became a grin, and Geralt felt something in him relax even further. “I’m glad to be here, my friend. You know I can’t resist an adventure.”

~

They arrived in Toussaint quickly after that, both eager to end their days on the road. The countryside spread out around them slowly transformed from the muted colors of the north into the vibrant greens, purples and reds of the vineyards and forests. Geralt always forgot how stunning the Duchy was, with its colorful houses and flashy clothes. For once Jaskier fit in with the crowd flawlessly; it would take more than a bright doublet to stand out in Toussaint. Geralt had always liked it here. The peasants tended to be less prejudiced against non-humans, witchers included, and the knights he’d met always treated him as a brother in arms rather than pest control. The winters were mild and the summers sweet, and the wines were rich even if they were impossible for him to pronounce at times.

Of course Jaskier proved to be fluent in the local language - “What do you think the Seven Liberal Arts even entail, Geralt?” - which was helpful when they passed through smaller villages. Those away from the common crossroads or larger settlements tended to have fewer people who spoke the common northern tongue. They made their way to Geralt’s estate through a series of inns, barns and guest bedrooms as Jaskier relentlessly charmed the locals in grandiose displays of hospitality.

As they approached the estate, Geralt pulled Roach to a stop at the top of a hill. “This is it,” he said, nodding to indicate the view.

Jaskier gaped, craning to look out over the small collection of buildings and the dozens and dozens of grapevines that were nestled in the valley below. Geralt could see several workers out tending to the fields; his majordomo must have been overseeing things as agreed upon. They would have to get to know the rest of the staff while they were here. “This is all yours?” Jaskier asked, snapping Geralt’s attention back to the present.

“The house, most of the fields. I’ve not paid all that much attention to it before now, honestly. The house needs work. Never had any reason to sink funds into it before now.” He’d sent a fair sum of gold ahead to Barnabas-Basil to get started on renovations, but it likely would have only been enough to make the main complex habitable. Geralt was confident that he could undertake much of the repairs himself, in time. It would be good to have a project.

“It’s expansive. You produce wine here?” Jaskier asked, turning back towards him.

“Yes, but you’ll have to ask the majordomo which ones.”

Jaskier nodded to himself as they continued down the hill, soon approaching the main gate to the small villa. Members of the staff bustled throughout the property, though many stopped to look as the two of them passed by. As they settled their horses near a storage shed, the majordomo approached them, apparently already made aware of their arrival.

“Ah, Master Geralt, I trust that your travels were smooth? Please, come inside - I will have someone come and tend to the horses.” Barnabas-Basil Foulty was a clean shaven, bald man with sharp, almost bird-like features, and the head of the estate in Geralt’s stead. He stood at perfect attention at all times, shoulders back and head held high. A proud man, if not also an extremely polite one. Geralt liked him immensely, because he was good at his job and could keep up in the cups the one time the two had drank together.

“Ah, this must be the famous Barnabas-Basil. Fantastic to finally meet your acquaintance, my good man,” Jaskier said, jumping in to give the majordomo’s hand a firm shake. “Geralt has praised your skills from here to Redania and back.”

Barnabas-Basil inclined his head towards Geralt, though his spine did not stray an inch. “I thank you, sir, for your kind words. Please, allow me to show you the progress that we have made on the main house so you might get settled.”

The domo walked them through the estate, giving Jaskier a brief tour and pointing out new additions to Geralt. He’d not been to the estate in at least two years, but it was clear that the workers were making good use of the space. The small collection of colorful houses down the road had fresh coats of paint, and children played in the courtyard below the main house. A garden flourished in the space between the manor and the vineyard, dominated by root vegetables and herbs.

“If you would like, we can have it cleared out so that you might use it for your own purposes,” Barnabas-Basil said. His face betrayed no feelings on the issue.

Geralt grunted. “No need. The staff can use it as they wish.” He refused to meet Jaskier’s gaze as the bard beamed at him proudly. After decades of friendship Jaskier still seemed to find it a delight anytime Geralt did something he thought was particularly chivalrous. Geralt was not eager for him to meet the knights, with their virtues and heroic deeds.

The house, as he suspected, was functional but only just. “We’ve done what we could in a short amount of time, sir,” Barnabas-Basil said, his tone politely apologetic. “I assure you renovations are far from complete.”

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier said, already darting off to explore the other rooms. There was a small kitchen, a bedroom, bathroom and an upstairs loft that could be made into a second bedroom. The additional bed wouldn’t arrive for another week or two.

“We can share,” Geralt said without looking at Jaskier, and did not elaborate further. “Show me what else needs done.”

~

They fell quickly into a routine. Geralt spent his days working with the locals on renovations, slowly breathing vitality back into the old manor. When he grew tired of working with lumber, he waded into the vineyards, to help pluck the delicate grapes from their twisting vines. A pair of women admonished him for his sloppy work on the first day and taught him how to gently cut the branches away and check the grapes for ripeness. Jaskier fluctuated between helping out with the building work and composing, though he also made the occasional day trip into the city to perform. In the evening they would retire to the house to eat, drink and chat over games of cards. At night they would curl up in Geralt’s bed, as they had when sharing quarters on the road.

It was a strange new intimacy, to learn what Jaskier was like in his bed. They had shared bedrolls many times over the years, but never with any consistency. When the nights were too cold or the inn too full, they would sigh and grumble and agree to share a space for the night, as a matter of convenience. But as soon as they had the coin or the resources to do so, they would always put distance between themselves again. Geralt supposed it had been a kind of self preservation instinct, but he now found little threat in the warmth of Jaskier next to him at night. He learned that some days Jaskier woke before the sunrise, throwing himself out of bed in a tangle of limbs to scramble for a quill. Other days he slept late, sprawled out across the sheets and dozing until the heat of the day forced him up. Often Geralt woke to the bard curled around him, an arm thrown across his broad chest, nose tucked under the witcher’s jaw. Those times always made something tighten in Geralt’s throat. No one should trust a witcher like Jaskier did, but he was grateful for the bard’s foolishness. Jaskier had always believed that Geralt would keep him safe, even when the witcher had refused to even admit that they were friends. Jaskier deserved better, but it didn’t stop Geralt from turning into his warmth each morning, wishing to reach out.

When the second bed came, Jaskier made no effort to relocate to the guest room. Geralt didn’t bring it up.

It only took a month for him to openly think about it, but when he finally did he was surprised it hadn’t come sooner. He looked up from where he was carving a notch in a new post for one of the fences and saw Jaskier sitting on the steps of the manor, the end of his quill hovering near his lips. His mouth moved around abstract syllables as he reached for the next lyric in a new song. The soft, repetitive notes rose and fell in the still summer air, and Geralt could see a small spot of ink on Jaskier’s cheek where he’d tapped himself with the quill by accident. Later that night, Geralt would point it out and they would both laugh, and Jaskier would play at being angry Geralt hadn’t brought it up sooner, and then Geralt would offer to help him clean up. Jaskier looked up from his place on the stairs and met his eye, feeling the attention on him as he always did. When he saw Geralt looking he smiled, as brightly as if he’d not seen the witcher in months, instead of moments. Geralt’s chest swelled with an unspeakable feeling, thick and heady affection and trust and something else even beyond that, and he thought, Oh, I love him.

~

Geralt suggested a picnic. Jaskier was ecstatic, though he tried to act as if he had to consider the notion.

“Will there be wine?” he asked, eyebrows raised playfully.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, fondly exasperated, “we live on a vineyard.”

So they grabbed some bottles from the storeroom, packed a light cotton blanket and some food leftover from lunch and set off up the nearby hill. It took them about twenty minutes to reach the top, but once they did they were quite near the place they’d first stopped to look over the estate. It was nearing evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and making the shadows of the workers coming in stretch out long across the fields. The two men spread out their things, sitting to watch the landscape move below them as they uncorked one of the bottles.

Geralt let Jaskier chatter away about nothing for a while, letting the sound wash over him as they shared the bread and wine. After a while Jaskier fell quiet, leaving them both to gaze out at the beauty of the land around them. Geralt turned to look at Jaskier. The sweep of his brow, the soft bow of his lips. The smattering of freckles he’d collected from weeks on the road, lying in fields and letting the sun kiss his cheeks. To be jealous of the sun, Geralt thought wryly.

Jaskier turned to meet his gaze, realizing that he was being watched. “What is it?” he asked.

“Why did you come with me?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled a bit, leaning back on one hand. His shirt was unlaced a ways down the front, leaving his dark chest hair exposed. Geralt wanted to put his nose in the hollow of his throat and just breathe there for a while. “I’m not one to turn down a free holiday, my dear.”

“No,” Geralt said, trying to ignore the way the pet name made his stomach flip. “I mean, why did you always come with me? Everyone… People come and go. But you always came back. Why?”

Jaskier gave him an admonishing look. Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. “You know the answer to that,” he said, and his tone held a warning that the witcher didn’t understand.

“I know you value our friendship,” Geralt replied, “but I could say that of many. It’s not the same.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier sighed, his face full of fondness and exasperation and, strangely, an old sort of grief. “You truly are the most unobservant man in the land. You’ve been far more than a friend to me for many years.”

Geralt felt his heart rate pick up at that, the slow thud speeding up to match Jaskier’s. “You’re saying…” He found himself unable to complete the thought. Even after so many years of trying to do better, it was still impossible to form words past the thundering in his ears. This moment felt delicate, like the wrong phrase might shatter it apart.

“I assumed you knew,” Jaskier said with a shrug. The line of his shoulders was just slightly too tense, his body radiating faux casualness. Anyone else may have been fooled, but Geralt had been watching Jaskier for years. “I would never have let it change anything between us, you must know that. You were always involved with someone else - Yennefer, and then Triss and Shani… I didn’t want to get in the way of that. Something that could make you happy.”

“I thought it would,” Geralt said honestly. His gaze flickered over Jaskier’s impassive face. The bard rarely showed his nerves in his expressions, too much a performer for that. Instead it made its way to his hands, twitching over his thighs and worrying the fabric of the blanket, and his heart, which raced in his chest. “I wanted to be the right person for them. Yen wanted me to be useful. Triss wanted me to be a knight in shining armor. They made me feel like I was better than just a witcher.” Jaskier’s lovely mouth twisted slightly, a note of bitterness in his gaze as he looked out over the vineyards. Geralt hurried on. “But you’re the one who made me feel like being a witcher was already good enough.”

Jaskier turned back to him, blinking in surprise. “Well of course it is,” he said, and naturally the bard had missed the point, honing in on his favorite subject: the reputation of witchers and Geralt’s sense of self worth. “You’re already useful, and noble, and good and kind besides all that. You don’t have to be more than what you are to deserve - fuck, basic human connection and love.” He settled slightly, his gesturing hands falling into his lap once more. “Is that why you left them?”

“The Path always calls,” Geralt said with a shrug. “No one but you ever wanted to follow me.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing. Geralt watched the color rise up over his cheek bones with something like fascination, or maybe hunger. “Well, now you know why,” he continued, with obviously false cheer. He gave Geralt a rueful smile. “I promise I won’t make things awkward. I’ve had decades to practice. I mean, it’s been thirty years. If you were going to fall in love with me you probably would have done so already, hmm?”

“You’d think so,” Geralt agreed. “Sorry it took me so long.” And then he leaned into Jaskier’s space and kissed him.

It wasn’t a very good kiss. Barely a kiss at all, really, considering that Jaskier had frozen under him. Geralt pulled back, lifting a hand to run it gently over Jaskier’s side. The bard was absolutely still, his eyes closed tight. There was a small crease between his eyebrows that Geralt wanted to kiss away, but he wasn’t sure if he should. “Sorry,” he said softly.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. It was unfair that a man could have beautiful eyelashes, Geralt mused, but here they were. “You mustn’t toy with me, witcher,” Jaskier croaked. His voice was raw, as if he’d been singing for hours.

Geralt moved his hand to the bard’s face, his thumb following along the line of his jaw and up to trace across his cheekbone. Freckles like stars under his fingers. “I’m not,” he rumbled. “I swear it, Jaskier. I just -” He paused, trying to marshal his thoughts. “You were always there. No matter how shitty the Path was, or how miserable people were to you because of me, or how much I pushed you away. You stayed. You made me feel like I was worth something, and you made other people think that way too. Every day without you on the Path was always misery. I should have realized sooner, but I’m not… good at this. I’m sorry.”

Jaskier’s head dropped forward, his brow resting on Geralt’s collarbone. “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you apologize in the span of a minute,” he said, voice thin. “This is a lot to take in. Are you saying that you… that you love me? You, Geralt of Rivia, are in love with me?”

“Yes,” Geralt said, smiling into Jaskier’s hair. “That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Jaskier pulled away to stare at him. Geralt tried to let his affection through, drinking in Jaskier’s beloved face like he hadn’t allowed himself before. The last rays of the sun played over Jaskier’s hair, turning some of the strands to brilliant amber. His eyes were over bright. Whatever the bard saw in Geralt’s expression must have been enough, because the next moment they were kissing again.

It was, Geralt thought, a miracle that he had ever gone so long without doing so. Now that they’d begun, he never wanted to stop. Jaskier’s lips were warm and soft against his, and when Geralt licked slowly into his mouth he tasted of old wine. They stayed like that for a long time, Geralt holding Jaskier close, decades of tension not so much breaking as releasing like a quiet sigh of relief.

Finally they pulled apart, Geralt nosing at Jaskier’s cheek as he hummed contentment into the bard’s skin. He could feel deft fingers petting through his hair, easily working around the tangles that had formed on the walk up the hill. “I love you,” he said, pressing the words below Jaskier’s ear as if he could speak them into his core that way.

Jaskier shivered once under him. “I love you too,” he said, and Geralt could feel him smiling in the way his jaw moved. He knew Jaskier in his bones. “I’ll follow you wherever you go, you know.”

Geralt pulled back, pushing Jaskier’s fringe back with one hand as he met his eyes. “Maybe I’ll just stop running from you,” he said, smiling. Jaskier grinned back, and neither of them mentioned that his eyes were slightly damp. Geralt pushed himself to his feet and reached down a hand to his bard. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

[authenticcadence18]

“Can’t Help Falling in Love” Ch. 11

AO3

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

…

HIIIII HELLO EVERYONE!!!!!!! It’s been. Quite some time. 😅 If you’re still here THANK YOU!!!!!! It is greatly appreciated!!! I hope this chapter was worth the wait, lol!!

I posted the first chapter of this fic one year ago yesterday! Consider this chapter a celebration of that 😊. The past year has been…wild, to say the least, but writing this fic and getting to share it with you guys has been one of the biggest highlights of it!!!😁💕

Thanks as always to my lovely beta and friend @youruinedmylifebynotbeingreal, and thank YOU so much for reading! I hope you enjoy!!!

...

“Wait a minute!!!”

Phineas froze in place (which was ironic, considering his realization struck in the middle of removing the crumb cake from a very hot oven).

“You called me your little crumbcake in your letter! And we just made a crumb cake! That wasn’t a coincidence, was it?”

“It was 100% not a coincidence!” Isabella called over her shoulder as she rummaged through a cabinet across the kitchen. “I wanted to make a crumb cake with my little crumbcake!”

A handful of silent seconds passed. And then she shuddered, a frothing wave of decade-old secondhand embarrassment cascading violently over her shoulders.

“Okay, I’m never calling you that again,” she announced dryly (since said frothing wave of secondhand embarrassment was purely metaphorical). “It’s way too weird.”

“What?? No!!” Phineas gently set the crumb cake on the counter, taking care to make sure it wasn’t going to fall, before turning to face her. “Isabella, it’s not weird at all!! I think it’s cute.”

“You only think it’s cute because you like me so much,” Isabella replied with a grin. “Trust me, there’s PLENTY of better pet names out there. I’ll think of some new ones for you.”

She crossed to his side of the kitchen and set the plate she’d retrieved on the counter. “Alright, all we need to do now is add powdered sugar. Do you have a sifter?”

“I sure do!”

Phineas retrieved said sifter from a drawer and turned it over in his hands a few times.

“….I’m actually an expert powdered sugar sifter, you know….” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Oh, really?” Isabella replied amusedly.

“Yeah! A few years ago, my mom put me on beignet duty for the Mardi Gras block party,” he explained. “I built a machine to actually COOK the beignets but figured out pretty quickly I’d have to powder them by hand to avoid making a huge mess…it took FOREVER. Aaand I still ended up making a mess. But now I’m an expert!!”

“Those beignets DID taste really good,” Isabella mused. “I remember thinking the powdered sugar to dough ratio was perfect!”

(She wasn’t just saying that for Phineas’s benefit, though she knew he would appreciate the compliment. As a former-Fireside Girl and baked goods’ extraordinaire, identifying quality desserts was practically in her blood!)

“Thanks!!!” Phineas replied. “I’m surprised you remember that!”

“Well, YOU made them. Everything you make is extraordinary. Of course I remember,” Isabella replied with a soft grin.

“Well, I’m not sure I’d say they were EXTRAORDINARY…” Phineas chuckled sheepishly. “…but thank you.”

“They WERE extraordinary,” Isabella insisted. “And you’re welcome!”

“It actually took awhile to get the ratio right, I’m flattered you noticed!” Phineas replied. “I did a bunch of calculations to figure it out…”

Isabella just listened with a smile as Phineas rambled on about the intricacies of beignet preparation and set to sifting sugar over the crumb cake.

And if his focus faltered a little when she hugged his middle from behind and nestled her head on his shoulder to get a better view, he didn’t show it.

….perhaps getting a better view wasn’t Isabella’s primary motivator in this situation. But she’d been waiting over a decade to indulge in coupley activities with Phineas as an actual couple: she wasn’t going to let this opportunity to do so pass her by!

She was so enamored with his closeness and the gentle lull of his explanations, so caught up in the sweet domesticity of the moment, it took her a few minutes to realize…it had been a few minutes.

Was Phineas taking his time with this (relatively simple) task on purpose?

“…hey, how long does it take an expert powdered sugar sifter to sift sugar over a crumb cake?” she murmured into his ear.

“Normally? I assume it would take about half a minute,” Phineas replied matter-of-factly. “ …but . If said expert powdered sugar sifter is being hugged by the love of their life, it usually takes longer. Could take minutes. Hours, even.”

Isabella giggled (and bit her tongue to keep from squealing at being referred to as the love of Phineas’s life because aAAAAAH!!!!) and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek before stepping back and standing at his side. “As much as I’d love to hug you for hours, we don’t want the crumb cake to get cold.”

“Eh, I’d take a hug from you over warm crumb cake any day. But you do make a good point.”

Phineas gave Isabella a smile before pouring the excess sugar into a bag and setting the sifter down. Then, his eyebrows shot up, seemingly in realization.

“Hey....what if I started calling you ‘my little crumbcake’?” he asked. “Or just ‘crumbcake’? I don’t mind if you don’t want to call me that, but would be a shame to let such a cute nickname go to waste.”

Isabella hit him with a playful glare. “If you do that, you’ll find yourself on the receiving end of an ominous patch-related threat. Just because you’re my boyfriend now doesn’t mean you’re exempt from them.”

“Boyfriend, huh?”  Phineas grinned, not deterred in the slightest by Isabella’s ominous patch related threat-threat. “That’s the first time you’ve called me that!”

“Well, we’ve known our feelings are mutual for...what, over half an hour now?” Isabella shrugged. “And we’ve already talked about being in a relationship, so I figured you being my boyfriend was implied.”

(She definitely hadn’t been trying to figure out how to casually call Phineas her boyfriend without outright asking him if he WAS officially her boyfriend. And she certainly wasn’t very relieved that he’d taken being referred to as such well. No way.)

“Soooo…” Phineas slid his hand across the counter until it found Isabella’s. “…if you’re officially referring to me as your boyfriend….does that mean I get to officially refer to you as my girlfriend?”

He’d WANTED to be the picture of suaveness in this moment, to state the obvious as succinctly and matter-of-factly as possible.

…..but the quiver of excitement in his voice had likely ruined any chances of that.

Isabella beamed down at their entwined fingers and then back up at him.

“…yes. Yes it does.”

For a handful of seconds, they just gazed at one another fondly, hands still together, neither trying to conceal how happy they were.

Maybe titles like “girlfriend” and “boyfriend” were arbitrary, especially for two lifelong best friends who were already well aware of how much they meant to one another (both in a platonic and romantic sense).

But….it still felt incredibly special to finally get to be boyfriend and girlfriend. Partners. Together. Officially.

Isabella eventually broke the awe of the moment with a wry smirk and a joke.

“I like ‘girlfriend’ a lot better than ‘crumbcake,’ that’s for sure!”

Phineas’s eyes lit up at the latter nickname, and Isabella groaned as she realized what she’d done.

“....why did I say that...” she grumbled. “We’d moved past the crumbcake thing, why did I say that???”

“I think it’s because you secretly like that nickname and wanted to remind me of it...crumbcake,” Phineas replied with a playful nudge to her side.

“WELL….maybe you’re not completely wrong there…” Isabella admitted, resting her head on his shoulder with an over-dramatic sigh. “I guess it’s kinda cute.”

(She had to admit it was sweet that Phineas was fond of a silly nickname she’d come up with so many years ago. Perhaps it was a little embarrassing, but in a nostalgic, sweet way. And she knew Phineas wasn’t teasing her maliciously...it was all in good fun. And he genuinely thought her childhood antics were endearing!)

“I knew it!” Phineas exclaimed. “You like when I call you ‘crumbcake’!!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” Isabella replied, leaning back and reaching up to ruffle his bright red hair with a chuckle.

“Too late, it’s already up there!” Phineas gestured to his head matter of factly.

“Well! I guess I’ll just have to stand here until your brain short circuits and it leaves your head, then! Because, in your own words, your brain short circuits if you look at me for too long because I’m just soooooo beautiful.”

“True as that may be, if you really want to short circuit my brain, I think a kiss or two from you would do the trick faster.”

Phineas said this without thinking about it.

And subsequently flushed beet red once his brain caught up to his tongue.

…perhaps his lack of a filter would be enough to short circuit his brain.

Isabella, fortunately, didn’t seem phased at all by his suggestion. “Hmmm….” she murmured, tapping her chin thoughtfully and scooting closer to him. “In that case, I guess I’ll have to kiss you. It’s the only logical conclusion.”

“Uhhh…yup! It’s only logical!” Phineas agreed, trying his best to play nonchalant as Isabella wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a knowing smile (and failing pretty miserably at nonchalance because HE STILL COULDN’T BELIEVE SHE WANTED TO KISS HIM, HOW COULD HE PRETEND TO BE PLAYFULLY NONCHALANT WHEN ALL OF THIS WAS SO MONUMENTAL???).

Isabella burst into laughter at his thinly veiled enthusiasm.

Because this moment—this entire evening—was full of moments she’d always dreamed of but that had seemed like just that: dreams!

PHINEAS FLYNN was asking her for kisses, and he was smiling at her as if sharing a brief romantic moment together in the middle of his kitchen was as exciting and enticing an idea as, say, building a super-computer in his backyard.

It was so incomprehensible, so utterly opposite from the oblivious-to-a-fault Phineas she’d grown up with, that she couldn’t HELP but laugh.

Phineas laughed with her, though he didn’t quite understand what was so funny.

(Her joy and close proximity were more than enough to give him butterflies, though, so he didn’t mind.)

“Sorry, sorry!!” Isabella managed to breathe between giggles. “It’s just!!! If I could tell my younger self that you’d actually be asking me to kiss you someday, I think her head would explode.”

“I get that!!” Phineas replied. “If I could go back in time to last night and tell my slightly-younger self that I’d be asking you to kiss me this time tomorrow, I think his head would explode.”

He chuckled before getting a far off look in his eyes.

“Huh....I COULD do that…” he mused thoughtfully. “Go back in time. Talk to my past self about all this. It would certainly alleviate a lot of the anxiety I experienced before I confessed to you.”

“But you shouldn’t do that,” Isabella replied quickly. “Because it could change this timeline or zap us out of existence. I’d rather not be zapped out of existence. Especially not right now. And, besides...getting to confess to one another was worth all it took to get there, right?”

“You’re right…getting to learn about your feelings from YOU was the best!” Phineas assured her.

(This was one of the reasons he needed Isabella, to keep some of his more extreme ideas in check.)

“And I’d hate to zap out of existence. But….”

He blushed a little, suddenly feeling a bit bashful as he recalled why Isabella’d begun laughing in the first place.

“…..I’d still like a kiss from you, if that’s alright.”

“Just one?” Isabella teased.

(She hadn’t forgotten why she’d begun laughing in the first place either.)

Phineas blushed more than a little.

How could Isabella be so coy and collected about all this??

(And why was he even so flustered right now? They’d kissed a handful of times at this point, so there was no legitimate reason to get flustered….but Phineas was flustered anyway. Maybe because he’d never outright asked Isabella for a kiss before? And the mere fact that he could do that at all was a tad overwhelming?? And every few minutes he had to keep reminding himself that all this was really happening because he was still getting the hang of this whole relationship thing and despite everything it still felt too good to be true??? …who knew.)

“Well, more than one would be just fine! But—but at least one!! If that’s okay.”

VERY smooth, Romeo. Fantastic job. A+ flirting technique.

“It’s definitely okay,” Isabella whispered with a smile, tenderly cupping his face in her hands and drawing him close. “Though I appreciate you asking.”

Not much took Phineas’s breath away. He’d spent his life making the impossible possible, after all!

…but Isabella’s kisses did the trick.

And they weren’t just kisses, anyhow. They were promises, assurances, declarations of love he could feel, warm grins and soft caresses and genuine affection courtesy of his best friend (and girlfriend, now).

….frankly, he noted as said-girlfriend gingerly pulled away and coaxed his eyes open with a lilting giggle, it was a miracle he still remembered how to breathe at all.

She was smiling at him, the same smile he’d felt nestled against his and heard in her bubbles of laughter only moments ago.

He’d never realized how versatile smiles could be before today.

“Hey…guess who has hearts in their eyes now?” Isabella crooned, gently stroking his cheek with her thumb.

Phineas blinked, taking a bit longer than normal to come up with a suitable answer.

(He wasn’t used to thinking on his feet in situations like this. He wasn’t used to situations like this at all.)

Isabella’s pupils appeared to be heart-free. So she must have been referring to….

“….me?”

“Yup!” Isabella grinned and gave his nose a playful “boop!” “It’s like they always say: couples who break the laws of physics together stick together.”

She brushed a final kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling away from him entirely and turning towards the counter.

Phineas trailed behind her as she cut a slice of crumb cake (presumably for the two of them to share, as it was quite large) and slid it onto a plate, still a little dazed.

He was also interested in discovering a scientific explanation for the heart-eyes phenomenon he and Isabella had both experienced in the past half-hour…but he’d save solving that mystery for another day.

“…..how are you so good at this?” he managed to ask.

“At what? Cutting crumb cake?”

“No, I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “…the flirting, the banter, basic relationship stuff.”

(Because Isabella WAS good at basic relationship stuff. All of it was seemingly effortless for her, especially considering she’d never even been in a relationship. Phineas supposed he himself wasn’t COMPLETELY hopeless when it came to flirting—his comment about Isabella’s kisses earlier was proof of that—but he’d done that without thinking.)

“I’ve just had more practice!” Isabella replied cheerfully. “Waaaaaay more practice. I flirted with you a LOT when we were kids, you just never noticed.”

(That was probably good, all things considered. Isabella’s attempts at flirting when they were kids had left her with quite a bit of retrospective embarrassment.)

Phineas winced at the reminder of all he’d missed out on, on all the pinpricks of affection that he hadn’t caught and had instead flown far over his head.

“….sorry about that….” he mumbled.

“Hey, wait a minute. We’ve already been over this!” Isabella said sternly.

(She’d just been trying to offer him a logical answer to his question, not make him feel guilty.)

“There’s absolutely no reason to be sorry, romantic feelings are never an obligation. And besides!!”

She took a step closer to him…then another step…then another…until she was near enough to turn Phineas’s stomach to Doonkelberry jelly because was she planning on kissing him again???

But she didn’t kiss him again, instead just smirking and whispering, “…you’re very cute when you’re flustered…” before leaning back with a bright laugh.

For a few moments, Phineas was struck with the desperate need to HIDE and ESCAPE before Isabella noticed how red his face was.

…but then he remembered that she was, in fact, his girlfriend (a minute ago they’d been smooching, after all) and that his undying love for her wasn’t a secret anymore.

And, since he apparently looked cute when he was flustered, she was likely enjoying this immensely.

Whew.

“Well, I mean, you’re ALWAYS cute, don’t get me wrong,” Isabella continued. She grabbed the crumb cake-laden plate and two forks. “But when you’re flustered you’re ESPECIALLY cute.”

“Oh yeah?” Phineas countered. “Well…uh….you’re always especially cute!!! So there!!”

Isabella slowed to a halt and tilted her head at him with a chuckle. “Wait….are you trying to one-up my flirting? Or…are you trying to fluster me?”

“…..mmmaybe?” Phineas replied hesitantly. “…why, is it working???”

Isabella considered his question, taking note of the cheerful warmth spinning in her chest (and likely reddening her face a bit).

“…maybe just a little.”

Phineas didn’t attempt to hide his excitement this time, pumping his fist in the air with a whispered, “YES!!!!”

He quickly regained his composure, though.

“Well it’s GOOD that it’s working, because if it wasn’t working, I’d have to remind you that your cuteness is a scientific fact.”

“BELIEVE me, I don’t think I’ll ever forget about that,” Isabella replied with a snicker. “That was the closest you ever got to calling me cute when we were kids.”

“Hey! The mere fact that I acknowledged your cuteness at all when we were kids is a testament to just how cute you are,” Phineas stated matter-of-factly. “Because, well…you might not have noticed this, but I was just a tad oblivious to romance when we were that age.”

Isabella feigned a gasp. “WHAT???? No way, I had no idea.”

“It’s true!!!!” Phineas insisted. “….just like your cuteness being a scientific fact is true.”

The two of them burst into giggles at that.

“You know…” Isabella pointed out with a wry smile, “…for someone who claims to be bad at flirting, that was some pretty good flirting.”

(She was quite impressed, actually!)

“Well, I’ve got someone incredibly special to flirt with,” Phineas replied cheekily. “I couldn’t have done it without her.”

Isabella’s eyes widened at that, cheeks flushing bright red (because PHINEAS WAS TALKING ABOUT HER!!!!! HE THOUGHT SHE WAS INCREDIBLY SPECIAL!!!!!), and Phineas grinned eagerly before placing a hand on her shoulder and leaning in to kiss her.

That seemed like the right course of action here, to follow up a jovial round of flirting with a kiss.

(And it was the right course of action, judging from the way Isabella smiled and kissed him back.)

Perhaps he was getting the hang of this whole relationship thing after all.

…

Isabella took a moment to catch her breath as Phineas gently pulled away from her and gave her the world’s most adorable smile (and to overcome the temptation to just forget about the crumb cake and indulge in more kisses instead).

“…alright,” she exhaled. “…as lovely and sweet as all this flirting has been, are you ready to go outside?”

“Oh, definitely!!!!” Phineas replied, taking a step back. “I mean, it feels like it’s been ages since we made this crumb cake, it’s about time we actually eat it. You go on outside, I’ll clean up a bit! Just in case Ferb and my parents get back while we’re out there.”

“Sounds good!!”

Phineas made his way to the living room a few minutes later….only to find Isabella standing in front of the screen door, a blank expression on her face.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asked as he walked over to her. “I thought you were going to go outside.”

“Well…I was,” Isabella articulated slowly. “But….”

Her voice trailed off, and Phineas followed her gaze into the backyard as he finally came to a stop at her side.

“…..oh.”

The backyard was empty.

No stars.

No lanterns.

No light.

Even the picnic basket was gone.

All that remained was their blanket, still laid out beneath the tree, the only remnant of the last hour.

“Well.” Isabella cleared her throat. “I suppose we should’ve seen this coming, huh?”

Phineas didn’t respond, instead sliding the screen door open and stepping past Isabella and into the yard.

He just focused on walking, step by step by step. It was easy to keep his mind occupied with the mechanics of movement...that is, until he knelt beside the tree to collect the blanket.

Because tonight he’d had a second chance at a longer picnic with Isabella, which he’d initially chosen not to pursue when they were kids due to worries he hadn’t been able to explain back then...but the universe had taken that second chance away.

And now he had nothing tangible to express his affections to Isabella with. No inventions, no cozy sanctuaries for the two of them to snuggle up in, no physical manifestations of how much he loved her.

All he had was a blanket. Which hadn’t been enough to prolong their picnic when they were kids. And it hadn’t been enough now.

Their first moments as a couple were gone forever. He couldn’t get them back.

And this wasn’t the first time he’d built something for Isabella, only for it to disappear.

...why did it hurt even more now?

Was this going to be a normal occurrence for them? Phineas creating things, only for the world to irreverently take them away with no explanation as to why?

Because it was one thing to muse that kisses were as meaningful as big ideas while sharing a kiss with Isabella amidst one of said big ideas.

It was quite another to face Isabella without a big idea to prove the authenticity of his feelings.

And perhaps he could build something else right now, but….what would be the point?

A few tears stung at his eyes, throat burning and chest tight.

How could he build a relationship with Isabella if the world was just going to tear down his attempts to show her how much he cared?

“Gosh…it kinda feels like we’re kids again, huh?”

Phineas flinched as Isabella’s voice drew closer. He hugged the blanket to his chest as he stood, willing himself to not cry because he couldn’t cry, it would be silly to cry, all these thoughts of his were illogical. Isabella didn’t sound upset, and she hadn’t been upset when her birthday party disappeared all those years ago, she was fine, and this WAS a pretty regular occurrence for them in the grand scheme of things, so he needed to be okay. Plus, he KNEW she knew how much he loved her, he didn’t need inventions to tell her that but…..a part of him still hurt just the same.

“I mean, it genuinely takes me back! I feel like your mom’s about to offer us pie. And…..”

Isabella’s voice trailed off as she reached his side.

“Phineas?”

Phineas shut his eyes, but he could hear the rustle of grass as Isabella moved to stand in front of him.

“...Phineas, what’s wrong?”

Now her hands were on his shoulders.

He could’ve tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, to smile and laugh it off.

But...Isabella would probably see right through that.

And he was tired of keeping secrets from her, anyway.

“It’s just…..”

His lip quivered, and he sniffled before finally opening his eyes.

“....it’s gone. I planned everything and set up the picnic for you, so you’d know how much I care about you….but it’s gone…..and I wanted to keep spending time with you out here, at our picnic, because the last time we had a picnic it ended too soon and….I thought this time would be different, that we’d be able to end it on OUR terms and not because of it getting dark or anything. But it’s not. It’s like last time, and all the other times inventions disappeared before we were done with them and, I JUST!!!! I just….I’m sorry, Isabella….. I’m so sorry…..”

“Phineas Flynn. Look at me.”

Isabella took his face in her hands and gazed at him intently.

“You have nothing to apologize for. It’s okay! These things happen! And we still have the memory of our picnic, right? Didn’t you say that memories are your favorite things we made when we were kids?”

Phineas pondered that for a moment.

“.…yes…” he finally whispered.

“This is the same,” Isabella insisted. “We’re building memories! The inventions may come and go, but the memories will stay. And I will stay. Believe me, if disappearing inventions bothered me, I wouldn’t be your best friend.”

She smirked a bit and added, “And I wouldn’t be your girlfriend now, obviously.”

“I know, and you’re right!” Phineas replied quickly. “….but…..I just…..I wanted to show you how much I love you, Isabella. That’s what the picnic was for, really. I mean, I know I TOLD you how much I love you too, but for me, it’s always been easier to say that kind of thing when I’ve got an invention to back my words up….I guess, it’s a little scary to say those things when it’s just me. You’re braver than me in that regard.”

“You HAVE shown me how much you love me, Phineas…” Isabella whispered, caressing his cheek with a gentle grin. “You’ve been showing me since we were kids. And, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t love you because of your inventions and big ideas. I love you because you’re YOU. You’re Phineas Flynn! The kindest, most creative, most caring person I’ve ever met!! Everything that makes you you shines through in all your inventions, they’re an extension of who you are; but they aren’t you, you know? If I had to choose between spending a day using one of your most amazing inventions alone OR spending an invention-free day with you doing something super boring, say, watching paint dry, I’d choose the invention free day every time. I just love spending time with you….”

She trailed one of her hands down his arm till it found one of his, twining their fingers together with a comforting squeeze.

“I’m sorry our picnic disappeared, though. It was important to us, and it’s okay to be sad about it. ...do you want to set up another one? I can make paper lanterns, and I’ve got to have a picnic basket at my house. And there’s plenty of stars in the sky if you don’t have any more to spare.”

Her offer lingered in the air for a handful of seconds, and she herself seemed posed on the tips of her toes, waiting for Phineas’s answer.

“….no…” Phineas finally whispered. “….it’s okay. I know we have homework to do, building another picnic would take too much time. ….and you’re right. Spending time together….that’s what really matters. And you being willing to rebuild our picnic means a lot to me.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Isabella replied with a gentle smile. “And we can just sit at the table, it’ll be like…an elevated picnic! With homework! So…an elevated study date picnic!”

She patted his cheek before withdrawing her hand from his face and turning towards the door.

But Phineas wasn’t ready to go inside just yet, wasn’t ready to put aside all the emotions tumbling around inside of him.

“Wait!”

Isabella whirled back around, head tilted ever so slightly.

“Yes, Phineas?”

Phineas took a deep breath.

How could he even express how he was feeling? How could he express his gratitude towards Isabella, express how loved and cherished she made him feel, express just how much her willingness to recreate their picnic meant to him?

“I…I just…...thank you, Isabella. So much.”

To punctuate his gratitude, he lifted the hand he held and pressed a tender kiss to Isabella’s knuckle.

“I’m really, just, so lucky. Lucky to be your friend, lucky to be your boyfriend…you know that, right?”

Butterflies whirled in Isabella’s stomach, stirred by the sincerity in Phineas’s voice and the warmth of his lips still lingering on her hand and the way he was looking at her.

She eased in closer, close enough to lay a reassuring hand on Phineas’s shoulder.

“…..we’re both lucky. Incredibly lucky.”

Phineas and Isabella weren’t sure who kissed who first. Perhaps neither of them kissed first, perhaps it was simultaneous, both of them knowing instinctively what the other wanted.

This kiss was different from their first, which had been a rush of new, giddy emotions, a celebration of their reciprocated feelings, the resolution to a lifetime (or, more specifically, nine chapters) of longing.

And it was different from the playful, giggly kisses they’d given one another inside.

It was slow, purposeful, intentional. A way to say thank you, for Phineas to convey to Isabella just how much he cherished her, and for Isabella to do the same for Phineas.

It wasn’t a happy kiss, necessarily. But it wasn’t sad either. They stood nestled within the complicated space between those emotions, mourning the loss of their picnic and summers gone by even as they celebrated them.

And though the ache in Phineas’s chest didn’t disappear completely, even after Isabella murmured a reassuring, “I love you...” against his mouth as she kissed him, it faded a little with every instant he spent close to her, memorizing the way her words felt and made him feel.

“I love you too.”

He loved her, he loved her, he loved her.

Ardently, incredibly, deeply so.

Perhaps someday, he’d find a way to express that love flawlessly, with an invention or words so breathtaking and perfect, he’d eliminate the ache, the feeling of misunderstanding, the disconnect between his affection and his ability to convey it, forever.

But for now. Beneath the stars…in this quiet, plain, utterly ordinary backyard…..Isabella seemed to understand well enough.

For now, just Phineas was enough for her.

And, though he hadn’t grasped it just yet (and perhaps wouldn’t fully grasp it for quite some time), just Phineas would always be enough for her.

…

Ferb spent the ride home from regionally-renowned restaurant The Boiling Pot trying not to laugh as his parents discussed how the complimentary breadsticks had tasted good but not great and how it sure was a shame that Phineas and Isabella hadn’t tagged along with them because they would’ve loved the fireworks! And where had those fireworks even come from, anyway? What did “Gitchee Gitchee Goo” mean?

Ferb, of course, knew Isabella and Phineas were likely getting along just fine on their own.

He also knew precisely where the fireworks had come from. And what they meant. (He was a founding member of Phineas and the Ferbtones, after all.)

But he wasn’t about to spill the beans to his parents: Isabella and Phineas would have that honor.

“Have you heard from Phineas at all?” Linda asked.

Ferb glanced down at his phone and cracked a smile while scrolling through the messages he’d sent to Phineas over the past hour.

Phineas hadn’t responded to any of them, which wouldn’t have been a surprise even if Ferb hadn’t known he was spending time with Isabella. His brother wasn’t the greatest at replying to messages that didn’t need replies, especially when he was attending to other matters.

“I have not. I’m sure he’s fine, though.”

Ferb had done his best to stall at the restaurant, to be quite indecisive about his order and insist on buying dessert and give Phineas and Isabella as much time alone together as possible to figure out their feelings (because it was Phineas and Isabella: they needed all the time they could get), but one could only prolong the inevitable for so long.

Thankfully, the inevitable was about to happen.

(Well. Technically the inevitable had likely already happened, considering the fireworks. But Ferb couldn’t be absolutely sure until he got home because, again: it was Phineas and Isabella.)

“I wonder what Phineas and Isabella have been up to…” Laurence mused as he pulled in the driveway.

Ferb stifled a snicker in his elbow.

“Probably smooching,” he thought. “Or having heartfelt conversations about their feelings. Or just being sappy and sweet. Actually, it’s likely a combination of the three.”

He sent a quick text reading, “We’re home!” to Phineas before climbing out the car and heading for the door.

(Just in case they were partaking in the first of his proposed activities.)

Fortunately, Phineas and Isabella were not, in fact, partaking in the first of his proposed activities.

…but Ferb was more than a little perplexed by what they were up to instead.

He found Isabella and Phineas huddled over a textbook, graph paper, and calculators at the kitchen table, with an empty plate and two forks strewn off to the side.

Ferb’s eyebrows furrowed at the sight, confusion and apprehension prickling at his gut….because all of this seemed suspiciously platonic.

Sure, his brother and neighbor were seated QUITE close to one another. And the single plate and two forks seemed to indicate they’d shared food.

Both of those activities could be interpreted as romantic.

But they could also be interpreted as totally platonic (or, well, “totally platonic” in Phineas and Isabella’s case).

And Ferb also couldn’t be sure Isabella had seen the fireworks. Maybe they’d gone off too soon. Or too late. Maybe she’d been inside while they went off. Or asleep. Anything was possible in Danville.

Thus, Ferb couldn’t be absolutely, assuredly sure Phineas and Isabella were officially together until they told him. Or he asked them.

But he knew he shouldn’t just ask them, because if they hadn’t figured things out yet, asking them would just ruin the surprise and the four years he’d spent in silence about their mutual feelings would be for naught and HE WAS INCREDIBLY TIRED OF ALL THESE SECRETS—

“Woah! Hey, Ferb!!! I didn’t even hear you walk in the door!! How was the restaurant? .…and….how long have you been standing there?”

Phineas’s words rang hollow in Ferb’s head. He only barely comprehended his brother’s final sentence.

“….long enough to wonder whether you two have finally figured things out….” he muttered.

“OH! We sure did!!!” Phineas replied eagerly.

He gestured to a particularly complex-looking equation and continued, “This problem right here stumped us for awhile, but Isabella finally figured out we have to use the general Leibniz rule to solve it!!!! Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t think of that sooner, though I guess my brain has been a little preoccupied tonight…”

Ferb was going to fall over. He was going to fall over and then stand back up and grab a pillow and wack Phineas over the head with it because HE’D HAD AN ENTIRE ROMANTIC PICNIC AND FIREWORKS AND CONFESSION PLAN AT HIS DISPOSAL, HOW COULD HE BE TALKING ABOUT CALCULUS RIGHT NOW???? HOW HAD HE AND ISABELLA NOT FIGURED THINGS OUT YET??????

Isabella, meanwhile, glanced between Ferb (who looked about ready to snap something in half) and Phineas (who seemed blissfully unaware of that) before giggling. She placed a hand on Phineas’s shoulder and patted it gently, prompting him to look back at her.

“Phineas, sweetheart,” she voiced matter-of-factly, “I think Ferb is trying to ask if we started dating.”

She turned to Ferb and brightly added, “We DID start dating, by the way!!!!”

“Oh!!! Right!!”

(Phineas felt a little silly for not grasping that on his own, but it was alright.)

“Yeah, we started dating!!! Surprise!!”

And just like that. Relief. A mountain’s worth of pressure, over a DECADE’S worth of pressure, lifted from Ferb’s shoulders.

He sank into a chair opposite the happy couple and exhaled.

“….oh thank the stars.”

…

At last….Ferb can rest 😌.

ALSO MASSIVE SHOUT OUT TO MY BETA FOR COMING UP WITH “THE BOILING POT”!!!! I wanted to make a pun based off “The Boiling Isles” for the restaurant name (any Owl House fans here? 👀), and she came up with that and a couple other options and I LOVE HER THANK YOU FRIEND.

I sincerely hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! (And I sincerely hope the next update doesn’t take so long😅. But no promises, lol!) The end of the story is in sight…might take a couple more chapters to get there, but WE WILL GET THERE👏

As always, comments/reblogs/tags/likes are very much appreciated 😊💕

EDIT: OH ALSO!!!!! I owe a massive shout-out to @palizinhas. They write FANTASTIC Phinbella fic, and their story “Another Plan” inspired me to add the hurt/comfort scene into this chapter (I’d previously written it and decided to cut it).

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

List (Sorted by Story Content)

sorry for spamming, just want to make a list sorted by the story content. As always, tyvm for reading!! :D

Fluff

My Heart Can Sleep When I'm With You (Ghost)(F)

Daisy Dukes (Ghost)(F)

Unexpected Encounter (Ghost)(F)

Simon Got a Flu (Ghost)(GN)

Nine things Simon Riley Might Annoy (intentionally or not) His Shorter Partner (Ghost)(GN)

Sleeping (truly) with Simon (Ghost)(GN)

Domestic Life with Retired Husband!Simon (Ghost)(GN)

Simon with A Gammy Reader (Ghost)(GN)

End This Repeating Dance (Ghost)(F)

Simon Taking Care of You When You Accidentally Injured Yourself (Ghost)(F)

Simon Riley, Will You Marry Me? (Ghost)(F)

Vampire AU Headcanons (TF141+König)(GN)

Cat Café AU Headcanons 1 2 (TF141+König)(GN)

Cat Reader Headcanons (TF141+König)(GN)

In Pairs - Price Soap Gaz Ghost (GN)

What Makes You Unique (TF141)(GN)

Cream Puffs (TF141)(GN)

Sweet Flavor of Your Lips (F)

Wild Pets: 1 1.5 (TF141)(F)

Tf141 with a Fragile Reader (TF141)(GN)

A Reader Who Sucks at Baking but Wants to Bake Them a Valentine’s Day Dessert (TF141)(F)

Gap Moe (Contradictory-Characteristic Cuteness) Reader (TF141)(GN)

Melt Down The Snow (TFT141)(GN)(🦈 Anon)

Some Thoughts about Demon!TF141 (GN)(Has Follow-up Chapters at NSFW but F!Reader)

No Tolerance!! + It’s Nice To Come Back Home (TF141)(F)(🦈 Anon)

Silly Moments between Simon and Reader (Ghost)(F)

TF141 men seeing you wearing face chain for party (F) (🦈 Anon)

Your Inviting Lips (Ghost)(GN)(anon ask)

TF141*Reader Fluff in Few Sentences (GN)

The True Me (Price)(GN)

Two-way Trap (Ghost)(F)(half-dark)

Simon Exploring Your Cute Reactions (Ghost)(GN)(evil 🐼 anon)

Simon Loves Your Adorable and Chubby Face (Ghost)(GN) (🦈 anon)

A Day of A Cute (and Silly) Couple (Ghost)(GN)(req)

Shower with Simon Riley (Ghost)(GN)(anon req)

Each Other’s Shelter (TF141)(F)(anon req)

TF141 with A Reader That Can Fall Asleep Anywhere and Anytime (GN)

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader ch1 ch2 ch3

Angst

New Year Fireworks + We Both Broke Our Promise (Ghost)(F)

Bedtime Story (Ghost)(GN)

Palette (Ghost)(F)(Half-Angst)

Ex-bf!Simon Riley*F!Reader (Ghost)(F)

Regret Devouring Me (Soap)(GN)

Voicemails (Ghost)(F)

TF141*Reader Angst in Few Sentences (GN)

Always By Your Side (TF141)(GN)

Remember-me-not (Ghost)(GN)

The Last Dance (Ghost)(GN)

Not Dying Alone (TF141)(GN)

Grim Reaper!Ghost*Reader That’s Always Alone (GN)

Counting Down To Heaven (TF141)(GN)

Watch You From Afar (Price+Ghost)(GN)

NSFW

Bed All Day (Ghost) (GN)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor Series: Ghost (F)

Smut Challenge - Neighbor Series: Soap (F)

Spider Webs: 1 2 3 bonus chapter 1 (König)(F)

NSFW Alphabet (König)(F)

More About Demon!TF141 (F)(Anon Ask)

Demon!TF141 but Reader Becomes Demon Too (F)(Anon Ask)

Hurt and Comfort

Invincible (Ghost)(F)

Inhale Our Sorrow, Exhale Our Future (Ghost)(GN)

Simon “Ghost” Riley*Reader with scars and hide their face (GN)

Husband!Simon with Car Crash Wife!Reader + Till It Blooms Again (Ghost)(F)(🐬anon)

How To Remember? (Price+Ghost)(F)

Hey, how are you? (Ghost)(F)

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

His Only Asylum (Ghost+König) + Bring Me to Heaven (Ghost)(F)

Perv!Simon Riley with Yandere!Reader (Ghost)(GN)

It Isn’t Fate Bringing Us Together (It’s Me): 1 2 (Ghost)(GN)

Spine Chill (TF141)(GN)

Special

Soulmate AU - Separate Endings (Ghost)(GN)(Has different Endings)

[robyn-loves-horror]

Can you do some brahmsy x reader please?

FINALLY got around to finishing this! I’m in love with domestic Brahms stuff. It’s nice to get back to some writing. Hope everyone’s in the mood for some good old fashioned fluff.

         The rain had scarcely let up since it had started three days prior. You glanced outside as you passed the tall windows at the top of the stairs. The sky was beginning to look as though it would never be blue again, and the trees almost look normal leaning to one side due to the heavy winds. 

          You made your way down the long secluded hallway. Brahms hadn’t been out of his room all morning, more than likely he was still pouting. You’d promised that the two of you would have a picnic in the garden the day before, but with the storm you told him that it would have to wait. You’d had to be more stern than you normally liked to be with him when he’d started throwing a tantrum. He stayed in his room the rest of the day, or at least he wanted you to think that. You had gotten good at hearing where he was in the walls after all this time. Even today, he’d barely talked to you when you woke him that morning. Normally he was excited over a dream, or about whatever he was to do that day. This time around you could barely get three words out of him at a time.

          As you approached his door you knew he could hear you coming. He knew every creak in the floorboards, and cry of the doors in this house and exactly where they were. You knocked anyway. “Brahms?” You slowly opened his door and peaked in. He was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed idly sketching in the sketch pad you had bought him for his birthday. He was still wearing what he slept in, except his mask. Slowly you were getting him to wear it less, but he still did sometimes, especially if he’s upset about something.

         He didn’t look up as you came in and walked over to him. “May I sit with you, honey?” You’d taken up calling him sweet little petnames, he loves it. He gives a small nod as you settle next to him. After a moment Brahms turns his sketch pad toward you, he wanted you to see what he made. You lean closer to him, of course it’s a sketch of yourself. He tended to draw flowers, and trees, and little things around the house. But if he ever drew a person, it was usually you. He was surprisingly  good at your likeness, you wondered if he drew you more and just didn't show you those. “I love it Brahms,” you patted his slender wrist, “I’m sorry about the picnic yesterday, sweetie.” 

           He rubbed the edge of the page with his thumb, “it’s alright,” he answered gently, “you can’t help the rain.” He was getting better at controlling his anger. The fact he even listened to you when you’d sent him to his room the night before with only stomps and a door slam was major progress. “We can have a picnic when the sun comes back out,” he raised his pencil to work on his sketch.

          “Yes, we certainly can,” you smiled at him, “but how would you feel if I had a surprise for you right now?” He turned to look at you for the first time that day, even behind the porcelain mask you could see he was beaming with excitement.

          “Really Nanny?” You nodded at him. “What is it?” He looked around, looking for a present.

           “It’s not a present,” you held up your hands to show you weren’t hiding anything. He looked disappointed for a moment. You hooked your finger under his chin to get him to look up at you again, “you’ll like it anyway I think, but you have to do something for me first.” He nodded. “Ok, get all washed up, change your clothes, and come down to the parlor. And that’d be all I need you to do for me.”

          He jumped up and quickly grabbed the clothes you’d set out for him that morning before going to the bathroom. You followed him out a moment later, after putting away the pencils and paper he’d left out. You ran back downstairs, knowing Brahms he’d be down in no time at all. You quickly threw an extra log on the fire to keep it from dying down too much. Before you knew it you could hear him coming down the stairs. You turned as he opened the door. He let out a soft gasp when he saw what you’d done for him.

          In front of the fireplace you’d laid out a large soft quilt, and on top was all his favorites. Sandwiches, lemonade, one of his books, and even the little cakes you’d made for him last Christmas. “I know it’s not the same as a picnic outside,” you sat down and poured a glass of lemonade, “but hopefully we can still have fun inside.” 

           He hurried over and gave you a tight hug, nearly spilling the glass you were holding. “Thank you Nanny,” he whispered in your ear. You smiled and handed him the glass, “You’re welcome Brahms.” You pulled away slightly and put your hands on the cheeks of his mask, “now silly, you can’t possibly eat with this thing on.” Carefully, you pulled the mask from his face and gently set it on the nearby table.

          His mask may be like a security blanket for him, covering the burns on his face and making him feel like a better version of himself, but you loved looking at his bare face. Watching his lips smile, and his blue eyes twinkle, it could brighten any rainy day.

           The two of you ate together in a comfortable near silence as the storm raged on outside. Brahms poured you more glasses of lemonade, and insisted you have one of his cakes as another little thank you. When there was nothing more but crumbs to eat you finally grabbed his book. You turned to Brahms and patted your crossed legs. He quickly obliged you, laying down on the floor with his head in your lap. You opened the book to where you had left off the last time you’d read it to him and began. You read for who knows how long, probably hours, in those funny voices and inflections you knew he loved so much. All the while he closed his eyes and smiled, if he’d fallen asleep you didn't know when. As you read on and on you ran your fingers through his hair, combing and curling it around your fingers. Before you knew it, you’d read three more chapters and the fire was nearly out. You mark your spot and close the book before leaning down and planting a small kiss on Brahms forehead. He awoke and smiled up at you. You couldn’t help but smile back. 

         “It’s starting to get a bit cold in here,” you helped him sit up, “how would you like a cup of hot chocolate to warm us up?” He excitedly nodded. “Great,” you handed him the book, “why don’t you put this away while I clean up in here and we’ll have some.”

           He took the book from you, “I can help clean up too (Y/N).” You smiled a bit wider. He didn’t often call you by your name, but you loved it when he did. “That would be awfully kind of you Brahms,” you gave him another small kiss, on the cheek this time. “Grab the glasses and pitcher and take them to the kitchen please,” you instructed. He happily picked up the glassware and took it out of the room. As you set aside the plates and began folding the blanket you found that you were still smiling to yourself. Life certainly was strange. You never could’ve imagined you’d be in this place doing what you were doing, but it made you happy. You loved the Heelshire home. You loved what you did. And more than anything else, you loved Brahms.

            Almost as though he could hear your thoughts he appeared back in the doorway. You finished putting the quilt back in the old trunk you’d taken it from and grabbed the plates. “Now, should we add marshmallows to this hot chocolate?” You laughed as he followed you back out of the room, happily specifying how many marshmallows he wants. Neither of you noticed that he’d left his mask sitting on the table in the parlor.

[fragileizywriting]

cooking together (part one)

AO3 | Start Here | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chat Noir hasn’t spoken to her since she’s woken up.

To be fair, she doesn’t blame him. She doesn’t blame him in the slightest. How stupid of her to fall asleep on top of one of the most famous, most deadliest demons in the world— sleeping on top of him like he’s nothing more than a pillow. The great Chat Noir reduced to nothing but a cuddle buddy— oh how stupid of her. She’d cried in front of him— she’s done it before to the point where there is nothing of guilt left within her whenever it happens, and he’s never said anything before but comfort her. But sleep on top of him, oh, Tikki— what should she do now? Where does she begin?

They had sat there on either side of their couch, completely silent, each with their faces hidden behind their hands within moments of her scrambling to get off of him. No doubt Chat Noir was absolutely groaning to himself internally about how unlucky he is for getting stuck with a summoner that is absolutely desperate for affection like she is— to the point where she even latches onto him even during her sleep— oh, embarrassing! So embarrassing!

He must hate her, or find her absolutely weird— hell, maybe even find her to be the most incredibly annoying human he’s ever had the displeasure of meeting— oh, Tikki— guide her in what to do next!

He’d slipped away from the couch after a moment or two of silence, changed out of his clothes for something more fitting of the chores to do around their farm life, and had washed up in the washroom— leaving the house while muttering something under his breath about going to go check up on the hens.

She’s only now just gotten ready herself. It’s been a year or so since she’s gotten regular help with lacing her stays— it’s definitely doable by herself, of course, since she’s done it her whole life on her own— but Chat Noir usually helps her, claiming it's his job as a familiar to help her.

It’s always so much easier to do with an extra pair of hands, and no matter how much or how well she ties her hair to the side, she always ends up catching part of her hair in the loops whenever she does it by herself— so she’s been accustomed to being helped in that way. But by herself, goodness— the sensation of lacing herself and tucking the spare bits of string under the stomacher is almost foreign nowadays.

She’s put on her petticoat, too— it’s almost in the shape of a full-body apron, it too snagged at some parts of her hair.

She forgets how easy things in her life are, now that Chat Noir is there to help.

At least putting on her actual dress is a breeze. She’s picked her favorite wine-colored one, the one with the front closures this time, knowing that Chat has made no signs of wanting to return into the house and help her close it in the back. She can dress herself— she doesn’t need a powerful demon for help getting dressed— he’s not a maid. Besides, it’s not as if she’s gotten used to the domesticity.

She sighs to herself in the kitchen, trying not to peek through the window as she hears him corralling the hens outside the coup so he can bring in eggs. Oh, he’s gentle with their chickens, even if it seems he’s out of his element when he does so— he’s learned to behave around them over the year and months they’ve known each other, which is definitely good news. It’s almost as if he wants to be loved by the hens. The thought shouldn’t warm her this much, but it does— oh goodness— she tries beating down the feeling with a little slap to her cheeks, whining pitifully behind her palms.

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid!

She needs to stop thinking about the concept of domesticity with him— oh, goodness, how she needs to stop— he’s a demon— and demons do not live in little, tiny cottages with their summoning witch. Demons do not live happily tending to hens and working on fencing a perimeter out the back of their land so that they can have horses and cows and sheep accessible as the years go on. Demons do not dream of coming home and placing kisses on their summoner’s cheeks and nuzzle with a purr. And demons definitely do not wish to talk about all the latest catch he and Luka got during their fishing escapades, bringing home barrels of fish hoisted onto a carriage so that they can sell and store!

Demons certainly do not entertain any notion of falling in love with a witch— goodness, of course they don’t— she’s certain that Chat Noir would be more excited to be doing actual demon work— whatever that may be— than to stay here and build up the posts for the fence. There is simply no way in hell that Chat Noir would rather be here.

She can stupidly dream and she can stupidly wish all she wants, but the moment that she brings back Adrien, Chat Noir will swallow her soul and disappear. She’s almost positive. After all, Ladybug she may be, but she’s nothing more than a witch that needs his help. A friend, sure— but— this is all just a transaction to him, is it not?

And yet, throughout all of this, she can’t stop herself from wishing. Wishing to wake up every morning in the same manner that she had today— pressed up against him, warm and safe, close enough to him that she could steal a kiss off of him— oh, she’s so silly, fantasizing about what she can’t have!

Maybe she can start with an apology gift— maybe he’ll talk to her then— he did say last night he wanted to try lover-honey cookies, after all.

It’s been years since she’s helped with the recipe, but she’s memorized it— even as she’d learned spells from her textbooks she’d bought off of traveling bookwagons, she also made sure to pay attention to her parents when they baked, just so that she knew how to make it in case they didn’t have any and she wanted to bring some for Adrien.

She’ll have to go into town to find a couple of things, they might be low on sugar— but it’ll be good for her to get out of the house— the more and more she stays inside the cottage, the more she’s bound to get cabin-fever from the amount of thinking that’s going on in her head.

Oh, but…

She leans on her elbows on the counter as she looks at the fire lily in the little vase she’s procured from the cabinets, sighing wistfully. The vase doesn’t do it justice, since it’s been such a long time since she’s decided to cut any flowers outside and bring some indoors— it is a little dusty and a little chipped, but that’s alright. The vase is far too wide to house just a single flower— it almost looks out of place without any surrounding foliage. Maybe she should go out in the backwoods and search for shrubbery or moss to accompany it, after making the cookies— something dark green, so it won’t take away from the flower.

It’s a beautiful lily— she’s never seen such a beautiful blossom before. Usually the lilies she’s seen and planted over the years have been spotted and freckled along the petals— very reminiscent of the freckles along her face— but this one is completely and totally unblemished, favoring instead just a beautiful gradient from orange to dark red at the tips.

It’s nothing like the trumpet-bell-shaped lilies she’s known to grow— this lily isn’t shy in the slightest in its bloom. It curls open, unafraid, desperate to attract bees and other pollinators to the honey-like smell of nectar— she sighs to herself as she continues to admire it.

It is lovely. So lovely.

She’s never received a flower before.

Oh, sure. She’s received many gifts before. Alix with her pocket watches that tick and tock so delicately they must simply be works of magic— Alya with her many books that she lends to her whenever she needs to learn new spells— Nino always buying their lunch or dinner whenever the two of them decide to get food together in town and Chat is off with another competition against Luka.

Oh, and sweet Luka, of course, with his snake oil bottles— with the pearl earrings he’s made for her, even if she can’t wear them because of the demonic seals tattooed onto her ears— the countless of songs he sings and writes for her when he’s finally on land.

But a flower?

How had Chat Noir known to give her one of her favorite flowers? A gorgeous fire lily— oh— if only she could keep it in this vase forever. Nothing compares to the honey scent that the fire lily produces— she smells it softly, bending down more onto the counter to smell the aromatics, taking note of the buds of pollen that are ripe to explode.

“Princess!”

She straightens her spine with a squeak, almost knocking over the vase in an attempt to stand up straight, looking out to the front door. “Yes? W-what’s wrong, kitty-cat?”

She takes to patting down her apron that lays flat across the slim boning of her stays, just to have something to do with her hands, trying not to look as nervous as she feels.

Chat Noir shoulders through the front door, a clucking brown ball under his arm, grinning like a fool. There are black smudges against his feet and pants already, as always, somehow finding a way to succeed every expectation and find a way to stain his clothes. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong— in fact— look! I found her with the other ladies— look— she’s even letting me hold her!”

Henrietta.

“My goodness, you’re right—” She pushes her braid back over her shoulder, making her way over to him and their hen. Henrietta is absolutely tame in his hands for a bird that is notorious for scampering the other way the moment Chat looks at her. Goodness, she’s so small— easily could fit through any crevice of any tree she’d found during the storm— no wonder she’d been impossible to spot during the storm last night after she’d slipped out of the coup.

Marinette takes Henrietta out of his arms once she’s close enough to reach for her, checking her over for signs of injury— but there’s absolutely nothing, sans the slight complaining she gives when transferring into another person’s arms. No feathers missing at the back of her neck, there’s no bleeding, there doesn’t even seem to be any scuffling on her feet or claws— her eyes look healthy and clean. Miraculously, the hen is perfectly fine— even clucking softly as she turns her over to check her undercarriage.

She could cry. “Oh, Chat, this is wonderful! She’s completely unharmed! Blessed be this little hen.”

“I told you she’d be okay,” Chat Noir’s ears twitch as he leans up against the doorframe.

She tucks Henrietta into her side just to have somewhere secure enough to place her. “Where did you find her?”

“She was on the other side of the fence, actually. She was trying to get back in but couldn’t figure out on how to jump the fence or get through the gap.” His smile comes out a little lopsided, diamond green eyes filled with joy.

“I’m so grateful that you found her, Chat. Oh thank Tikki she’s safe and sound,” She wipes at her cheek, trying to wipe away any tears that are threatening to form. Goodness, Henrietta is alright. What a miracle this is— she’d been so hard on herself the night before, wondering why she’d left the gate open— she’ll never do that again for sure. Definitely not, and definitely not during an active rainstorm no less. She’s learned her lesson.

“Oh.” He blinks slowly at her.

“What is it?”

“You—” Chat’s lips twitch on the side with a widening smile. He reaches to her to pet at her cheek with a clawed thumb, and she can’t help but follow his hand down to her cheek with widening eyes, biting her lip. “You have a stain on your cheek.”

“I do?”

He laughs. “Is it from the flower? You know, I’ve been told that it’s good fortune to be blemished by a lily.”

“I—” She can feel her cheeks heat. Oh, Tikki! “I— uh— I never knew that—”

He pauses, and something about his ears as they twitch downwards gives him the appearance of being apprehensive, but she can barely look away as she feels the heat of his hand up against her cheek— she’s so desperate to stop thinking about this being their new normal. What she would give to have mornings filled with loving touches— loving glances— loving moments such as this.

“Do you… not want me to touch you anymore?”

She blanches, feeling her heart sink into her socks. “What?”

“You’re kind of shying away—”

“No— please— I mean— I don’t mind you touching me— my— face. At all. Please.” Oh, Tikki. What did she do to deserve this? How does she make herself stop rambling? “Please continue— I—”

“Are you sure?” His lips thin, his voice quieting. “You… don’t look comfortable.”

“No, I promise, I’m very comfortable. So very comfortable.” She nods as well as she can without accidentally poking her eye out on the thumb that rests at her temple. It would just be her luck to be that careless. Her voice sounds almost weak as she continues to speak. “Extremely comfortable.”

“Are you lying? I don’t ever want to make you feel uncomfortable with me, Marinette.”

She squeaks when Henrietta decides to complain about being in her arms, trying to flap out of her grasp and try to fly onto the floor. “You don’t make me uncomfortable at all, Chat! Please don’t think that— I— you could never make me uncomfortable.”

“Here, let me—” He takes Henrietta out of her arms, tucking the little hen close to him.

“Oh, I—” She snaps her jaw shut. “You know, I have to leave.”

His eyes widen. She takes in the snap of his tail as he stands up straighter, his ears going ramrod straight, looking at her with such alarm that it almost shocks her herself— the tattoos on her ears start to burn as his magic flares. It flares more wide than tall, stretching to its limit, encompassing nearly everything around them, leaving her looking at him in awe at the actual expanse of his magic. Just how big of a reach does it actually have? Just how much of a range does Chat Noir’s magic go to? “Leave? Wait, where are you going?”

Oh, stupid! “I mean— I have to leave to go to the market to get more flowers. No— I mean— flour—”

“You’re leaving to get flowers?” He winces.

His magic continues to surge against hers, wider and wider, forcing hers to open up just as much in order to match his correctly. She can feel her magic stretch further than ever possible, trying to meet his from border to border, trying to push up against his in a perfect mirror. Is he… afraid? What is that feeling? She can’t place it at all. Why does her magic continue to try intertwining and swirling with his, trying to soothe him without her even directing it to?

“D-did you not like the lily?”

Oh, stupid little witch!

She takes a step back, noticing the way his eyes shine with sorrow she can’t place, and reaches for his arm. She can’t pull on it, not as he holds Henrietta, but she gives him a squeeze. “Oh, no, Chat, that’s not true at all. I loved the lily. My goodness, I’m in love— er, I mean, with the flower, of course— I’ve never gotten a flower before and I’m just so amazed that you ended up giving me my favorite flower— I just— please, Chat, it’s okay. Please don’t worry. It’s okay, kitty-cat. I love the gift too much to bear, almost.”

His ears flatten against his head. “Please don’t go.”

Sweet Tikki. At what point had her demon been convinced that she was taking back their demon seal agreements? After a full year of preparing for his help— why does Chat Noir believe that she doesn’t want him around for help anymore?

“I promise I’m not leaving, Chat, not permanently. I meant to say that I just need to go to the market to get flowder powder.” She scrunches her face, trying her hardest not to give herself another silly pat to the cheeks. “No— I mean— plowder flour. Oh, sweet Tikki. I need ingredients for the lover-honey cookie.”

“Powder flour,” His face relaxes, finally registering what she’s meant. She watches his relief spread across his entire body, starting from the way his ears sag slightly in a more comfortable position— his shoulders drop a smidge— his tail stops flicking— she can’t help but watch with a slack jaw as his magic starts to curl and coil its way back into shape, tugging at hers in a way that feels like he’s pulling her closer for a hug. She feels warm all over, giddy at having her magic being unfolded, matching his perfectly. She never knew she had so much of a range to her magic— what else is there about their connection that she doesn’t know about? “Do you mean a bag of flour?”

“Yes, flour,” She viciously nods her head, ignoring the curls in their magic as they push and pull against one another. “Do you— do you want to come with, so that you don’t feel like I’m leaving you?”

He perks up. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“Of course I do.” She wants him to stay with her forever.

“Ah. Actually, you know, it’s best if I finish up the post I was working on.” He looks upset at having to take it back, at least, giving Henrietta a loving brush with his claws from her neck down. “We don’t want the girls to keep escaping ever again, right?”

“Right. Yes. You’re completely right.” Oh, she could weep. How in the world did she manage this? “I’m going to go get our coin pouch, but I’ll be back from the market before you know it.”

“Right,” His ears twitch as he tries for a smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

-*-

“Stupid stupid stupid.” She tries not to kick up any of the dirt around her with her boots as she continues to walk down the path towards town. Oh, she’s miserable. Absolutely miserable. She never meant to hurt Chat Noir’s feelings in any way— her day dreams have made their interactions completely and totally awkward.

What is with her?

She needs to get her act together.

She has to.

Chat Noir doesn’t deserve her freaking out at every little touch and glance.

Oh, the way he looked at her, as if she were the one capable of burning him into a crisp, just by the way she had spoken about leaving. How could she ever do that to her Chat Noir? She wouldn’t dare even dream of it. Her earlobes burn at the sensation of having to pull away from Chat Noir’s magic— a curse, unfortunately, of having her soul bonded to the demon. It’s painful like a phantom pain— it’ll go away for a while just to come back and remind her that she’s too far away for their magic to reach and intermingle.

Although, now that she knows that his range can go much further, she’s tempted to believe that it must be psychosomatic. Maybe it’s her own worries being projected onto her own tattoos, but she’s not certain of it.

She stops to wipe at her eyes. Miserable. Absolutely miserable. She’s going to end up losing her friend this way, just because she couldn’t find it in herself to stop behaving like a lovesick girl batting and fanning her eyelashes at the first pretty boy she sees.

It doesn’t help that he’s pretty, either. With beautiful lashes and such a boyish smile that makes her heart rate go up and golden honey-colored hair and perfect green eyes— oh, Tikki! What should she do now?

She turns around, checking to see if she’s far away from the cottage to try to gauge if she can start screaming into her aprons without him hearing, only to see a black cat following along the dirt path with his tiny little paws. He meows at her, blinking slowly at her with green eyes, tilting his head just enough to imply that he’s asking a question.

She stares at him just a smidge.

“Oh. Did you decide you want to come with me?” She steps closer, infinitely grateful that she hadn’t started her desire to bury her face into the fabric of her dress.

Her magic curls against his on sheer instinct, but she registers something odd about it the moment their magic try to interlock. Usually it is nothing short of a perfect shape against each other, like their combined magic were made to fit together— but this feels like there are gaps. Where her magic should be filling in the gaps, instead, she finds her magic hesitating in some spots and areas, as if it is too shy to intermingle. She can’t find the edges to his magic at all, even as she tries stretching hers out manually and she wonders if he’s followed her because he’s afraid again.

Chat purrs when she picks him up. He’s a soft little thing, perfectly sweet and pliable in her arms as she turns him and pets along his chest, letting her hug him tight to her stays. She sighs into his forehead. The poor dear follows her to the market, truly concerned that she’s leaving… how can she ever allow herself to not tell him the truth, since the perfect moment is being presented to her now? “You know, I’ve never been considered a bold person, but I’m always willing to try if it’s for you.”

Chat’s tail flickers, giving her an indication that he’s listening.

“I’m sorry for hurting you today— it was never my intention to make you look so sad. Never in my life did I imagine that you would be upset at me leaving the house— I never want to see that face on you ever again, if we can avoid it.”

Her tattoos on her ears start to prickle at the words I want. After all, part of the rules of being her contracted demon is to take into account her wishes— however, she doesn’t want him to think she’s commanding him. Ever. He is always free to choose on what to do when she accidentally uses those words.

“I need to be honest with you.” She starts, desperate not to look down and attempt to gauge his reaction. “I do not want anything about our relationship to change, even after I say this— I understand. I really do. Please do not think you have to answer, or even give a response, I’d like for you to just listen for a little bit. It’s easier when you’re in this form for sure.”

Chat Noir chirps in her arms.

“I don’t want you to ever think that you make me uncomfortable, because that simply isn’t true. I understand that you want nothing to do with me in the same manner that I do with you— you will always be my familiar and my friend.” She feels giddy, being able to finally say it out loud. “My feelings for you are very strong. You’re my most valuable companion— and— and I— I thank Tikki every day for all the moments I can share with you.”

He butts her on her collarbone, nuzzling into her shoulder.

“The face you had made just moments before I’d left the house— your magic swelling up like a cloud, like it does now— I do not want that to ever happen again. You will never make me uncomfortable— and you never have. I value you so much. Too much. I care about you too deeply. I don’t need to cookies to know that I have feelings for you.”

Chat Noir stops moving.

And that says all.

She steels herself. “Do you think I’m playing a prank on you? Do you truly not believe me?”

He’s almost like stone in her arms.

“I— I would never do that to you. Please, don’t assume things like that. My words are pure.” She sighs to herself when his only response is to flick his tail. “Why don’t we go shopping for the bag of flower so I can make the cookies and prove to you my feelings?”

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[the7thcrow]

indulgence is over i can’t believe it…🥺what a journey!!!!! gosh i remember first reading it and being absolutely AMAZED by everything and i was so glad that this time reader was the vampire! we’ve come a long way from felix meeting reader in the library and failing his plan and ends up falling in love and then you know almost dying and becoming a vampire. but gosh… i cannot believe it’s over🥺🥺🥺i’ve loved every single chapter and all the lore you did for this fic corynn it was phenomenal and so well thought out. i know at some points you struggled with the writing but everything turned out great and it all flows so well🤍now the epilogue was so cute and domestic and my heart was GLOWING the entire time! reader and felix finally living that domestic life… it’s what they deserve!😌i love how you mention reader’s grief and how not every day is perfect just because they live with felix now. there’s still bad days and silly fights but ultimately it’s worth it because their love is like no other🥺i really prefer fics like these to not end on a super fluffy note without acknowleding the past because they’ve been through A lot so it makes sense there’s still trauma there! poor jeongin, my boy😔but the last line… you indulge in it oh my goddddddd😭😭😭😭just brilliant corynn!!!!🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

gaia hello!! :D i’ve been excitedly waiting for you to read the epilogue to hear your thoughts, so let’s just dive right into it, shall we?🥰

indulgence is over i can’t believe it…🥺what a journey!!!!! gosh i remember first reading it and being absolutely AMAZED by everything and i was so glad that this time reader was the vampire! we’ve come a long way from felix meeting reader in the library and failing his plan and ends up falling in love and then you know almost dying and becoming a vampire. but gosh… i cannot believe it’s over🥺🥺🥺

we really have come such a long way from that little romp in the library haven’t we? it’s crazy to look back at the beginning, especially for myself because i see such a HUGE difference in my writing from part 1 to the epilogue. feels like forever ago even though it’s only been months, and honestly i can’t believe it’s over either. i’m really going to miss it :,)

i’ve loved every single chapter and all the lore you did for this fic corynn it was phenomenal and so well thought out. i know at some points you struggled with the writing but everything turned out great and it all flows so well🤍

jdufhwkdueb gaia you’re literally so sweet😭😭 i’m really happy you appreciated the lore and planning, and honestly through all those difficult writing moments you were my #1 hypeman. so thank you🤍🤍

now the epilogue was so cute and domestic and my heart was GLOWING the entire time! reader and felix finally living that domestic life… it’s what they deserve!😌i love how you mention reader’s grief and how not every day is perfect just because they live with felix now. there’s still bad days and silly fights but ultimately it’s worth it because their love is like no other🥺i really prefer fics like these to not end on a super fluffy note without acknowleding the past because they’ve been through A lot so it makes sense there’s still trauma there! poor jeongin, my boy😔

me? writing domestic fluff? who are you and what have you done with corynn, right? but no lmaoo, after the beast that was part 7, i felt like it was the right way to end the story. like you said, it’s not a perfect sunshine and rainbows ending, because it definitely couldn’t be after all that happened. but it’s peaceful, and i think that’s what is most important. the calm after the storm☺️ and also yes poor jeongin, i may never forgive myself.😔

but the last line… you indulge in it oh my goddddddd😭😭😭😭just brilliant corynn!!!!🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

LMAOOO THANK YOU, because i literally gushed over the last line while i wrote it. i got the idea and was just like “YES that’s so GOOD,” and had a mini fan girl moment over my own idea. which is like, incredibly embarrassing, but ya know that’s just how it is sometimes🥲

but thank you for reading and the constant feedback gaia, it was absolutely one of my number one motivators throughout each chapter. you’re a very large reason as to why this story exists in completion, and i can’t thank you enough for that. YOU’RE brilliant🤍🤍