#reminds me of that gif of him crying happy tears because he's eating a chocolate cake while being on a diet JFNJKGNKJFH

[munson-blurbs]

Fight for You (Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader)

Your friends throw you an incredible baby shower, but an unexpected guest threatens to spoil your fun.

Warnings: all the fluff + angst, pregnancy language, emotional abuse (not from Eddie), a bit of violence (nothing gory, but mention of blood)

WC: 2k

Part One | Part Two

Taglist: @dylanmunson @tayhar811 @princess-eddie​

--

August 1992

“Wow,” Eddie breathes as he walks into your bedroom. You’re wearing a flowing sage green dress that shows off your seven-month baby bump. “You look stunning.”

You press a kiss to his lips, smiling against him as your belly brushes against his stomach. It hasn’t always been easy to feel beautiful as your body changes, but your husband hasn’t stopped reminding you that he thinks you’re perfect; that he’s so happy you’re having his baby; that every time he thinks he can’t love you more, he looks at you and falls even harder.

He takes your hand and walks you to the van. You’d moved apartments last month; same building, but now you have a two-bedroom so the baby will have their own room. 

“You ready for your party, little baby?” you talk to your belly, rubbing a hand over it. It was Will’s idea to make it co-ed, and Eddie wasn’t going to turn down an invitation to something DnD themed. He’s wearing his nicest pair of jeans and a blue button-down shirt. His hair is pulled back into a low bun, and you lean over and kiss his cheek. As you do, you feel a fluttering in your stomach.

“Oh my God!” you yelp, and Eddie slams on the brakes.

“What?” he asks nervously. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yeah, s-sorry,” you flush, slightly embarrassed. “They just kicked me.” You take one of his hands, feeling him visibly relax, and place it where you just felt the kick. “Right here.” Sure enough, the baby kicks again, and Eddie grins.

“Holy shit,” he says, “we got a little soccer player in there!”

~

You pull up to the Byers house and waddle you way up the steps. “Careful,” you hear Eddie murmur, placing a hand on the small of your back. You open the door to a room filled with your favorite people. Your parents are on the couch next to Wayne and Jim Hopper. Eleven and Max are drinking some punch, laughing at something Mike said. Or maybe just laughing at Mike; you never know with those two. Will and Lucas are fixing a streamer as Joyce oversees their work. Dustin, Robin, Steve, and Nancy are gathered around a bowl of chips. 

Everything looks amazing. The family room looks like a Dungeons & Dragons game come to life. Even the food is labelled on-theme, with figurines placed strategically along the table. Next to a pile of brightly-wrapped gifts is a Dungeon Master throne, which would usually be reserved for Eddie, but there’s a sign on it that reads “Reserved for Mama Munson.”

The guests rush to hug you, ask how you’re doing, feel your bump. You hate when strangers do that, think they have the right to touch you just because you’re pregnant, but you truly don’t mind when your family and friends--your chosen family, really--do it.

Wayne shoves a paper plate into Eddie’s hands. “Go get your lady something to eat, hm?” he hints. No matter how old Eddie gets, Wayne will always treat him like a son.

Eddie obliges, leaving you with Joyce as she dotes on you. “You are absolutely glowing,” she says. “You were meant to be a mom.”

“Thank you.” Tears spring to your eyes. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

“No, no crying!” she laughs gently. “C’mon, we’ll get started with the games.” She leads you to your seat. “Those pregnancy hormones are a bitch, huh?”

You laugh and nod in agreement.

Eddie, meanwhile, is loading the plate with cupcakes and cookies, knowing you’ve had a mean sweet tooth lately. He brings it to you and you bite into a chocolate chip, savoring the taste. 

“This is exactly what Baby Munson wanted,” you state, taking another bite.

The next few hours pass in a flurry of games and gifts. You’re excited to go home with a collection of new bottles, burp cloths, teeny tiny clothes, and enough diapers that look like they’ll last a lifetime, but Joyce claims will only get you through the first week.

Eddie, Steve, and Hopper have loaded everything into the van, and everyone is helping clean up the Byers’ living room, when there’s a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” Joyce wonders aloud, and Hopper steps in front of her to answer the door. You know it’s never good when his instincts kick in.

On the other side of the door stands a tall, scrawny man. He’s got a scruffy beard that matches his salt-and-pepper hair. In his hand is an open bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag.

“Can I help you?” Hopper asks sternly as the man peers inside the house.

“Yeah, I’m jus’ lookin’ for--” he slurs, stopping when his eyes land on Eddie, who lets go of your hand to step forward.

“Dad?”

~

You could hear a pin drop as Eddie’s dad walks in the house, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie growls, clearly unnerved. Your mom puts an arm around you as your jaw drops open. Steve stands next to Eddie, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice.

“Got out of the clink a few days ago. Figured I’d come back to Hawkins and check up on ya. ‘S a small town, so I asked around about ya, and someone at the record store told me where y’were.” He hiccups and takes another swig from the bottle.

“You need to leave,” Eddie says tightly, fists clenched. “Now.”

But the man just ignores him, or maybe is too drunk to even comprehend what his son said. “So, y’knocked some poor girl up?” he laughs meanly. “Who’s the unlucky lady?”

His eyes find you, or rather, find your baby bump, and he points. “That pretty little thing? How’d you snag her?” Eddie’s silent; he’s heard the joke before, even thought it himself, but it’s never been said in such a condescending way.

“H-hi,” you manage, instinctively cradling your belly. “I’m Y/N.” 

He walks over to shake your hand, and you oblige nervously. “Pleasure.” He doesn’t introduce yourself, and you don’t care to get to know him anyway. “So, when do I get to meet my grandbaby?”

Eddie is seething now, shooting daggers from his eyes. “Your grandbaby? This baby isn’t your anything. Wayne’s the grandfather, just like Wayne’s my father, because you couldn’t be bothered to raise me.”

“Eddie, please,” you start. You just want to leave, curl up in a ball and cry. “Let’s just go home.”

But the man keeps going. “You think it’s so goddamned easy, huh? Just you wait and see. That baby’s gonna come, cry every 15 minutes, and you’ll be out the door, too.”

You see the look that passes over Eddie’s face. It’s a mixture of rage and hurt, and you step forward. Joyce tries to hold you back, but you pull from her grasp.

“Fuck you,” you spit, willing yourself not to cry. “Eddie is nothing like you, and he’s gonna be the best dad to our kid, and you will never, ever get to be any kind of a grandparent.” You’re shaking but you press on. “You’re going to leave this party, leave Hawkins, and get the hell out of our lives.”

“She’s a little spitfire, huh?” he says to no one in particular. “Us Munson men like ‘em feisty.”

You can’t catch Eddie’s arm before his fist comes crashing into his dad’s cheek. Blood trickles from the man’s mouth.

“I’ve wanted to do that for 10 years,” Eddie’s voice is rising, and Wayne puts a hand on his nephew’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. He makes eye contact with Hopper, who grabs the disgraced Munson by the shirt collar and tosses him into the back of his cop car. 

As soon as Mike closes the door, you collapse into your husband’s arms, trembling and crying.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Eddie murmurs into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “He’s gone.” He says the last part for himself more than for you.

Joyce suggests that you two head home, that she wasn’t going to have the guests of honor clean up anyway, and everyone agrees. You thank your guests and apologize, though you’re acutely aware that none of this is your fault.

~

The ride home is silent. Eddie’s leg bounces up and down and you put your hand on his thigh to ease his anxiety. It’s not until you get into the apartment and put down the first of many diaper boxes that you speak.

“Eddie, you know I meant everything I said, right?” You look at him, but he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Baby, look at me.”

When he does, you see that he’s crying. “I hate him,” he states, just a fact, voice barely above a whisper. “I hate him so fucking much.”

“I know. He doesn’t deserve your love or your respect.” You sit down on the couch and motion for him to join you. “He’s nothing more than a sperm donor.”

Eddie isn’t comforted by this. “Y’see, that’s the thing!” he starts, choking back a sob. “He’s part of me. I can try and pretend like he’s nothing to me, but the truth is, he’s my dad, which means that some piece of me is like some piece of him.”

You take a sharp breath in. “Do you remember our first date, when you took me to Enzo’s and we played footsie all night?” He gives a small smile, so you continue. “Or our first kiss, when we bumped into each other outside the Radio Shack and we realized we both got Dustin the same thing for his birthday?”

“Of course I remember,” he says, taking your hand and rubbing his thumb over yours.

“How about when you proposed after playing that beautiful song you wrote for me, and you told me all the things you love about me, and how I make you feel?”

He nods.

“Or when I told you I was pregnant, and I was absolutely terrified, and you reassured me that everything would be okay,” you rest your head on his shoulder. “And those were just some of the big moments. There’s the little things, the things that really add up. Like how you massage my scalp after a stressful day at work. Or how you always get me a little surprise from the grocery store. Or how you’ve been checking out those pregnancy and parenting books from the library, writing down the stuff you want to remember.” You nudge him gently.

“Eds, that’s all you. Your dad wouldn’t do any of that stuff. He’s never done anything to help anyone but himself. But you, Eddie Munson,” you poke a finger to his chest, “you are always thinking of others. Sometimes to a fault,” you tease. 

“I love you so much.” He’s holding your hand tight as you kiss away his tears. “You’re my everything. You and this baby.” He bends down to kiss your tummy.

“I love you more. And this baby is gonna love you. Gonna absolutely adore their sweet, caring, silly, metal daddy.” You brush your fingers through his curls. “You’ll have them singing Metallica before they say ‘mama’.”

“Sounds about right,” he laughs. You can tell he’s not totally convinced about his parenting abilities, though.

“We’re gonna make mistakes. Sometimes you, sometimes me, sometimes both of us. But we’re gonna stick around to fix them. When we mess up, we’ll apologize. And I know,” you choke up, “I know that we are gonna have so many more wins than losses.”

You feel his tension ease a bit. “You really think I can do this?” he asks.

Another flutter in your belly as the baby kicks. “Not just me. We both do.”

--

[godwithwethands]

TOM CRUISE as Roy Miller in KNIGHT AND DAY (2010) dir. James Mangold

[pies-writes-and-more]

when you’re crying over something... somewhat silly

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Tsukishima Kei, & Kozume Kenma, all with a Fem!Reader

Warnings: subtle mentions in Iwaizumi’s that Y/N might be having her period, but fluff otherwise! Also, I very much so didn’t look over this much and kinda rushed the idea so I’m sorry for any inconsistencies or mistakes!

A/N: these are totally made up situations and definitely not situations based on me and my real life period moments when I cry at everything LOL (a nice thank you to my IRL boyfriend for putting up with my shenanigans haha). Also thank you @thisnoodlewritesao3​ for coming up with the idea for Kenma’s! I hope you all enjoy!

Haikyuu Masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Iwaizumi was going to kill Oikawa. He wasn’t sure how or why, but he got the sense that the tears in your eyes were because of that idiot. He had only just arrived at your place and you had seemed totally fine earlier when he called to make sure it was okay for him to swing by. So what had happened between then and now?

“Why’re you crying dear?” Iwaizumi’s voice was soft as he climbed into your bed with you, opening his arms and letting you crawl into his lap.

“C-Cause Oikawa and I were sending each other things through Instagram and he showed me this post that said that penguins mate for life. And the male will go around looking for the s-smoothest rock he can find to give to his mate so that they can make a nest together,” you hiccuped, inhaling shakily as you retold the not-so-sad fact.

Iwaizumi just stared at you. He didn’t want to be that guy but he knew the signs. You had specifically been craving your favourite chocolate bars this week and even snapped at him the other day for breathing too loud. You had complained yesterday about your shoulders and back hurting, even after he had helped rub out any tight spots.

He knew it didn’t matter whether you were having that or not, your feelings were all valid, but it definitely explained why you were crying like someone had just died.

“Isn’t that good?” He asked you finally, kissing your forehead gently as he wrapped his arms tighter around you.

You just nodded and sniffled in his arms, clutching his shirt, “Y-Yea.”

“So why are you crying, my love?” he asked with a soft chuckle and you looked up at him with a tearful smile.

“Cause... would you give me a pebble if we were penguins?” 

Iwaizumi couldn’t contain his laughter, pressing his head to yours as he hugged you even tighter, “I love you,” he finally said with a grin. “And yes, I’d give you a pebble.”

Your tears cleared up after his answer, smiling to yourself as you thought about you and Iwaizumi’s as penguins and building a nest together.

But it didn’t take long for your tears to start again when Iwaizumi picked up a nice smooth and pretty looking rock on your evening walk together and handed it to you, asking to be mates for life. He apologized profusely as you cried but you tried to insist that you were happy and held the little rock in your hands like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing as he closed his eyes in annoyance. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into you recently but he knew that him yelling at you was probably just going to make things worse.

Your sniffling only irked him more though. He hated knowing you were crying over something easily solvable but refused for it to be fixed.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whined when he finally opened his eyes and give you a slight glare. “I just want snacks!” Your eyes were filled with tears as you hugged your knees to your chest, pouting to yourself on his bed.

“I told you, we can go get the snacks then. You just have to get out of bed,” Tsukishima told you for what felt like the 50th time.

You shook your head stubbornly, wiping your tears from your eyes quickly, “No! I don’t wanna leave! I’m comfy! If we leave, I have to come back and no longer be as comfy!”

Tsukishima breathed in slowly, trying to remember that he loved you and he had known you were going to be this difficult when he first asked you out. You were stubborn and stupid and annoying but he loved it and he found you oddly amusing. Except for right now maybe.

“Okay, so I’ll go get the snacks. Just let me get ready-” he stood up from the bed, already planning the mini trip in his head.

But your hand grabbed his and tugged him back on the bed, shaking your head yet again, “No! I don’t want you to leave!” You insisted, hugging his arm. “Don’t go!”

“How do you expect me to get you snacks without leaving, Y/N,” he groaned, flicking your head with his free hand. “You gotta pick. You either come with me and get snacks, let me go get the snacks, or live without snacks.”

You didn’t like either of these three options and just whimpered some incoherent noises, grabbing a pillow and stuffing your face into it with some more sounds.

Tsukishima sighed and glanced at his phone and the clock next to him. His fingers tapped lightly on the screen before pulling you close to him and curling up next to you in bed. “Come on, put on that dumb anime you like.”

You whined out some more noises, still upset there were no snacks for you to eat while the two of you hung out, but you complied and just watched your shows with Tsukishima. He was just glad he was able to distract you long enough while Akiteru ran to the store and got you the snacks you had been craving and brought them over.

You had only just stopped crying and probably forgotten about the snacks, when Akiteru came knocking with his arms filled with everything. You started crying almost immediately out of happiness and Tsukishima felt so embarrassed with how tightly you hugged him in front of his brother (though he likes making you happy, even if you’re happy while crying).

Kenma wasn’t sure what to do, finding you on the floor of your room in tears with your headphones in your hands.

“What’s wrong with them?” He asked you quietly, kinda annoyed that you had asked him to randomly come over tonight, but also still kinda happy to see you. 

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes, holding them up to him as he stood next to you, “It’s too loud.”

Kenma stared at you blankly for a moment, “Just turn down the headphone volume.”

“But then it’s too quiet!”

The boy wasn’t quite sure what you wanted him to do about this, and wondered why he had dragged himself out of a game just to see you. 

Right, I love her, he reminded himself with a sigh, plopping onto the floor next to you. “Why don’t you just play without headphones then?” He asked, glancing at the game that was currently paused on your tv screen.

“Cause I don’t wanna bug everyone else when it gets louder,” you pouted, curling up in a ball and hiding your face from him. “I’m sorry, Kenma, I didn’t mean to bring you here over something so stupid,” you mumbled, knowing that tonight, Kenma had wanted to try and finish the level on his game he had been stuck on for weeks now.

“It’s fine. If I didn’t want to see you, I wouldn’t have come,” he shrugged, reaching over and patting your head slightly. “Don’t cry though, it’s not worth your tears,” he insisted, going to your game options and changing the settings of how loud the game itself was. “Here.”

He moved to put your headphones back on your head, glancing at you every time he rearranged the settings to see if you liked it better or worse, “Is that okay?” He asked after a moment.

You nodded slowly, a bit embarrassed that you hadn’t thought about it. Kenma was sure to get annoyed with you if you kept pulling shit like this. He’d get bored with you like he did with games he had already played. 

“Can I play with you?” He asked suddenly, grabbing the second controller that was lying on a nearby table. 

You looked up at him in surprise, “You want to stay?”

He gave a small nod, eyes still fixated on the game on the screen, “I’ve never played this game with two players. Plus I’m already here and you’re the only person I like to play 2 player games with. Kuroo gets too loud and annoying,” he explained, already setting up the game even if you hadn’t officially said yes yet.

But the two of you got comfortable real quick, Kenma guiding you through all the cool easter egg parts of the game, a small smile on his face when he glanced down at you to see how intrigued you were by the game.

“I like playing with you,” he said after a moment, randomly.

You watched him with wide eyes, measuring the genuineness of his words by the expression on his face (though Kenma never seemed to say anything he didn’t mean). “I like playing with you too,” you whispered, tearing up again. Kenma quickly tried to distract you with the game as he noticed the tears, but soon realized that cuddles worked just as well. 

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

@al0ehas​ @aurumk​ @devilkittymusic​ @thisnoodlewritesao3​ @satan-ruler-of-hells​ @trashy-simp​ @jeppiet​ @tobi-momo​ @darkvadeeer​ @haikyuutothetop​ @livy384​ @babyshoyo​ @jesssobs​

[earlgreydream]

red.

| bucky x reader | smut | fluff |

anon requested. using your safeword with Bucky

cw: spanking, overstimulation, impact play, use of safeword, humiliation kink

Bucky watched you shudder, your fingers gripping the edge of the table. Your soft sobs echoed in his ears, and you tensed anxiously as you heard him shift his weight.

Every movement and sound from Bucky had you bracing yourself, fearing another lash from the designer belt in his hand. He’d delivered countless red stripes across your burning skin, pulled tight from your unforgiving position.

Your pleas and apologies fell on deaf ears, and you’d given up after Bucky’s tenth blow. You bit the inside of your lip so hard a metallic taste filled your mouth, all in an attempt to silence your pathetic crying.

The mahogany tabletop was cold against your bare skin. You were stripped fully naked in front of your dom, while he remained clothed, adding to your humiliation. Your face were sticky with tears, your cheek resting on the tabletop as your eyes trained on the pale yellow wall of your kitchen.

Your body jolted forward as Bucky’s belt cracked down against your skin, sending a sharp stripe of pain through the burning flesh, up your spine and into your core. Your muscles tightened around the silicone that was buried in your bum, which Bucky pressed or tugged on every so often to increase your discomfort.

The pain was intense, blurring your vision and stinging through your skin with crimson heat. Your muscles ached as you squeezed around the jeweled toy, and you were raw from Bucky’s earlier overstimulation.

Bucky watched the black leather connect with your skin, harshly reminding you to never repeat the transgressions that had put you here.

Sheriff Bodecker had caught you trespassing, trying to break into a warehouse. Your friends had fled but you had been caught with no possibility of escape. Your dom, Bucky, didn’t even realize you’d snuck out while he’d been pulling a late night in his office, and was furious when he got the phone call from his best friend. Luckily, because of their relationship, you were let off with a warning.

You may have gotten lucky with the law, but you’d rather have spent a night in a holding cell then bent over the table in front of a very angry Bucky.

Your punishment had lasted hours. Your throat was raw from being brutally fucked, followed by being overstimulated to the point it was like white-hot pain when Bucky’s tongue lapped through your folds.

The leather belt connecting with the underside of your ass, right at the top of your thighs, had all the air knocked out of your lungs. Two more hits came in quick succession, and the pain was practically blinding.

You couldn’t endure anymore, long past your limit. You’d tried to tough it out and be brave, knowing it would please Bucky and get you in his good graces. And you had taken your punishment well, but now you were so small and weak and brutalized in front of him, you had to put an end to it.

“Red, red!” You cried, trembling as your safeword came out in a scream.

Bucky’s belt hit the floor, and his entire demeanor shifted instantly.

“Y/N, my love, it’s okay, you’re done, beautiful. I’m so sorry for not stopping earlier,” his voice was gentle and tinged with concern.

He moved to kiss your cheek, gently laying his hands on your back.

“I’m scared,” you confessed tearfully, and guilt bubbled up in his chest.

“Oh my love, you’re completely safe. We’re alright, you did great,” he praised you, taking the smaller hand that reached for his. It grounded you a bit, and you squeezed him tightly.

“Going to get this out of you, yeah? Deep breath for me,” he guided you, pulling the silicone toy out of you. You choked on a sob at the action, folding your arms under you and hugging your body tightly.

“I tried to take it,” you mumbled, desperate for Bucky’s approval.

“Doll, I know. I was too hard on you, but you took it so well,” Bucky’s gentle reassurance calmed you.

Bucky watched as you started shivering, your body cold from the kitchen temperatures and the cream he was applying to your burning skin. He apologized softly for the discomfort, kissing the back of your shoulder blade. 

He gently helped you up, noting your timid footsteps as you walked painfully back to your bedroom, slipping one of his oversized cotton shirts over your head, covering your body without irritating your skin any further. 

Bucky caught your hand, turning you toward him and gazing into your glassy eyes. He cradled your face and pulled you into a loving kiss, relaxing a bit as you melted forward into his body, wrapping your arms around his neck. He whispered how much he loved you into your lips, his large hands snaking to your waist and gently squeezing you. 

“Can I get you to eat and drink some water?” he asked as he kissed your neck.

“Tea?” you tried, making the soldier grin at you.

“Anything you want, doll.”

You returned his smile, walking to the living room and laying on your stomach, one of the yellow throw pillows tucked under your head. The aftercare you received from Bucky was always worth it, and you smiled as cinnamon tea and chocolate was set in front of you, while a fantasy TV show played softly on Netflix. 

Bucky let you get comfortable on his lap, his hand coming to settle on your waist. He watched you eat, the color slowly returning to your face and your eyes brightening. There were no traces of distrust or anger in your gaze, and Bucky let himself relax as you curled up on top of him. 

You drifted off on your boyfriend, the leftover tension in your body fading as sleep consumed you. He lightly traced over the marks on your skin, making you sigh and stir. He kissed your temple, promising he loved you.

You woke up a couple hours later, feeling significantly better than you had in the morning. Bucky held a book in his hand, silver eyes traveling over the words as his free hand traced the divets of your spine through your thin shirt.

“I love you,” you yawned, stretching your arms and moving to sit on his lap, ignoring the dull pain as you settled down on top of him. He kissed you, setting his book aside and focusing his entire attention on you. 

“You alright?” 

You nodded, giggling as his scruffy face brushed against your cheeks, kissing you everywhere and tickling you.

“Need to hear your words, doll.”

“Yes, I’m fine,” you held him still and pressed your lips against his.

You dragged your fingers through his dark hair, earning a pleased hum from Bucky. His arms snaked tightly around your waist, hugging you against his chest. He wanted to keep you in his arms forever, and you were more than happy to let him. 

“Are you going to stop fretting?” You asked, kissing along his neck. 

“No. I’m going to worry about you, especially after seeing you crying and screaming our safeword.”

“If I wasn’t okay, I would’ve been on the first train out of Brooklyn. Trust me like I trust you, Bucky.”

He knew you were right, and he relaxed a bit, letting his chin rest on your shoulder.

“Besides, if I left, who would watch Netflix with me?” you teased.

“Nobody. You’re lucky to have me,” Bucky lightly nipped at your shoulder, and you shrieked with giggles, struggling out of his arms as you tried to turn the show back on. 

[muffindaddystyles]

𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐃

Author note: Mention of drugs, sickness and blood (if you're not comfortable with it don't read it) . It mighty be heart warming fluffyyyyyy.

You're his kitten. No matter the consequences you're. Cause even in his anger sometimes (which's rare and it's on the silly go-to's) he still sticks to that pet name because he met you like that under the bus stop's shelter in a heavy rain offered you an umbrella (while you were huffing and puffing like a kitten annoyed with the weather), walked you home, had a tea with you and some chocolate chip cookies. Been bestfriends from that year and there isn't a red light to your guys wild adventures—but he's been having a rough time recently. Had a cruel heart shattering breakup from a relationship that he thought was a never ending dream (she brought him happiness in a weird way he couldn't put into words) indeed it tightened your chest but his happiness's most important to you. To overcome it he's been scribbling notebooks over notebooks with lyrics that screams he miss her and the sex for the most part of it. It breaks your heart.

He's usually the one to melt all over you, give you forehead kisses, cuddles you when your periods are the bitchiest, makes you brekkie if he stays a night, runs you a bath and sometimes brings you pomegranate berried candles (he lies that he got them as a gift, he's one hell of a liar). He takes care of you with so much gentleness and helps you with study after wiping your tears and reassuring you telling you how proud he's of you. It made you guilty sometimes 'cos if you'd be in camille's place. . .you'd never be able not to get jealous. She was cool with it. Fills you with another curiosity that maybe she treated it like a fling.

He was devastated. Knocking on your door feebly. Then the moment your small confused body was under his weary gaze, boom!! It crashed upon him like a pitch storm and he fell to his knees tucking his head in your armpit crying his heart out. At that moment you felt his pain radiating to you and twisting your own stomach with a dagger, it was insufferable. He gave out no-deep scrapes but not to freak your bones muttered that he lost her. Eventually his bottled up emotions seeped into hues infront of you by passing week and to your littlest of information you got to know that they didn't ended up well in some perspectives so their relationship turned out to be a downfall. So As, you do with your girlie best-friend when she have a breakup you did it with Harry too. It didn't included feral clubbing (you left that part to his mates) but watching sappy movies that could fill your ice-cream bucket once you eat it whole, doing homemade face masks, playing drunk uno and knocking on your neighbours door to run way at last, dragging his arse to museum and in all of this you ended up convincing him to adopt a kitty (she lives with you thou).

The roles have been reversed completely!

He's been living at your flat for five weeks now. It's fading his usual cheekiness and the itch to annoy you every second he gets. Instead, it's just eating, spending bits of hours with you, going out with his mates and coming back to crash at your couch padding in your room in the wee of night demanding a warm coddle from you and that his back hurts from the cruelty of that single spring popping from the leather, staying with him when he'd wrench his stomach out in the morning. He's sensitive. His heart's soft that's one of the reason he gets hurt real quick, you admire that about him and reminds him that it's one of his qualities you're totally in love with. You're gentle with him. Giving him space and time to recover. Going with him at his friend's birthday little get together not drinking at all knowing one would have to stay sober as he chugged red wine staining his hawain shirt and when he clumsily poked his pink tongue out lazily to reach for the cigarette in her hand you tugged him back into you before he'd burn his tongue with sparkles announcing it's time to head back home and he'd be a pain in arse (a beautiful one though because his antics makes you all mushy) when he pretended to steal sandwiches from the table hiding them under his shirt saying that "'m pregnant with twins and it's hard to carry them" while you dragged him outside making him wear his coat like a stubborn toddler. Making him cupcakes sometimes, playing with his fluff of curls while he reads the book she gave him. It hurts. But, it subsides down with his single amiable glance that tells you he needs you. He always had. He always will. You give him extra forehead kisses and pecks on cheek while leaving for UNI, because it's irresistible to give dust to his pouty sulk.

It's seven in the morning when he tumbled through your door (has a key, you even brought his clothes and toothbrush from his house—he even uses your strawberry scented shampoo and body wash) his nose tip blushed matching his cheeks, eyes pooling with haze and hair poking in every direction. You were studying for a class you've in an hour. When you saw his irirses blown out you arched your brow putting the cup down beside your thick book, to mingle his sadness he's experimenting different fun wild things (told you bout it and you even called Mitch to take care of him).

"How many am I, pet?" You asked walking towards him seeing him struggle to get out of his vans and your giggles echoed into coldness when he peers down at your crouched state with his gold fish-y eyes, "dunno. . . but ye'r seem like. .like a-a sunflower floatin' in me head." His lips molding around his each word agonisingly slow drawl and his voice hoarse and scratchy. "You need rest, bambi." You got him out of his jeans and socks knowing he despises to sleep with layers on. "I'll be back with you in some hours. Hmm? Then we'll snuggle into blankets, you me and. . .salsa the pussy cat." You have to control your laugh everytime you take the kitty's name (Harry's worst at giving names you were horrified when he once joked that he loves chelsea boots so much he could name his daughter Chelsea) He whines at that nodding his head but not loosening his grip from around your wrist while you tucked him under your baby green patch work quilt. It's like his brain and heart can't decide how to choose.

On your way back you got Jeff's call asking why Harry isn't picking his phone his own voice resembling that of Harry's and you know he'd be looking shit at the time. Harry was still snoring out like a bulb in bright day on his tummy and you shook him gently at first but when he didn't woke up you had to be a bit harsher. "Harry wake up pet. . . Jeff's been calling ye for since." But, not even a hum in response so you placed your finger under his nose checking if he's even alive. Gratefully he was just sleeping like a literal corpse (he argues that he isn't that bad of a sleeper but in fact he is. Everything around him would burn down and he wouldn't even change a side).

It was seven in the evening when you were preparing for dinner when he woke up grumpy. His nose scrunched up, lips quirked up as if he tasted something yucky and his gait jello. You eyed him quietly even when he came in kitchen to drink water.

"Jeff was callin'. . ." You quipped stirring the veggies before pouring soup into a bowl and sliding it his way on the counter, "I know bombarded me phone with calls—" He gruffed spooning a mouthful and you flinched when he tried to cool it inside his mouth with "hawahhoohaha" little sounds (he knew it was hot, he's just an impatient leech).

"Stop being a gremlin. He told me ye' aren't writing, leaving everything like a cliffhanger neither you're attending the meetings he calls you at. . . I think you're done with your mourning it's time to do what you actually love and is there for you. Your music." You frown seriously trying to put some senses into his forever high brain. He drops the spoon back and dips his brows frustratedly, pinching his eyes shut.

"Fuckin' hell. Stop being my mama!" It's not the first time you guys are arguing and you're not gonna take it to heart. You stood up towering him and jabbing your finger to his chest, "you better stop filling your system with drugs before eighteen year olds come to you thinking you're a drug dealer—" He snickers at that a total mocking one (you know he's doing nothing hard it's just shrooms in the safe environment otherwise you'd have never never allowed him) but still you had to bring him back to his line so it was necessary. "Piss off." He mutters still slurping on his soup and you left him there with a loud smack on his head, "Wanker."

You care about him. Always did. Always will. He's the love of your life. Even your love has nourishment of just water and lacks sunshine from your sun it's still there into existence, how could you see him like this? Wasting his precious time and energy. It's impossible.

All you heard before going to deep slumber was the tinsy creak of your main door after that it was silent and darkness until now your phone buzzed under your pillow resonating Niall's tired words. You were a wreck havoc fumbling for your coat and wallet, covering pathway to tube with shivering legs hallucinating that everyone's eyeing your fiddly self with judgemental stare even though there're few.

You rushed to Niall's doorsteps knocking like a maniac, "where's he? Is he okay? told ye—" You pushed him aside marching inside to look for him. "He looked fine, he's a strong guy y/n they took him to hospital." You snaps your neck raising your brows.

"What the fuck, d'ya mean hospital!?" Your heart hammering in her ribcage overthinking the worst scenarios. "Take me there. right. fuckin' now." You tell him firmly not caring even if he's high too. Niall leads you to his car heating it up in the first beat taking glances of your petite body leaning against the glass with lips sucked in, eyes watered and legs constantly on bounce so placed his hand atop your knee giving you reassuring squeeze and a genial smile.

Your pink cheeks warming up with the heat of hospital radiating your way and loud growl left your chest when your blurry vision cleared to the sight of dishelved Harry sitting on the bench outside of ER, his irirses weary, mouth stuffed with cotton and has few scratches of rashes on his elbows otherwise he's fine. With each step of yours towards him something kept breaking inside you like you're walking on the nails and it's ripping you raw. He raised his head timidly hearing footsteps and when his eyes fell over your worried state panic flashed over his features and his only gaze turned you a puddling emitting heavy sobs within you before reaching towards him. The reality of situation dawning upon you because from what Niall told you in the car that they were high trying to have some fun, drove around neighbour hood and Harry jumped out of the window and bit his tongue between his teeth resulting in heavy bleeding a deep gnash (the fuckin' dumbstick he is).

"I hate you. I hate you so fuckin' much! you bastard." You tried to shout at him but the voice that came out of your mouth was that of mice as you threw harsh blows at his chest, bottom lip jutting wet and salty tears tricking down. He wraps his hand around your wrists ushering you closer down to his chest speaking muffled, "'orry." causing you to grunt angrily into the crook of his neck.

"Sorry my ass!" When you tried to pull back he tightened his hold round your neck snuggling you warmly to him with a hum. Jeff came back with medicines and when he parted his lips to speak in his defence you ignored him wiping your tears with the heel of your palms muttering a, "I hate you guys." The drive back was silent and the walk to your flat too, you passed by him to lock yourself into your room (you wouldn't because of the fact you wouldn't be able to sleep if not sure he's okay few feets away from you). When Harry attempted to roll his tongue to make some words nothing came out but a hiss making you spin, "'s okay we'll speak in the mornin'." Saying this you headed to bed and when you were bout to turn the lamp off he was lurking at the foot of your bed with a pillow in his arms smushing his face into it and squeezing it close to his chest gesticulating you that he wants a cuddle.

"Only 'cos y're adorable." You muttered moving your bum to make space for him suppressing your cooe when he grinned showing nothing but snow cotton, fuckin' hell being this cute should be illegal! He snapped his finger to call Salsa and she instantly galloped to shrink into his side while you spooned him. You woke up to the running tap and the time you were stretching under your quilt with yawns he padded out looking healed than last night.

He got a little lisp as he spoke, "can we talk?" You nodded knuckling at your sticky eyes criss-crossing your legs. "'Forgive me kitten." He continues, "sorry fo' mistreatin' ye' last night." You shake your head not realizing tears are dropping down your collarbones.

"Please. . .I don't wanna be a party-pooper in your life. you can live your life to finest but not at the sake of your life Harry– and. . . and if you're trying to invade the feelin' of sadness with all of this I don't approve it. What bout me? dunno what'll do if somethin' will happen to you, pet. S'not fair to me. is it? Just. . . love y—" your confessions cameflouging with sobs.

"Oh baby. ." He immediately cradled you in his embrace trying to soothe you with 'sorrys' and 'I'll never do somethin' like that again, promise'. Smooching slobery kisses all over your face and when you gazed up at him attracting him closer to your clean warm features all he did was peck the corner of your lips tenderly pulling away to pat your hair with a sigh.

"So. . .ye' love me." He teased you and you rolled your eyes grabbing his chin with your fingers, "show me your tongue." biting down your laugh when he retorted misheviously, "hmm. Wanna kiss it better?" Blowing him off with a remark that he's an utter pervert hiding the fact it splashed crimson to your neck.

"Mind makin' me poor self some brekkie?" He pouts and you giggled pecking the corner of his burgundy lips getting a timid smile in return, "in trade of?" He hip-checked you straddling Salsa over his shoulder and grabbing her little paws to expertise her in some dancey-dance moves.

"Mind bloggin' orgasm–ique dinner." He cackled loudly at the end when you shook your head in fake disappointment at him and he clinged by your side helping you to make some breakfast.

Think so you guys will figure it out.

[softliebgott]

HONEY DRIPPING OVER SUGARED TONGUES

PROMPT: You are a nurse at a regimental aid station in an abandoned cathedral some miles from the forest outside Bastogne, Belgium. You frequently interact with E Company’s medic, Eugene Roe, and have developed a strong bond with him. He has seen so much pain and death among his friends. It has only made him more kind, a little more haunted, and a little needy for affection.

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The muffled, drum beats of bombs outside of the cathedral walls kindled your anxiety like a sparkler. At first, your anxiety was a torturous, slow burn, but as the bombing dissipated, so did your worries. Momentarily. The cathedral could be hit at any time, and the last thing you and your patients would hear would be the shrill cry of a bomb.

You dipped your tweezers into the bloody rabbit hole the bullet had made for itself in your new patient’s shoulder. His face, cobweb white, had fresh tear trails slicing through the dirt on his skin, and his Adam’s apple bobbed nervously.

The bullet had missed the subclavian artery, and with low medical supplies, the soldier requested the morphine be saved for someone who needed it more. As you pinched the tweezers on the bullet, he pursed his lips. 

“I need you to stay still,” you murmured. When you had first started treating soldiers, their agonized sounds and gnarled faces were often sprinkled into your dreams. There was one scream that held a tonality nature did not compare with any other that had been cemented into your brain. You had no idea a human could produce such an outlandish noise. It partially reminded you of a fox’s wail. Although it had happened two years prior, you could still remember it as the most prominent moment.

As you pulled out the bullet, your patient’s Adam’s apple stood out like an arrowhead buried in his throat, and he tried to stifle pained noises. Once the bullet was out, he sighed in relief and closed his eyes.

The bullet looked as if it had been dipped in red punch. You dropped it into a tin bowl, and then started to clean the wound. From the steady rise and fall of the soldier’s chest, you figured he had taken sleep’s hand. Good. He needed rest.

After you had stitched and patched the wound, you craved fresh air. Stepping outside, winter breathed on you, leaching your body heat as if to try to keep itself warm. Surrounding you was a white canvas smeared with smoke and congested with debris and rubble from demolished buildings. You settled down on a chair, nuzzling your face into the collar of your wool coat, and listened to the crackling of lone fires.

A small burst of color in the glum sight, a red cross embroidered on an armband, caught your eye. He had seen you first, your Eugene Roe, a man whose price of a tender heart was feeling the war’s pain. The cold had paled his skin like that of a corpse, and reddened his nose and ears. His expression, as soft and warm as the sunlight’s morning rays, swept away your anxieties and ignited a fever in your heart. Each beat fanned out the heat in your chest. You were always so happy to see him. He made the war a little more bearable.

He picked up a chair, set it next to you, and sat down, his arm touching yours. The wooden seat creaked in surprise against his weight. He removed his helmet and put it on the ground. His black hair reminded you of a cat you saw some days ago, and you noticed that stubble had started to grow along his jawline.

You felt in your pocket and remembered the chocolate ration. Hunger had evaded you most of the day, but the thought of a sweet treat beckoned it back. You pulled the ration out. “Hungry?” You asked Eugene.

He glanced to it. “Sure,” he said, his Louisiana Cajun accent heavy yet boyish. Tired.

You began to tear at the wrapper, your fingers trembling from the cold and the sudden onslaught of hunger.

He noticed this. “Your hands...are you not eating again?”

“It’s hard sometimes...” you said softly. “I want to do as much as I can for the wounded.” Which not only meant scarce moments to eat, but to sleep. Exhaustion weighed your limbs down like wet rags and tempted your eyes to close. You broke off half of the chocolate and offered it to Eugene.

“No, you take it. You need it more.”

You bit down on the candy, hardened by the cold, grateful to have something in your stomach. 

“How much sleep have you gotten?” Eugene asked.

“The past two days...a little over four hours.”

His eyebrows squished together, concerned. “Why don’t you take some time to sleep now?” He murmured, gently bumping your arm with his. “You need it just as much as they do. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Your body was already in agreement, growing heavier and more drowsy. You leaned against Eugene, resting your head on his shoulder, and lazily nibbled on your chocolate. He tangled his fingers with yours and squeezed. Both of you were unfazed by each other’s cold touch, because your hearts were warm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Gene...” 

He was too shy to say it aloud, always so fearful of your response, but he thought, I may never find the words beautiful enough to describe all that you mean to me, but I will spend the rest of the war finding them...and finding the courage to tell you.

You were ripped from your sleep by the frantic calls of a soldier from a truck. “Nurse! Nurse, we need your help!”

You unraveled your fingers from Eugene’s, your hand immediately missing his warmth, and jogged toward the truck. Adrenaline gave new life to you, an energy you hadn’t felt for days. 

As you talked with the soldier, Eugene had gathered his helmet and walked over. 

You moved to the back of a truck where a man lay, still alive, with his torso riddled with bullet holes.

Eugene leaned to you and said, “I’ll see you when I can.”

Anxiety made its dreaded return. You grasped his arm, blood caking your hand like caramel over an apple. “Be safe,” you told him.

He nodded, his smile as soft as rose petals. He glanced to the wounded man and then left, your bloody hand print still grabbing his sleeve. 

Some days passed, all without the presence of Eugene. Your anxiety turned cruel, parasitic. It force fed you thoughts that made you tremble as if on low blood sugar, and your nose and eyes sting with the threat of tears. The anxiety robbed you of any potential sliver of an appetite, and ruthlessly burdened your bones with exhaustion. How terrible was it to love something that death could touch.

But.

Your friend, another nurse, approached you and said a medic was waiting for you in a room isolated from the patients.

Heart drumming, you hurried to the area, wiping your hands dry on your uniform. When you rounded the corner, Eugene was there, holding his helmet against his abdomen. Something felt different. His face looked more hardened, but as always his eyes were as soft as melted chocolate. Had he unintentionally welcomed more ghosts into his mind? Ghosts of comrades, and even the enemy? New memories to lash out at him in quiet moments and in sleep?

Yes, it was true. But it didn’t strip him of his softness. In fact, it had only made him more kind, and determined. In those few days, it made him come to reason with death and tragedy. It could happen at any time, and that he should not wait to say what he wanted to those he loved. Otherwise, he would lose them before he could.

He set down his helmet on the ground and approached you.

Befuddled, you whispered, “Gene...?”

Before you could begin to process, his cold hands were on either side of your face. His mouth swooped down to catch yours, and everything went oddly quiet, like the moment of silence between lightning and thunder. It stole your breath and gave it back. It let you know that every other kiss you’ve had in your life had been wrong, and that your anxiety was indeed love for him, too.

[galactic-magick]

Everyone Deserves a Home: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: You go to the animal shelter with Steve at Christmastime.

Rating: G

Words: 1200+

Warnings: literally just fluff. This is hallmark level cheesiness tbh

Author’s Notes: I’m way too in love with Steve Harrington. I already have two more holiday fic ideas for him. I probably need help but at least I’m getting some decent fic out of it right?

-

-

-

You hop into the passenger’s seat of your boyfriend’s car, instinctively leaning in for a kiss. He smiles against your lips and doesn’t pull away until you do.

“So, where to?” he asks.

“I heard the animal shelter is having an open house today, that might be fun,”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve grins and puts a hand on your shoulder as he backs out of the driveway.

This is fairly normal for the two of you, he just calls you and asks if you want to go out and then you decide on somewhere on a whim. If you’re hungry you go out to eat, and if you’re both broke you have a picnic. You’ve visited every place worth visiting in the small town of Hawkins, as well as every place that isn’t. Sometimes when you can’t think of anything to do, you’ll just go on a walk with him in the woods. It really doesn’t matter to either of you what you’re doing or where you are, as long as you’re together.

Today, though, you know exactly what you want to do. You’ve been missing Mews a lot recently, so when you saw an ad for some cats and dogs in need of adoption, going to the shelter is all you’ve wanted to do. Maybe petting animals for an hour or so will make you feel better.

 -

 As soon as you walk in the door, your smile is so wide it reaches your eyes. You squeal at the cuteness of all the kittens and puppies near the front. You pull Steve with you to the fences, many of the puppies already trying to crawl up to see both of you.

A fluffy chocolate-colored puppy wags their tail and looks up at Steve.

“I think that one likes you,” you giggle, pointing to it.

“Aw, he’s adorable,” he picks the puppy up gently and runs his fingers through its fur.

You fluff up the thick fur around its head, “Looks a bit like you,”

“Very funny,” he slowly puts the dog down and gets distracted by some of the other ones.

You head over to the kittens on the other side of the room, high pitched meows filling your ears. Many of them are rolling around or swiping at yarn balls, some scratching at the fence. You pick up an orange kitten and it starts liking at your fingers. It clings to your shirt with its tiny claws and purrs softly. It looks so much like Mews did as a kitten, and honestly you’re not sure you can bear constantly being reminded that your cat was viciously eaten by a demagorgon.

Steve comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, “That one’s cute,”

“Yeah, it’s just-“ you sigh as you carefully put the kitten back on the floor.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he kisses your cheek and holds you tighter. Steve never really knew Mews, since he didn’t really become close with you and Dustin until after she died, but he’s seen pictures and you’ve told him about her. “You wanna take a look at some of the older cats?”

“Sure,” you nod, allowing him to take your hand and walk you down the hall.

There’s a room full of crates with cats of all kinds and ages. Most of them are rescue, some that had owners that passed away or couldn’t take care of them anymore. You run up to the little doors and pet as many kitties as you can, many of them purring, some growling a bit. Steve nearly jumps out of his skin when one hisses at him, making you chuckle.

You come across one black cat huddled in the corner of his crate, lifting his head slightly when he sees you. He’s missing an eye and he’s pretty skinny.

“What happened to this one?” you ask the worker feeding one of the cats nearby.

“We’re not completely sure, actually. Someone brought him in, said they found him in the snow on the side of the road,” she says. “He’s been pretty shy, but you can try holding him if you want,” You nod vigorously. The worker opens the crate door and places the cat carefully in your arms. He purrs almost immediately on contact, closing his one eye and rubbing his head against you. You’re nearly brought to tears at the sweetness.

“I love him,”

“He’s not available for adoption just yet because we still need to get him healthy, but in a few weeks you’re welcome to come back,” You look up at Steve, who seems to have equally fallen in love with the cat. He meows at Steve and reaches his paw out.

“Does he want me?”

“I think so,” you laugh, handing the cat over. Steve looks like he’s about to melt as the cat claws his sweater, purring and nuzzling his face into him. “Does he have a name?”

“He didn’t have a collar, but one of my co-workers likes to call him Anakin, say he looks like scarred Darth Vader from the last Star Wars movie,”

You smile, “I like that,”

 -

 It’s Christmas Eve. You, Dustin, and your mom are watching some old Christmas movie on the TV and eating probably way too many Christmas cookies. The house smells of pine, citrus, and sugar, and your fingertips are crisp from the cold.

The animal shelter told you they’d call you when Anakin was healthy enough to be taken home, and you still haven’t gotten a call in the last few weeks. You’re starting to worry maybe something happened to him or someone else got him.

The doorbell rings, and you get up to answer it.

“Hey beautiful,” Steve catches your lips before you even have the chance to process him standing in your doorway.

“Hi,” you exhale. You notice he has one arm behind his back, and he tries to hide it by leaning against the frame.

“I couldn’t wait until tomorrow, I want to give you your present now,” he runs his other hand through his hair. “Turn around, okay?” You comply, hearing him come inside and set down whatever he had after closing the door.

“Is that Steve sweetie?” your mom calls.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve covers your eyes and guides you back to your living room. “Keep your eyes closed, okay? I’ll bring it in here,”

Dustin and your mom gasp, and you swear you can hear a familiar meow.

“Okay, open your eyes,” You almost scream as you see none other than Anakin step out of a crate. He looks straight at you and meows again, showcasing a red collar with his name on it.

“You got him for me?”

“Of course,”

Dustin and your mom kneel on the floor, smiling and petting him.

“Steve, he’s wonderful, thank you,” your mom says.

“Well, I mean I know how hard it’s been since Mews got-“ Dustin gives Steve a glare, reminding him how your mom didn’t actually know what happened. “-lost,”

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry of happiness. You run to Steve’s side and bury your face in his chest, hugging him close. You feel something tug at your pants, looking down to see Anakin meowing up at you. You pick him up and hold him between you, his purrs filling the room.

“How can I ever thank you for this?”

“I’m sure I can think of something,” he winks, running his fingers down your arm and kissing the crown of your head. “Merry Christmas sweetheart,”

“Merry Christmas Steve,”

[groovyzombiellama]

Find Each Other

Title: Find Each Other

Requested? Yes.

Plot: You and MGK were dating for a really long time, but break up at a certain point, and start moving on with your lives, dating complete opposites of each other, until you see each other at an event and realize you are still in love with each other

Word count: 1670

—***—

You walked in to the beautifully decorated area where the event was being held, your arm intertwined with your date, who was coincidentally your boyfriend, tall, dark and handsome.You had a huge smile plastered on your face and everyone who would look at you would see the happiness shine from you. And compared to the mess you were just over two years ago, you really were happy. You were also very present in the music industry, so of course you were invited to the event, not knowing if he was gonna show up or not. And by that we're not talking about the man on your arm. and instead about a man very opposite of him, slim, blonde, blue eyed. The man you spent nights crying over when the relationship ended. He was the cause of your hot mess situation from which you needed all this time to recover. And then your eyes landed on a familiar head of blonde hair, instantly taking in a sharp breath. Colson. You and Colson Baker were a very serious couple a while back and all of your friends and family couldn't imagine the possibility of the two of you not ending up married. And that was what you wanted too, you wanted to grow old together and tell your grand-kids stories about your life in music.

But the more famous you both got, the more time you had to spend apart, recording songs, going to shows and tours. At first it was easy, you'd always try and sync your time to be able to see each other or even go on tour together, and the happiness lasted for a few more months, but soon your schedules got so busy that there was no way to keep doing stuff together, and that began to somewhat tear the bond between you and Colson. Sometimes you didn't even know if there was a difference between Machine Gun Kelly and Colson, even though you loved both of his sides, you didn't want him to constantly be in his famous rapper mode, but you knew that you were doing the exact same thing, focusing more of your time to your job than your family. The two of you didn't even have time to sit down with each other and talk or argue, which was good in a way, since that way, you were sparing Casie the grief of seeing you drift away from each other, and maybe even say things you knew for certain that you didn't mean.

So after finally sitting down with Colson and getting to have that talk about where your relationship was going, the two of you realize that it's mostly tapping in place, without any further direction, as if it had just turned back to look at you, and ask what the hell were the two of you doing and to just accept it being over. And with a heavy heart, you did, ending things between you and him, and you promised each other that if there was a chance in the future, you'd find each other anew. You had locked yourself in the studio following the breakup, and focused all your energy on your music, even more of it than before. You didn't eat or sleep for days, feeling the full weight of losing Colson and Casie on your shoulders. Your family and friends have tried their best to pull you out of it, but then a guy came along, the same one you were standing next to at the table tonight, sipping your glass of champagne, only detaching your eyes from your previous love when you could tell your boyfriend was looking at you.

It made you realize just how different they were, and not just by their looks, but their attitude also, and you found so many differences between you and the new girl on his arm. It was as if you were dating polar opposites from each other, and you didn't really know how much of it was deliberate and how much was just pure coincidence. The tall blonde hasn't noticed you yet, but his girl sure did, and you had to think fast, turning to your boyfriend and beginning to take genuine interest in his words. As if on cue, in the exact moment you placed your hand on top of his and he lifted it to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss on the back of it, Colson turned his head over towards you, following his girlfriends gaze.

She could instantly feel his body tense up when his eyes took in the scene unfolding in his line of sight. You stood at a table to his left, while if you looked up, his left side would be directly in front of you. Upon noticing you, and your new boo flirting at your table, Colson was reminded about how little he was over you. How much he was still infatuated by your mere presence, as everyone else in the room seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you there, sneaking glances at each other and practically forcing yourselves to see the others. You felt bad about what you were doing to your boyfriend, because you truly cared about him, but after seeing Colson again, your whole love story flashed before your eyes, and almost all you could think of was the way his arms felt around you, and the way his lips tasted. The smile he'd get when his eyes land on you, the same one he had to force himself not to show tonight too. It was as if a giant tornado just blasted through you, leaving you both in pieces, but also leaving you the possibility of putting your lives back the way you wanted. And Colson knew exactly how he wanted to fix up the pieces, placing his current relationship as a part of his life in the middle, between life with you then, and life with you he wanted to start now.

You didn't expect him to show up at your doorstep the next day with a huge bouquet of roses and a box of your favorite chocolates in his hands. But he did. Your breathing became unsteady, knowing your boyfriend was just in the living room, waiting for you to come back so that he could start the movie the two of you were watching again, instead of staring at the two parallel lines on the screen. You lied after hearing him ask you who it was, saying it was one of your friends, who needed your help for a moment, before stepping out, and looking at Colson with pleading eyes, hoping he'd take a hint and leave. But he didn't.

"I know that you care about him. I cared about Chanel too, but after seeing you again, it was clear I was still in love with you. And knowing you as much as I do I can tell you're still in love with me, so just think about it. Try and give us another shot."

He said before handing you the items from his hands softly kissing your forehead and walking away.

You were never this torn about a decision in your life. Your boyfriend knew about Colson, and knew he will always hold a special place in your heart, but you still didn't want to hurt him. However, Colson was not giving up on you and when you came to the studio to record, you saw it covered top to bottom in all kinds of flowers, and each floral arrangement had a different card in it, all of them being Colson pouring out his feelings towards you. The next day, it was your favorite snacks and sweets, and the next just one big teddy bear, with a heart shaped locket dangling from the necklace he was holding in his paws, along with a heart pillow that spelled out 'I love you, now and forever'. Your smile grew by the second as your fingers traced the letters, jumping slightly when you heard a voice behind you. It was your boyfriend.

"You still love him too, don't you? You really don't have to answer, it's pretty evident. You've given me the most wonderful year and a half and I will cherish our every moment for the rest of my life. But you should go where your heart truly is."

You hugged him tightly, a tear slipping from your eye. He wiped it off with his thumb and gave you one last kiss goodbye, stating that he will always be there for you, even as a friend.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you in my life, but I'm glad you are here, and that I can still call you a friend."

You smiled at each other before he gestured his head towards the exit of the studio, and you rushed out. It wasn't the material stuff that made you want to go back to Colson, it was every single one of those letters that showed all the love he still had for you and all the memories the two of you shared. As you halted a taxi and told the driver the directions to Colson's studio, you put the necklace on your neck, feeling excited to be back in his arms. When he saw you at the door, at first he was shocked, but the smile on your face told him everything he needed to know, and mirroring it, he rushed over to you, engulfing you in his arms and spinning you around. After setting you down, you looked in each other's eyes, slowly closing the gap between you for that long awaited kiss. You were back where you both belonged, in each other's arms, finally back together. You smiled at Colson's next words, remembering the promise you two made all that time ago.

"Found you again. I love you so much princess."

"I love you too, so much, baby, and I'm so glad I found you again too."

----***---

I hope you like it anon, I always wonder if I make someone somewhat teary eyed with my writing, not sad, I want all of you to be happy all the time, I just wonder if my work can lure emotions out of someone, so if you had that experience let me know, it would be interesting to hear if you understand.. ❤️

[straightouttaneptune]

Goodbye

Pairing: Thor x reader

Warning: Angst, Sizzling angst. Character death. Avengers: Endgame. (That movie alone is a warning). My baby Thor crying...

Summary: As a member of the original 7, you saved everyone in Endgame. Natasha and Tony are still alive and they get to have their happy endings, but can Thor?

A/N: Hey! I found this sitting in my drafts, so thought I'd share the angst while writing the requested fics. Hope you like it, it's my first angst with Thor... Italics are memories/past, and normal text is the present.

———————————————————————

He knew. He knew that mortals had their lives limited. He knew that their bones were as fragile as glass. There weren't a lot of situations where they'd survive after just one stab of a dagger.

That you'd pass away much earlier than he would. 

But seeing you fight side by side with the Avengers, with him, he must've deceived himself, because you no longer inhaled or exhaled the oxygen in the atmosphere. Your soft eyelids were shut closed like a veil concealing your astonishingly beautiful irises. Your heart failed to beat any longer, your skin paled from the lack of blood. Your body laid limp yet weightless on the white satin, holding a bouquet of baby blue peonies close to your chest. 

"My dove, you said these were your favorite?" Thor pointed at the bucket full of blue peonies. You were visiting a local flower shop with your love, thinking it would be nice to light up the compound with them.

"Indeed they are." You smiled at the peonies, mentally tracing the outline of each petal. Thor was entranced, wordlessly observing you and the light that seems to radiate off of you.

"May I ask why?" Thor secured his hand behind your back. You leaned into his touch, moving your gaze up at him.

"They remind me of you."

He watched with hooded eyes as Tony Stark closed the polished wooden casket, embellished with golden designs. Fit for a queen. He couldn't take his eyes off of you, even after they lowered you down into the Earth.

Everyone in the entire world insisted on burying you into some sort of landmark, seeing as you died a hero. But it has always been your wish to find peace under the green hills of the Avengers compound. 

He could hear quiet sobbing from the rest of the team, even from Avengers like Natasha and Bucky, both trained not to show sentiments. Thor was in a state of denial, but a part of him knew that you weren't coming back. That part of him made tears flow out of his eyes like a never-ending waterfall. 

The whole Avengers were there, from the 6 of the original 7 to everyone else that joined in as time progressed. And they were all here because of you. Thor didn't know whether to be proud or depressed. In fact, he didn't know what to do with himself now that you weren't there to pull his hand places.

When everyone left him in the pit of darkness, you stayed, holding up a flaming lamp that became his only light, bringing him back to life. Asgard had fallen, his family and his best friends were all gone, but he had you. 

But you weren't here anymore. Your flame has met its end.

"I am... inevitable."

You stared right at the mad man's eyes, gritting your teeth. The wind pushed away locks of hair that fell out of your ponytail, having Thanos clearly see the woman who was about to destroy him.

"Hm." You blew a puff out of your nose as you watched him snap his fingers just to be met with nothing. His confused expression didn’t last long, confusion turning into surprise when he looked over at you.

You raised your hand up, all of the infinity stoned placed into Tony's gauntlet that was strewn on the ground. He laid a few feet away from you unconscious. Everyone else was either being overpowered or unconscious, and you couldn't ask anyone else to do it anyways.

Energy coursed through your veins, briefly feeling like your arms might fall off. You grunted, feeling the whole extent of the powers in the stones. 

Your eyes glimmered with determination, a content smile gracing your lips. 

"Goodbye." 

Your fingers snapped, and it was the end. Overbearing amount of power coursed through your merely-mortal body, making every system crash down in a split second. Millions of emotions ran through your mind. But you didn't feel hatred or feel like you were forced into doing this. For the first time, you really saved the world. You finally felt worthy of the title hero. 

The first one to wake was Natasha a few feet away. “Oh, Y/N." She ran up to you, helping you rest against the concrete. 

Your back crashed on the broken piece of concrete, legs barely helping you up. Your slightly blurred vision spotted Thor, running towards you and throwing away his Stormbreaker somewhere. The rest all piled later, staring at you in disbelief. Some were already crying. 

"You-you did it, Y/N." You tried to console her, seeing the tears glossing her eyes. She took your hand in hers, pressing her lips up to your knuckles. She moves aside to let Thor talk to you, falling into Clint's arms as soon as she let go of you. 

"My dove." Thor's callused hands felt nice on your hot cheeks, closing your eyes and leaning into it. "No, no. My love, please. Look at me." He cupped your cheeks as you opened your eyes lazily, feeling slightly buzzed like sleep was inviting you to it with open arms. 

"I love you." You whispered out, barely able to stay conscious. But you'll fight it for as long as you could. 

"I love you, oh, I love you, Y/N." Thor cradled your head, tears falling freely onto your hair. He repeated his words as if doing so would somehow help you.

You couldn't form any more words, but you could raise your hand up to his jawline, tracing them, feeling his beard prick your fingers and quietly thinking about how you'll probably never be able to do so again.

"I will meet you again in Valhalla, sweetheart.” He tried his best to smile, reassuring you that this wasn’t the end. “You're okay." He said to you, but more to himself.

He took your other hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing lightly as you slipped away. He shook violently as your head tilted, life leaving your eyes, looking away into nothingness. "No, no, no..." 

Valkyrie placed her hand on Thor's shoulder that was still shaking vigorously. His head fell and he cried into your shoulder, his hand still clutching yours. 

Not a word came out of anyone, just Thor repeating your name with thunder cracking in the fuming sky.

"Thor." He turned around slowly at the low voice, Valkyrie standing there in her tailored black suit. "The funeral's over. We're going to visit her memorial." 

When Thor didn't bother moving, she walked over beside him and looked down at her grave with him. "She was an extraordinary woman." 

"Guys! I made cookies!" Your sing-song voice echoed through the Avengers floor at Stark tower, immediately attracting the Earth's protectors to the kitchen.

"Y/N's cookies?!" Sam and Clint almost ran into the kitchen at the same time, but you'd say Sam was a tiny bit faster this time.

"They look delicious, my dove." Thor wrapped his arm around your middle from behind, making you giggle in surprise.

"Mm. Want one?" You beamed at him, holding up a chocolate chip cookie to his mouth. He smirked at you playfully before taking a bite, earning some whines from the other Avengers who were eager to eat your cookies. 

"Okay, okay. I'll put it on the counter." As soon as you placed the cookies on the marble counter, they were gone in an instant. 

"Oh no, you don't!" 

"Try me, Legolas."

"Oh my god, you can't even digest the food you fucking toaster!"

"Many apologies, but Miss Y/N's cookies are far too delici-"

"Turn him off!" 

"Drown him in rice." 

Thor chuckled at the fiercest fighters on Earth fighting over his love's cookies childishly when he had a carton of them Y/N made especially for him where they couldn't see.

"You are extraordinary, my dove." Thor spun you around and pressed his lips to yours lovingly, wrapping you up in his affection. His hands traced the curve of your waist as he deepened the kiss, making everyone else scramble away from the kitchen.

"She was," Thor replied, his throat and nose gave off that burning sensation before thick drops of tears flowed down his cheeks again.

[rambleonwithrosie]

Hello my lovely thirst babies! (It's what I call my followers)

For all of you new followers hi! Welcome! Enjoy the music and stay for the cute dish that is Queen's drummer.

All you previous 200 followers know that when I hit a milestone of 50 I always do a 50 questions type thing.

This one is gonna be all Queen!

(Also thank you everybody for sending a post from 0 to 500 notes in roughly one day!)

Opinion on Freddie Mercury calling himself "Mr. Farenheit"? It's adorable and almost like a little play on words with his birth name of Farrokh

Early 80's porn star Freddie or late 80's suburban dad Freddie look? Well I guess dad Fred because I'm not a stache person and the less facial hair and the shorter the better!

Stone Cold Crazy or I'm Going Slightly Mad? Tough choice but I'm Going Slightly Mad is the one I heard first and it's one of my favorites off of Innuendo. Sheer Heart Attack would be a great album even without Stone Cold Crazy

If Freddie asked you to house sit for him would you do it? Unless the cats are somewhere else no. I'm allergic and prejudiced against cats.

Satanic Prawn Onesie from It's A Hard Life music video or Disco Ball Red Devil Romper stage costume? Anything is better than the 800 eyed abomination

Get Down Make Love or Body Language? Get Down Make Love because at least musically it has some quality even if lyrically it's utter garbage (well if you chop off the first part it's not the worst)

Freddie in I Want to Break Free video or in Radio Ga Ga? Radio Ga Ga outfits always win. Plus other than the blouse I personally wouldn't wear anything Fred has on in I Want to Break Free

Opinion of Delilah? I think even if I actually liked cats I'd still cringe at it. As it is I definitely do not enjoy it

Bohemian Rhapsody or Bicycle Race? Oooh see Bicycle Race was my fav as a kid but BoRhap is legendary... I guess Bicycle Race because nostalgia and Star Wars!

Favorite 70s Freddie outfit?

Fat Bottomed Girls or Tear It Up? Ooh. Tear It Up. It's so delightfully naughty and grinds so hard. It's my dirty jam

Brian song you would really go all-out air-guitaring to? Tie Your Mother Down

Sail Away Sweet Sister or 39? I love the nerdiness of 39. But Sail Away Sweet Sister speaks to me and the main character of the novel I'm writing a lot. So gotta be SASS

"Hammer to Fall" or "Headlong"? Hammer to Fall probably. It's such a power jam. Not that Headlong isn't. It's also less dirty and it's on one of the best Queen albums ever

Favourite Brian solo? Oooh. Probably Tie Your Mother Down (I honestly can't recall if it has a solo. I just know it slams really hard and I live for that intro)

Briana in "I Want to Break Free" or Death in "It's a Hard Life"? Aghh. I love sassy Brianna but death is the only remotely sane looking one in Its A Hard Life

Favourite Brian solo song? I don't know a lot so Driven By You I guess

If you could spend a weekend with Brian, what would you do? Take nature hikes and talk about music and C S Lewis works and play with hedgehogs if at all possible

Would you rather stargaze with Brian or study in a science library with Brian? Stargaze for sure. I love it anyways and then he'd know all this brainy stuff that might put me to sleep but would still be fascinating

Favourite photo of Brian? I want his shawl thingy. Glam bastard.

Is Deaky one thicc bih in your opinion? He is certainly the thickest member of Queen. Have you guy's seen his apple bottomed ass of perfection?

If you could redo John's hair for Radio Ga Ga how would you do it? Maybe spiky with gel or something. Anything to reduce the electrocuted squirrel look

Describe John Deacon using 5 foods? Celery. Tall and kind of forgotten but essential. Onions because he's so savage at times he could make you cry. Hazelnuts because his hair and he's earthy and complex. Cheese because you are what you eat. And cherries but the tart pie kind not the sweet ones.

Where would you take Deaky on vacation? Hmmm. Some place with not a lot of people. I feel South America somewhere. Maybe a beach or to Patagonia

Favourite Deaky song? You're My Best Friend timeless and sweet

If you could give Deaky a new nickname what would it be? Salty the Hermit Crab

Favorite Deaky facial expression? His soft blushy sort of modest smile. Especially in the 70s.

Favorite photo of Deaky?

Favourite Deaky outfit?

Favorite salty Deaky face?

Which Monty Python sketch does Roger remind you of? The Encyclopedia Salesman because he could charm his way into somebody's house and sell them anything like the time he bs-ed that he was a Hoover vacuum salesman with I want to say John

Favourite harmonising by Roger? Probably Somebody to Love. He adds so much to those harmonies. And when they do it live it's even more noticeable but in a different way

What kind of car do you think I'm In Love with My Car is about? Whatever it is I see it as red. Probably a red Ferari. Or that's what I see and I'm sure Rog wouldn't have said no to one of those

You can have Roger do one of the (metaphorical) things to you that he mentions in "I'm in Love with My Car", what do you choose? Well giving him a thrill while my radials squeal does sound pleasant 😉😍😈

Favorite Roger Taylor solo work? Original composition it's probably Let's Get Crazy off of Fun In Space but if we're counting songs he covered Racing in the Street HANDS. DOWN! It's my fav song all time now. It and Brandy by Looking Glass

If Roger was an accessory, what would he be? Sunglasses of course 😎😎😎

"Modern Times Rock and Roll" or "Loser in the End"? Modern Times Rock N Roll. That song is not long enough. I love it.

You can talk to Roger for the rest of your life or have one night of passion with him, which do you choose? This is torture... but you didn't say I couldn't make out with him @squeezemylemon so trap there. I'm gonna talk to Rog and make out with him but no night of passion sadly. I'll still be happy kissing and chatting and being friends with a side of inspecting each other's tonsils with our tongues 😉😁😂

Favourite stage outfit of Roger's?

You can have a three-way with two different Rogers... 1) Do you do it? 2) Which Rogers (photo examples are encouraged)? Not my thing but I'm such a thirsty bitch for Rog that in this case hell yes. Sign me up for this sandwich right here

Brian or Freddie singing "'39"? Brian all the way baby. He has that perfect folk singer type voice

Which songs from other bands best describes each member? Brian is Bowie's 'Space Oddity'. Freddie is Elton's 'Rocket Man'. Roger's anthem has to be 'Big Spender' even if musically the style isn't him, musically he's Dancing in the Dark by Springsteen. John is Beethoven's 5th Symphony or The Boxer by Simon and Garfunkel but don't ask me why

The members of Queen as characters from the Muppets? Hmm. John is one of the salty old guys from the audience. Roger/ina is miss Piggy because he's such a diva. Bri would be Kermit for somehow patiently dealing with Piggy!Rog. And I had to Google the other Muppets and found one named Pepe the King Prawn and if that isn't Freddie Mercury I don't know what is

The members of Queen as the Avengers? Brian is Director Fury (he counts as an Avenger right?) John is The Hulk, Freddie is outrageous Iron Man of course and Roger is Hawkeye full of sass quips and sex appeal

Queen as cake flavors? Freddie is Cherry Chocolate. John is Lemon. Brian is a really dark chocolate that probably has coffee flavoring to it. Roger is strawberry.

Queen as Classic Hollywood actors? I weirdly want to say Freddie as Clark Gable but I think he's more Douglas Fairbanks. Brian is Lawrence Olivier. John is William Powell. And Roger would be James Dean (he counts right?)

FMK: Rogerina, Briana, Frederika? Fuck Rogerina obvs. Briana is a suitable housewife. And as usual poor Fred gets killed. Sorry.

Which song would you have liked to have been around the composer as they created it? Well as much as I want to say a Roger song I'd be too busy distracting him for that to work so I'm gonna say Brian writing Dragon Attack

Favorite album art/cover? The Game. 1980 Rog in leather is my sexuality. Otherwise I'd probably say Sheer Heart Attack

Who or what is the (not actual) love of each band member’s life? Freddie's was the 4000 cats. Roger's amore is cars of course. John is in a committed relationship with cheese on toast. And Brian is a slut who while he's married to Red Special he goes around having affairs with badgers and faucets/taps

Thanks again @squeezemylemon and @zestysexmachinefromzanzibar for helping with all of these questions!

[l000ey]

kwon ryu → r.d

pairing; song mino x rae dara (mention of kwon jiyong)

summary; mino wants a baby but dara tells him that she can’t have babies and why, then they go to visit someone special for dara

warnings; mentions of miscarriage, stress attack and mild depression and spoilers about red’s future

note; poor red dragon :( I think I'll do an alternate ending to see how it would be if she ended up with gd

2019

Dara's head was moving from side to side in sync with the demo of a girl, a possible artist of her new company, that Tian had brought her that morning. It wasn’t bad, the rhythm was catchy, the lyrics in english and along with many "bitches". Her artistic part, Red, she loved it. She smiled and shoved a large handful of ramen into her mouth as she looked at her emails.

She was alone at home since Mino had to go to the studio to finish his solo album but she didn’t care much, she was proud of him and the time alone was always a good thing for her, besides that if Mino was with her she couldn’t finish all the work she had with the opening of the new label, probably if Mino were here she would not even have been able to get out of bed this morning.

"D, I'm home!" The king of Rome exclaimed leaving the keys on the kitchen table. He greeted Jaehee, the housekeeper, who was cleaning the kitchen. "Hi, Jaehee. How are you today?".

"I'm fine, Mino." The woman gave her boss a sweet smile. "Thanks for asking. Dara is in her office, she said not to bother her until lunchtime” She sighed, picking up the plate with the remains of pancakes and chocolate syrup.

"Did she get up later today too?" He raised a curious eyebrow. Lately Dara had been behaving differently, didn’ t talk much, locked herself in her office or in the studio that she had at home and only went out to eat, have dinner and then go to bed. Mino thought that maybe it was because she was very focused on opening her own company, because her parents had told her they would come to visit next month or because she hadn’t been on stage for a while. Whatever it was, it was affecting her and that was worrying not only Mino but also her employees, her fans, her friends and the whole world.

Jaehee nodded, making her white hair bun move with the movement of her head. "She got up an hour ago, had breakfast in silence while looking at her phone and when she finished she locked herself in the office. Although about ten minutes ago came and prepared an instant ramen "

Mino let out a sound from his throat, making her understand that he understood and after giving her a slight smile he headed towards the office. He sighed when he saw her move her head with some song that was listening on her headphones, he smiled before closing the door behind him and leaned against the door watching her with his arms crossed over his chest. She kept humming a song that he didn’t know how to recognize and her eyes were focused on the screen of her computer, not realizing that her husband was right in front of her. It must be that the song ran out at once because she took off her headphones and smiled, even without looking at him.

"Are you going to stand there longer? You look like a creepy stalker” She heard him chuckle before approaching her and sitting on one of the chairs in front of her desk."How's the album? "

"Interesting" He shrugged, still crossed his arms "And the company?"

"Interesting" She made the same gesture as him making both laugh, when the laugh died Mino sighed without erasing his smile while Dara filled her mouth again with ramen.

"D?" The girl made an affirmative noise at his question, unable to respond with words because her mouth was full of food "I want to have a baby".

Immediately the brunette began to cough because of the surprise almost choked, Mino got up to help but she stopped him raising a hand, swallowed and drank water and then cough a couple of times more. She shook her head, her eyes were closed and her body tense. The boy frowned, was it so bad to want to have a baby with the person you love?

"Are you okay?" His voice drew her to reality. She opened her eyes and nodded before smiling and taking his hand across the table, her  thin hands were much smaller than his.

"Mimi" The brown eyed boy smiled quickly, he loved that nickname for some reason, but only if it was she who called him that because if you did not call yourself Rae Dara and you called him that way you ran the risk of taking a punch in the face " I...Why so suddenly? "

"Today Hanbin brought Hanbyul and, well she is not a baby anymore, but she is so pretty and it was so beautiful to see her and Hanbin hugging each other or how she fell asleep in his arms" He moved in his place and put both hands around hers with the other hand that was free "I want that, with a little princess that looks like you or a champion that looks like me and teach them how to rap, dance and produce, it would be incredible. I want to have a child with you".

A silence covered the room. Both looked at each other in total silence, she looked at him with pity while he looked at her with hope that she would say yes. Dara broke the visual contact by finding the glass that made the desk much more interesting, Mino frowned and took a hand to her chin to raise and make her look him.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He gave her a sweet smile, trying to comfort her and convey that he was there for her although he was also afraid and the insecurities did not take long to reach her body. Many questions came to his brain.

She didn’t want him enough to have a child with him?, Didn’t she want to have a baby because she thought he would ruin her career? Would she think that if she was pregnant he would stop loving her because she was not thin? or worse, Did she don’t want to have a child with him because she was only using him as entertainment until Jiyong left the military service?, Would she ask for a divorce when that day comes?.

Her green eyes rested sadly on his, they were watery. "I can’t give you children, Mino. There is very little chance that I would get pregnant, almost nil"

"What?" Mino didn’t understand anything, why could not a girl like her have children? She loved children!

"When I was eighteen, I got pregnant by mistake but Jiyong and I were happy, how couldn’t we? We were in love, we had the job of our dreams and we were going to have a child, the perfect life was getting closer but apparently being parents didn’t fit into the destiny's plans so it tried to erase the error” She took a breath of air causing Mino to squeeze her hand because hers were trembling non-stop. She swallowed and continued "One day Tian and I were in the car, I had a concert here in Seoul and I decided to tell him that I would be a mom because he was like a father to me and still nobody knew, I wanted him to be the first to know, I was happy to finally tell someone the secret but Tian was not very happy about it. From the beginning he didn’t support my relationship with Jiyong, as any father would, but he learned to live with it, of course pregnancy was something else, he began to tell me it was stupid, a risk too big for my career, that I was very young and that both I and baby would suffer because Jiyong wouldn’t be long with us, we argued very hard and I had a stress attack that caused me to have an abortion, I lost a lot of blood and they had to operate on me. It turns out that something was bad insidet there and the doctor told me that thanks to abortion there was very little chance that I could conceive children in the future ".

By the time she finished speaking, she was in a mess, she was crying non-stop, her eyes looked like waterfalls, she was shaking and it seemed like she was not breathing. Mino approached her so that she would sit on his lap and hug her, kissed her shoulder to give her moral support.

"How long were you when it happened?" He muttered almost distressed, it felt strange to talk about a son who could be here scampering but that was not his but Kwon Jiyong's.

"I had just turned a month." She shivered in his arms, making him tighten her grip on her and place the blanket she wore earlier around her shoulders better. Shee looked into his eyes "You can’t tell how much it hurt to wake up from the operation and see Jiyong crying next to my bed, hugging my arm. The happiness that had lit up his face when I told him I was pregnant had turned into a heavy, dark shadow of pain and grief. When I was pregnant he looked at me as if I were some kind of goddess who was giving him the greatest of gifts and, you don’t know how much I would like to see that look on you Mino, but I can’t, I'm sorry” Finally she let out a sob, she hid her face in his neck and her hand made a fist around the fabric of the shirt he was wearing. The boy could feel the tears wet his shirt but it didn’t matter to him but he pressed her harder against his body and kissed repeatedly the skin of her shoulder.

"It's okay, babe. It's okay, I can settle for Johnny and you. We are the perfect family of three, although we could give Johnny a friend, what do you think? "He smiled at a laugh choking a sob, at least she was laughing. He stroke her back carefully and they both stayed in that pose for several minutes, both without saying a word. Oh, what memories of there for 2015 in the new year.

"These days I've been this weird because next week ten years ago and it's going to be the first year for the anniversary without Jiyong, and it feels weird and bad because Jiyong is the only thing left of that memory and always, every year, we go to his grave to take flowers.” She broke the silence with his voice even more hoarse for having cried. Mino tightened his lips making them a thin line, feeling even more bad for her.

"He have a grave?"

"Yes, it was Jiyong's idea" She shrugged her shoulders away from his neck while wiping her tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, which was actually from Mino “He said we needed something to remind us that this had really happened, that pain would make us human again if at some point we lost ourselves. "

Mino gave a nod, knew that G Dragon and Red had a language that only they understood, they said a lot of deep things that might not make sense at that time but they knew their meaning one way or another. Their relationship was strange and too poetic.

"Can we go visit him? I'd like to go” He asked and Dara smiled before giving him a chaste kiss and hugging him by the neck as she thanked him again and again.

And so, half an hour later, they were in the cemetery looking at a stone grave surrounded by flowers and a dragon sculpted in the marble next to the initials 'K.R'. Mino frowned, keeping his hands in the pockets of his coat while Dara stroked the stone and left a bouquet of flowers, as she had said on the way were sakuras, the typical flowers of Japan.

"K.R?" His scowl still frowned on one more "It's obvious that K is for Kwon, but what about the R?".

"Kwon Ryu, that was going to be his or hers name."

"Dragon in Japanese, of course" He let out a small laugh at the obviousness of the matter and Dara smiled at him from the ground.

"The dragon is something very powerful and precious. Jiyong name means dragon in Korea, my favorite animal is the dragon and that's why I have one tattooed on my back, I'm from Japan so Ryu was a good choice to be the name of our unborn child” She shrugged and got up, got rid of the snow that had stained her knees and entwined her arm with her husband's before smiling at the grave "Let's go home, it's beginning to snow very hard".

[musicallisto]

☠ Boy Meets Evil (Noah Marshall)

Still crying because of ILITW. Forever crying because of ILITW. Inspired by this BTS song (a bop, 10/10 would recommend).

word count: 4500+ words

summary: A sneak peek into Noah’s thoughts, feelings and memories throughout all of his life and the most important events he’s faced. An agonizing descent into the depths of a tortured, screaming mind, playing hide and seek with sanity and fragments of a destroyed yesteryear.

warnings: Used my F!MC Devon for this, but there’s no romance. Basically only angst, when will I write fluff; mentions of death, crying, depression, therapy, blood and mental health issues.

“Good morning, Noah. How are you?”

He doesn’t respond. Why would he? What can he say? How can he put into words the inflexible void that has taken the place of his heart in his chest, of his brain in his skull? How can he answer? How can he express all the poisonous tears, all the skipped meals, all the insomnias, all the ringing laughter echoing through the walls of his ears as if she were still here, right behind him?

The old man seems to notice his uneasiness and his reluctance to answer, and doesn’t insist. He observes the fragile-looking, worn out little boy, shyly swinging his legs back and forth on the padded chair too big for him and trying his best to avoid all eye contact with the doctor. There’s something dreadfully harrowing in seeing this brown-eyed ragdoll, with tear-stained cheeks and trembling fingers. He has no doubt Noah must have been a lively, cheerful little boy, now only reduced to a shell of his former self.

“You look a little thinner than the last time I saw you. Have you been eating? Do you want a cookie, perhaps?”

“No.”

The psychologist wistfully sighs, but reaches out to grab a cookie from the packet and delicately place it on the desk, almost creating an invisible barrier between him and his patient. Patient. The word itself seems so sad to the old man, and infuriating to Noah. Under all the layers of numbness, all the cotton filling up the great blankness of his chest, he knows he hates being called a patient, because that implies he is sick, and he knows he is not. He is fine. He just has to let the news sink in. He just has to understand his sister is not coming back and wait for time to do its healing. That’s what adults say, don’t they?

Then why does it sound so fake?

“Have you tried to write down your thoughts, as I advised you?” the doctor asks with a soft smile he wants to be as welcoming as possible.

“Yeah.”

“And what did you think of it?” he rebids, a twinkle of hopefulness buried deep under his professionalism.

“It sucks. Writing about how depressed I am only made me even more depressed.”

Noah’s tone is perfectly neutral, and he still isn’t looking directly at the psychologist, as if he wished nothing more than to be anyplace else than in that office.

“It is only one part of the process,” he calmly explains. “What matters most is not the thoughts. It’s what you choose to do with them. You can let them possess you. Have the last word. Overpower you. Or, you can overcome them. Burn the journal where you wrote them, for example. You could let the spiral blow you away. But wouldn’t it feel nicer to blow the spiral away?”

“Yeah. I guess. But that’s not gonna bring Jane back,” he spits in a murmur after a few seconds of silence.

“Nothing will ever bring Jane back, and we both know it. She has left this world, but she has not left your mind, nor your thoughts. She has not left your heart, and never will. Noah, I don’t want you to stop thinking about your sister, to forget her, to move on as if nothing happened. I want you to combine your sister with good memories instead of bad ones. You’re a clever boy, I know you underst-”

“You weren’t there,” he suddenly rises, his voice sharp and eyes sharper, terrifyingly sharp for an eight-year-old boy. “You weren’t there when she was lifted off the ground by that thing and when it broke her neck and she fell to the ground and wh-”

“Please, Noah, there was no thing, it was an accident, just a regrettable accid-”

“It wasn’t an accident! She was murdered! By that thing - whatever it is!”

“You’re still confused and it’s perfectly norm-”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAW!” he yells.

“Noah,” the old man gently states, barely above a whisper, contrasting with the furious, uneven breathing of the little boy in front of him. “Noah, I know you’re still scared, but-”

“I’m not scared,” the brown-haired kid hisses through gritted teeth.

The mere mention of those three little words are enough to provoke violent nausea in his stomach; he shakily grasps the cookie and takes a mouthful of it. If he closes his eyes and gnashes his teeth hard enough, he can imagine everything is under control and he is tearing apart the shadow murderer with his own teeth.

When he sees her approaching, frantically looking for a seat in the crowded gymnasium, he knows he can no longer run from her and turn his back on what has happened years before. He’s always known it would be inevitable, that he would have to deal with this dreaded conversation, the apprehended reminiscence he has feared for ten years. He thought it would be easier to avoid the memories, the false condolences and the pitiful, hypocritical gazes thrown at his direction, if he completely shut her out of his life, if he completely shut them all out of his life. It’s the hardest decision he has had to make, and not a day goes by that he doesn’t feel remorseful, that he doesn’t wish he could come up to her and talk to her about anything, anything stupid, really; about that amazing book he read last week and he’s sure she would love, or the dog he saw in that garden and reminded him of her adoration of canine furballs, or the ridiculous amount of homework Mr. Cooper has been giving them all throughout last year. But it’s impossible, and what ends up completely destroying him is how sorry she looks when she turns to him with a pleading look in her chocolate eyes. How sorry she looks to be begging to sit next to the broken, twisted weirdo that used to be her best friend, her partner in crime.

“Hey, Noah. Do you mind if I…?”

“Knock yourself out,” he exhales and she sits next to him.

He never would have imagined these would be the first words he would tell his childhood best friend after spending all of those years purposefully avoiding her.

She doesn’t seem to feel the excruciating tension between the two of them as she engages a simple conversation with him, as if they had been friends forever, as if they didn’t have to catch up years of silence. He lets out the most aching sigh of his life and continues the casual discussion with Devon, trying not to show the convulsion of his palms. She’s talking about Lucas, and he responds with one of his infamous sarcastic remarks; he’s well aware he’s biased, he shouldn’t be so bitter and especially not to those who have done nothing wrong, but when Lucas’s cheerful voice rings in his ears, his patched-up heart fills with disgust and resentfulness. Does he even remember? Does he even remember him? Does he even remember Jane? How can he look so popular, so untroubled, so carefree… happy?

And that’s when he hears it.

He hears it and by the looks of it, he’s not the only one.

The voice. The voice he has had nightmares of, the voice he’s heard every single night of his life, distorted and crooked, creaking like a rusty door struggling to open, barely audible, right in the crook of his ear and something that desperately feels like a frozen breathing on his neck. And deep down, deep, deep down, something oddly familiar, something strangely recognizable and almost… dear?

“Everyone… plays… together…”

His heart skips a beat and his breath hitches in his throat. He refuses to believe it. He must be hallucinating. He must be dreaming. He must have fallen asleep during Lucas’s speech. It must be some twisted joke, some immature prank pulled on him, a back-to-school thing. It can’t be. He can’t be. 

Unable to move any muscle, he looks at all his former best friends oh so slowly. And that’s how he knows he’s not hallucinating.

Devon’s dilated pupils, staring at the door but not seeing anything, ghostly tears stuck in her eyes; Ava’s trembling chin and lips, as if she were on the verge of tears; Stacy’s white knuckles, her unnatural shivering and gripping her pompoms; Lily’s parted lips, achromic cheeks, wide-open eyes, a drop of sweat running down her temple; Andy’s too rapid blinking and his nervous glances all around, especially behind him as if he were afraid of something over his shoulder; Lucas’s clamming hands and his unusual gulping.

They have all heard it.

They all know what it means.

And before Noah can even breathe properly again, before he can even swallow down the nervous ball of saliva caught on his tongue, his very own voice rings in his ears as if he were talking to himself.

Are you scared now, Noah?

For the first time, his habitual reflex, his automatic response - I’m not scared! - sounds fake, because he’s not telling anyone. He’s telling himself.

The streets are remarkably cold, or maybe it’s his sick mind playing yet another trick on him, altering his perception of reality. It wouldn’t be the first time, and he’s getting pretty tired of it. Ten years with a tangled mind is starting to get on his last nerve.

He can’t believe his mother. How can she tell him those things every day of his life, repeatedly without ever growing tired of mentally abusing him, of destroying the very last remainings of his psychological stability? Does she even believe them? Why does she always apologize, bow her head in silence and look up at him with pleading eyes, a deer in the headlights, begging his pardon as if he weren’t her biggest mistake? As if he weren’t nothing but a waste of space? Why does he believe her every time, hopes she will change for the best, that it is the last time that same old argument will break out, that he will finally be able to take a walk with her and buy her this necklace she’s been discreetly eyeing for a while - why does he keep on longing for a chimera, a cloudy fool’s paradise?

He can’t believe his friends either. He can’t believe their selfishness, their egocentrism, their lack of consideration for him. Do they only talk to him because they pity him, because he’s that lonely, brooding and grieving teenager, cloistered and mistreated? Even Devon! He thought- he thought that out of all of them, he at least really meant something to Devon.

And of course, he hates being alone and the streets are so empty without a true friend to walk them down with, it’s probably the reason why he suddenly feels colder and lonelier than ever.

He’s starting to regret storming off and leaving his mother on his own so abruptly, but he’d be damned if he admitted it out loud. He’s starting to regret storming off and leaving his friends on their own so abruptly at Britney’s party, but his hubris is one of the few things he treasures and can’t crack. He wishes he could stop being hostile at his friends for having progressed in ten years, but he’s so stuck in his own grief, his mother’s endless screaming and insulting, his own venenous spiral of thoughts that he can’t help expecting all the others to mourn Jane with him. How could they play that stupid game in front of him, how could they not be outraged after Britney’s proposal, how could Devon, out of them all, accept to condescend to do such childish idiocy? Especially given how harmful she knows it is for him, for her, for all of them? It feels as if they have spat on his little sister’s grave, so many years later, and their perjury is a hard pill to swallow for Noah.

Especially Devon’s.

Devon. The most egotistical of them all, and the one he cares about most.

He doesn’t realize his absent-minded footsteps are leading him to the gray road and gray sky crossing through the woods.

“Sick of this...,” he mumbles angrily, kicking a pebble out of his way, watching it with some sort of immature triumph when it disappears in the shrubs. “It wasn’t my fault... It wasn’t! Stupid b-”

A twig snaps somewhere behind him. He freezes, heart racing. If he were in his normal state, he would not be anxious and would have ignored the noise, especially in the middle of a forest, but a bizarre and disagreeable impression of being observed won’t leave him alone since he’s entered the forest by mistake. Like a pair of predator eyes are staring at him from behind, piercing his neck just like the destructive fangs of a snake...

“It’s just a squirrel, Noah. Just a squirrel...,” he half-heartedly whispers to himself, trying to stabilize the furious galloping of his heart.

What can it be, if it’s not a squirrel in the middle of the woods? It can only be a squirrel, right?

His heart a shriveled animal cradled in his throat, he uneasily turns towards the source of the sound... and comes face to face to the unmistakable ghostly silhouette of the charcoal creature, standing at the edge of the trees.

“Noah.”

Its whisper is solemn yet jittery, as if the thing were uncertain of what to say, of how to approach the teenager. He, on the other hand, knows exactly what reaction to adopt. He yells and runs. Runs as fast as he can, his heart a pounding drum, a roaring thunder, and when he looks over his shoulder... Redfield has barely moved. Noah comes to a dead stop.

“...wait...”

And suddenly, Noah is not scared. His fear vanishes as soon as the spectral voice reaches his ears, and he firmly marches forward, blood boiling in anger. His fright has been replaced by pure hatred, indignation, and his insatiable thirst for vengeance. All his life, he’s been running away, and he’s tired of it.

“What... What do you want? Huh? What do you want?!”

“Noah... Don’t be sad...”

“What the hell?! Are... are you comforting me?!”

“... not your fault...”

His ire doesn’t die down. It can’t dry up anymore. He’s been bottling it up for far too much time. His words come out harsh, breathless, raw, bloody, lethal. He can’t control anything anymore; he’s done controlling, he’s done biting back his distress.

“Yeah, no kidding! It’s YOURS! All of this is YOUR FAULT! You killed my sister! Or don’t you remember?! JANE! Her name was Jane, you bastard! And you MURDERED her!”

And when Redfield, looking almost sorry, shakes his head and points at his chest, murmuring a barely audible “no... Jane is here...”, Noah swears his heart skips a beat, but he’s so used to being lied to that he will surely not accept any glint of hope, especially not from his sister’s murderer.

“What... what are you talking about? What do you mean, ‘Jane is here’? Here where?!”

As Redfield is about to answer, a ray of sun cuts through the canopy and burns his shadowy figure, making him wince and withdraw more profoundly into the woods. Noah stretches his arm, motioning him to stop, almost wanting to grab him, to learn something, anything. Now that the monster has mentioned Jane, he can’t leave without his crucial knowledge.

Or maybe he’s just going full crazy.

“Hey, no! Stop! What does that mean? Where is Jane?!”

His voice is uncontrollably trembling at this point and he does nothing to master it. He’s never felt so cold in his entire life, not even when his eyes fell on Jane’s dead body, twisted in a terrifying angle in that cave, so many years ago. He’s waiting for an answer, a secret, a gesture, not even a word, just a reaction.

He never gets it. Redfield vanishes from view, disappearing into the penumbra of the woods, leaving him shaking and alone in the middle of the road.

“What the hell? What the hell?!”

He knows it could be one of the hallucinations - he’s gotten quite a few when he was younger, immediately after Jane’s death, and although they completely left him when he was twelve, it’s still more plausible than what he thinks he understood from Redfield’s halting speech.

And yet...

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, for the first time in a decade, Noah feels something he had forgotten. Something that oddly enough doesn’t feel bittersweet on his tongue. Something that he hates, something that he’s taught himself to manipulate with the utmost precaution, for it is the most dangerous of feelings.

Hope.

And for the first time in a decade, deep down, very deep down, way deeper than he can reach, Noah is not scared.

The tip of the knife quivers against the small of Devon’s back, thrusting inside the folds of her dress. She’s shaking; he can feel her trembling right next to her, very well aware that if she makes the tiniest of brusque moves, he will not hesitate to assure his grasp on her, even if it means making blood run.

Actually, he will hesitate, but she doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t pay attention to the carving in the stone, just at his feet, to the new words that have replaced the name he’s known for so long. The wrong name he’s been using for the entity. He doesn’t pay attention to her name chiseled on the floor, fearing it could make his determination burst... he leads Devon downstairs, where he’s made sure all of the others are sat and waiting for him. It’s the last step, the very last step for the only solution there is... hopefully, the very last step before he can meet with his sister again.

“Noah, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?!”

“Trust me, everything will make sense in a minute.”

“How can I trust you when you’re pointing a knife at me?!”

“Devon, please. Just walk.”

She doesn’t even sound as outraged as she was a few seconds before, as she should be, as he would be in her place, just terrified. And he’s never felt so guilty, an indestructible, nauseous blade ready to slit his throat if he dares to get sentimental. He doesn’t understand why she doesn’t hate him, or at least doesn’t act like it, and it’s probably because of the ferocious-looking cutlass pointed at her ribs anyway, but just for a moment, it’s enough for him to give him courage.

The dim lighting of the cavern quickly comes into view, and Noah shudders. Despite having been there many times since Jane’s death, there’s still something mystic and untouchable about this place, something he’s afraid of profaning. And when all the people he was happy to call his friends look up to him, invisibly tied to the glacial chairs, eyes burning with rage, incomprehension, and disgust, he knows - he knows there’s no turning back. Not anymore. He can’t back down because things will never be the same, however he exits the cavern.

Everything that follows up goes down in a blur. He can’t quite remember what happens in all details, maybe because of the darkness of the room or of his mind, but the burns against Stacy’s skin, the spiders crawling up Andy’s torso, Jane’s twisted smile and spectral claws tearing Dan’s last remainings of sanity, Devon’s screams, filled with fright, sobs and violence are forever branded on the blank canvas inside his mind. And he’s convulsing on his electric chair, and he’s cantillating the same spell over and over under his breath as if it could change anything as if it could change the situation. “Only way... It’s the only way... Only way... Only way...” And everything is a chaos of yelling, of crying and of laughter, the laughter of a ten-year-old ghost, eight-year-old child and a thousand-year-old animosity, until all of his friends are engulfed by the thousands of shining eyes in the dark of the cave.

Next thing he knows, he’s right before Devon’s pleading, terrified eyes, a knife above her head, ready to strike, ready to immolate his poor little lamb to the terrific laughter of a kid.

And she’s talking but he can’t hear her; the weight on his chest and the weight in his hand are far too much and far too loud. Her words come out muffled, as if she were captive underwater, unable to reach his heart, to cross through his reinforced concrete chest.

Until she cries out.

“Noah, please! There’s nothing left to save! You’re stronger than that... stronger than her!”

And that’s when the reinforced concrete chest cracks. That’s when his mouth dries and his eyes light up, finally watching Devon aghast in front of him instead of just seeing her, finally seeing the bloody knife prepared to cut through her stomach rather than just feeling it, seeing it’s a monster licking its lips in anticipation for the delicious meal it’s about to have instead of an inanimate object.

He is about to cause everything he’s been reproaching his friends for ten years. He is about to become a murderer for the second time, thinking he can kill his former crime with a new one.

And his heart bursts and his eyes are frozen and his mouth ajar when he drops the knife to his side, its jingling bouncing on the cold walls of the cavern.

“D-Devon... I’m... Oh my god... I’m so-so sorry... I’m...”

He can’t find the words. Suddenly, he is a traumatized eight-year-old sitting uncomfortably in front of an indiscreet therapist, forgetting his emotions and the words that come with them, unable to discern the difference in the explosion of colors, smells and tastes in the blazing fury that just escaped his heart.

He reaches out to her, hands and heart empty, to graze her, make sure she is here, she is real, that it is not one of the countless nightmares he’s had. She withdraws, of course, shriveling like a wounded prey, her eyes wandering back and forth between the knife and Noah’s horrified expression. And Noah’s never hated himself more than he does in this moment, with Devon practically hysterical in front of him, cradled against the cold side of the grotto and trying her best to disappear from his view.

“Devon... I didn’t mean to...”

His voice cracks. He knows very well no words could ever mend things, no words could ever stitch the injuries he’s unjustly caused to his best friend, in the cavern and every day of the past ten years.

No words can, but maybe one last gesture, one final move before turning off the lights and being put to sleep might.

“Devon, I’m so sorry... I must... I must redeem myself... All of this was my fault... I-”

“No,” she pleads, and his heart aches when he realizes she would still be willing to prevent him from sacrificing his life in spite of everything he has ever done to her, everything he has ever done to all of them and himself in the first place. “No, you- you can’t do that. I won’t let you...”

“I have to,” Noah assures, oddly calmer than he expected, as if he had accepted his fate, as if he had already relinquished. “It’s only fair. I have caused all of this...”

He turns to face Jane’s curious eyes, her head tilted to one side just like a cat who doesn’t understand what’s going on. He turns to his sister, or at least the shell of what she was and everything that’s left of her, turning his back to Devon and takes a deep breath. He wishes he could smile at the ghost, tell her everything is going to be okay, that he will take her place and repair all the bad he’s done, that she will finally be free and she will reunite with her mother again, but something inside of him doesn’t believe it.

“I have caused all of this and I will fix it,” he completes, his voice sharp and determined.

“No!” Devon screams; he hears her trying to get up, but she’s still weak and trembling, and he won’t let her intervene anyways. “No, I won’t let you take her place. I should be the one doing it, I sh-”

“You’ve already done more than enough. All this time...”

His voice is soft, silky - certainly not the one you would expect from an eighteen-year-old giving himself to the games of a demon.

“All this time, I blamed you for being the reason why everything fell apart in the first place. I should’ve realized sooner that you were the one who was keeping everything together.”

He steps forward. Devon doesn’t say anything; he hears her suffocating through her sobs, and he tries his best not to think about it, not to let the shrill cries weaken his determination. Even Jane is silent, her mouth slightly open, her devilish blue eyes piercing right through Noah’s soul. Is that it? Will she trade her place with her brother’s? Will they ever both know peace?

Noah carefully kneels in front of the monster. Suddenly, they are not a terrorized teenager and an ancestral demon anymore; they are a brother and sister that fate, time and pride have torn apart.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“Noah, I’m scared,” is everything Jane’s ghost-like form is able to murmur, contrasting with all the horrors she has said and done in the past weeks.

“I know. I’m scared, too.”

It feels good not to lie, for once.

And Jane breaks down into sobs, and Noah engulfs her in her arms and it feels almost agreeable to be holding the mere concept of darkness in the vague silhouette of his sister for the first time in a decade. 

“Shh. It’s okay. Why don’t you rest now?” 

It’s not long until his own tears wet his cheeks too.

“Let me take over for a while.”

His words die out in the shadows that collapse against his whole body, swallowing him entirely.

And as the cave shakes and the rocks fall down, blocking the only pathway that leads to the exit and Devon and her friends shakily flee out of the crime scene, the secret is sealed with the entrance of the cave.

Behind the rocks lies the secret of the boy who met evil.