#so being on my feet causes Some Degree Of Pain no matter what

[technoxenoholic]

apparently the average person can walk about 7 kilometers in a day every day so i'm still not meeting average with my Highest Distance In A Day Record (6km as of yesterday, and i was definitely pushing it in the last 1–1.5 so maybe i will not try that again for a very long while)

but like, considering only 2km total was my boundary for "pushing it" most days when i started doing daily (with a few exceptions) walks this past spring, i am actually making huge progress. so. personally, i'm considering this a very huge win.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Alpha & Pebble my beautifully fucked up boys ! Here’s them fighting because they don’t know how to communicate. Angst, but with some tiny bit of comfort ? Maybe ? I’m not sure it really is comfort but well.

Alpha’s not sure what the Sibling of Sin said, he only caught the tail end of a mean laugh, but it must’ve been about Delta ; it’s the only thing that could get that reaction out of Pebble. Snarl peeling his lips so far back it looks borderline painful, eyes blazing, tail whipping the air, claws extended.

The earth ghoul is about to pounce on the stupid, stupid human, rip them to shreds and risk being sent back to the pit for the offense it represents. Alpha acts on instinct alone.

The fire ghoul barely manages to catch the back of Pebble’s uniform just as the earth ghoul leaps toward the Sibling. Pebble didn’t see Alpha coming, too blinded by rage, and is caught by surprise ; in a second, and despite his vigorous thrashing, Alpha has the earth ghoul in a chokehold, his arm digging into Pebble’s neck in an effort to keep him from committing first degree murder.

The Sibling blanches at the display, finally realizing their stupidity, the amount of danger they’ve subjected themselves to by sheer malice, and scurries away while they still can. 

Alpha curses as he drags Pebble away, sharp kicks surely bruising his legs, claws raking along his arm in an attempt to make him let go. No chance. Alpha only tightens his hold, cutting Pebble’s airways even more off until the earth ghoul’s knees buckle under him and he let himself be thrown into the common room.

Alpha only grants him a few seconds to take deep, gasping breaths before taking two fistful of the front of Pebble’s uniform, hauling him up against the wall ; with the earth ghoul being a good head shorter than Alpha, and pretty light in comparison,  it’s easy for the fire ghoul to pin Pebble there, his feet barely grazing the ground.

« Are you stupid ?! » Alpha growls inches from Pebble’s face.

« Let go you fucking-»

« No, » Alpha grunts, baring his own fangs, « I asked you a question. Are you fucking stupid ?! That what you earth ghouls do, smoke your brains away ?! You know what happens to dumb sons of bitches who harm members of the Church ?! Do you want to be sent back, away from you greenhouse, your home, your pack ?! »

Pebble blinks, momentarily stunned by the reason behind Alpha’s anger, before his face contorts once again and venom creeps back in the pale green of his eyes.

« So you’d let that piece of shit say whatever they want ? Insult Delta whenever they like ? »

So Alpha was right, it was indeed about Delta. The fire ghoul doesn’t get to say what he wants, Pebble is on a roll.

« Yes, of course you would. Pack only matters when it suits you, yeah ? When it’s convenient. But the second protecting it might cause troubles, you back off like the coward you are. Is there any of us you’d take actual risks for ? Is there anyone outside of Omega, oh so precious Omega, you would sacrifice things for ? »

Alpha sees red, Pebble’s word cutting deep, hitting a nerve dead on. How dare he. How dare Pebble question everything Alpha did for the pack ? The fire ghoul doesn’t know if he wants to rip the earth ghoul’s tongue out or curl into himself to sob. 

Pebble opens his mouth to go on, and Alpha is absolutely sure he cannot take a drop more of the earth ghoul’s venom, that infamous venom of his that slithers into your veins, wraps around your heart, squeezes until it bursts.

Alpha throws Pebble to the ground, sits on his chest, raises a fist - aiming for his face, maybe his nose, anything that would make the earth ghoul shut up, shut up, shut up.

That’s when Alpha catches the glimmer of hope in Pebble’s eyes, realization dawning on him with the effect of a cold shower. Pebble itches for a fight. Wants to get hit, beaten up to a pulp, and who better to rile up for that than Alpha, short-tempered, sparring enthusiast Alpha ?

As always, Pebble is seeking what he cannot ask for, and seeking it from Alpha. 

The fire ghoul stills, fist still raised. Pebble waits, tense as a bowstring, eyeing it almost voraciously. But there, under the anger and inexplicable need to be hurt, something fragile, vulnerable hides. 

Whatever the Sibling said, Pebble took it to heart.

Alpha’s eyes slip closed, a shuddering sigh escaping him as he brings his hand down slowly, grabbing Pebble’s jaw firmly, but with unusual gentleness. The earth ghoul stiffens.

« You know damn well I take care of my pack. And, whether you like it or not, you are pack too. So the next time you want to be used as a fucking punching bag, you join me on the mat instead of running your fucking mouth and goading me into damn near killing you. »

Despite the simmering fury in Alpha’s voice, his hand doesn’t tightens, simply stays there, holding.

Pebble’s eyes flash with both desperation and rage.

« Don’t pretend to care- »

Alpha growls again, tail slapping against the floor harshly enough to sting.

« Stop telling me how I feel, Pebble. My feelings are mine, you don’t get to twist them into what’s more convenient for you. »

All the fight seems to rush out of the earth ghoul’s body at that. Pebble’s muscles all let go at once, his face growing weary, almost melancholic. He avoids Alpha’s eyes, nods curtly.

« Got it. »

Alpha can’t help the way his eyebrows skyrocket toward his hairline at that, but doesn’t comment. It’s as close an apology as he’ll get from Pebble.

The earth ghoul is staring at Alpha’s arm, jaw clenching hard. There’s a few rivulets of blood trickling from the claw marks Pebble left on it in his efforts to free himself.

For a moment, they stay frozen like this, something akin to « what now ? » floating in the heavy silence between them.

A door slamming in the distance snaps them out of it. Alpha let go of Pebble, stands up to let the earth ghoul do the same. Pebble runs a hand through his short, messy hair, strands spiking in every directions. 

Sighing heavily, Alpha adjusts his shirt, glad that he wasn’t wearing his own uniform, or else he’d have a lot of explaining to do as to why his sleeve would be in tatters. Again.

From the corner of his eyes, the fire ghoul spies Pebble awkwardly straightening his collar, somehow seeming reluctant to leave. Alpha watches him, and yet, he’s caught completely off guard when the earth ghoul grabs his injured arm, careful to avoid the cuts, eyes glaring daggers at the consequences of his own anger.

The strangeness of the situation keeps Alpha frozen, eyes glued to Pebble’s face. The near permanent crease between the earth ghoul’s eyebrows, the scar cutting through the bridge of his nose, the smattering of freckles across his cheekbones, the scruff eating away at his cheeks, everything is thrown into sharp focus by their sudden stillness.

When the earth ghoul looks up at Alpha, the fire ghoul wonders what he sees. Yellow eyes Pebble’s dying to gouge out ? Already crooked nose the earth ghoul longs to break into an even more unsavory form ? Deep claw marks on his cheek he’d like to extend ? But the look in Pebble’s eyes doesn’t hold any murderous intent. It’s conflicted, confused, the abrupt change in their usual dynamic rendering him just as silent as Alpha. 

For once, they are both out of words. A miracle, really.

Then, Pebble let go so suddenly you’d think Alpha lost control of his fire and inflicted him a third degree burn.

« You should get those checked out, » the earth ghoul mumbles, resolutely staring at his feet.

Alpha blinks, lost for a moment, before remembering his injuries.

« Those are just scratches. »

Pebble scoffs, but doesn’t add anything, fleeing the room without once meeting Alpha’s eyes again.

The fire ghoul heaves a sigh, scrubs his hand over his face. He feels weird, Pebble’s expression when he took stock of the damages he’d done lingering in his mind. 

Alpha hopes Mist will let him share a smoke with her tonight, Satan knows he could use her blunt honesty to understand whatever the fuck just happened.

But first, he has a Sibling to scare the living daylight out of to ensure they won’t breath a word of Pebble’s near slip up.

[milimeters-morales]

quick disorder / disability hcs under da cut for my own hyperspecific chatfic (💔). they all need glasses by default bc of the spider bites but the teens won’t truly need them until their late twenties

miles: autism + gad (always downplaying it) + ptsd (unaware) though he is like. cptsd can be developing just from the shit he’s doing as spider-man.? does that make sense hold on. okay yes. he is making it worse for himself.

gwen: adhd (denying) + cptsd (unaware) + dyslexia + chronic wrist and ankle pain (reason she gave up ballet but still tries it)

margo: autism + depression (denying) + some sort of anxiety issues from her sheltered upbringing and spider stuff

hobie: bpd + autism + cptsd (unaware of all) (unrelated but he’s intersex as well but not entirely aware of this, i was considering PAIS but i might just leave it up to reader so they can project)

pavitr: autism + adhd + cptsd (unaware of all, last will also cause insomnia to a degree i haven’t decided but will become a huge problem for him) (this mostly relies on my made up backstory for him)

ganke: adhd + already has pretty bad eyesight (extremely nearsighted) + i’m thinking anemia ? maybe only during his period? also look into that thing where taking T just makes you produce more blood or whatever, i could probably connect all this

comics miguel: ocd + autism + reactive hypoglycemia + cptsd (unaware of first three rn, wont do much diving into his traumas bc he thinks “acknowledged = done with it”?)

peter b: autism (not entirely convinced) + depression (recovering) + chronic back/feet pain. maybe during the pregnancy he had gestational diabetes? not sure i’m even gonna focus that much on the adults in this fic that much to the point where this comes up. besides “haha comic miguel is going to burn the building down if he has to send more emails” moments

SHITTT WAIT. is that bad to make the character i hc to have ocd the “fixer” of the spider society and turning it into like a true volunteer / community space. no right. i’m overthinking that. if that was the case the i would be making it his whole personality and making everyone involved in like general maintenance of the place have ocd. yeah okay it’s fine you aren’t an awful dude. 🙏🏾🎊 WELL IDK. JUST BE CAREFUL BRO

other characters that show up (like comic miles) aren’t gonna get hcs besides what i briefly mention… like being polyamorous or disliking a food .. peni is a special case bc i truly don’t get her no matter what . like she feels just out of reach and i have no idea why so i won’t have her in the gc but will still be present in the story #realism

[atalana]

okay im sorry but did you seriously just say "'dont let your disability stop you' only applies to things like becoming a master artist!!!" what. in what world is becoming a fucking master artist easier to do than walking. in what world is that not something that a disability can prevent. what kind of fucking logic are you even operating on. lol. lmao

okay you have waaaaaay misinterpreted my words on quite an old post but i do remember the post in question so on the miniscule chance you're asking in good faith let's clarify what i meant

as a disabled person, and an artist, of course your disability can prevent you from going about things in a conventional way. there are some people who will never be able to hold a paintbrush, for example. hell, i consider myself quite lucky that im able to get close to conventional art methods, but i still have to reckon with my dyspraxia, which means im never gonna make a speed paint bc people don't need to know it takes me three times as long just to make a smooth line, or my fibromyalgia, which means i can't sit upright in a chair for more than about two hours without needing to lie down and/or causing me serious pain

but the distinction i was trying to make is that becoming a master artist is not a physical skill. art is inherent to all human beings, and we work with what we've got. frida kahlo painted from her bed. people who are lacking limbs have made art with their feet or their mouths, people lacking motor skills have made art from typewriters, or computers, or made paintings that took advantage of their disabilities rather than being weakened by them

if your dream in life is to become an artist, then you will find a way. and i know it can be despairing, because i'm an actor, it's the only thing in the world i feel like i was born to do. and when i got the fibromyalgia (and was also diagnosed with endometriosis around the same time), i thought i'd never get to where i am because i didn't think i'd have the energy for the kind of rehearsal schedule and flat out show week a show demands. hell i quit my first agency when i was 19 because i couldn't handle the audition notices knowing i wouldn't be able to manage the job if i got it. but i adapted. and i found things that work for me. and i did an entire theatre degree followed by a successful fringe season, and while i may not move as quickly as others in this field, im going to keep going, and i'm going to do more

that is what the phrase "don't let your disability stop you" should be used for. for when you know in your heart that this is the only thing you were put on this world to do, but you feel like it's impossible because you can't do it the way other people do it. what you've got to learn for yourself is that it doesn't matter how other people do it. do it how you can do it. because if this is what you were meant to do, you might as well try

however, what i was criticising when i said that, is that abled people have got a hold of that phrase, and are using it to deny peoples disabilities. if someone can't walk, saying "don't let your disability stop you" is not going to magically make them walk, it's just going to make them feel bad about letting their disability stop them. which is stupid, because disabilities do stop you, that's why they're called disabilities. and pretending they don't exist just hurts disabled people. in either situation, i'm encouraging people to work with what they've got, rather than trying to force what doesn't work to work, which is how one learns to live in this world with a disability (or several)

abled people don't want us to work with what we've got, they want us to do it how they do it, even if it causes us serious pain or injury, or even if we're straight up physically unable to do the thing they want us to do. and those are situations in which i want abled people to shut the fuck up, and in which i want disabled people to know it's okay to go at their own pace, and to do it in a way that doesn't hurt, even if it seems bizarre and backwards to the people around them

also for some people art is easier than walking. we all live in a world governed by our own limits, and trying to fit a cookie cutter mold helps no one

[tordenvejr]

Hello, I was wondering if you maybe have any advice on something. Basically to me it often feels like when I’m doing badly it’s because “the universe” is punishing me for something or rather that I’m meant to learn some kind of lesson. But at the same time it’s been like this for so long and the times where good things do happen seem random and arbitrary to me, so I don’t understand why I deserve this while other people are doing just fine. I guess maybe I need to take more agency over my life but I feel like I try so hard every day like comforting parts of me that are scared etc. Also kind of in the same vein I had a rough abusive childhood and sometimes I don’t understand how any loving universe or spirit guides could’ve just watched that happen

i've struggled with this too 💛

i think it's quite common to transfer the experience of being punished or abused and project it onto the universe - or your spirit guides, the archangels, other beings, etc. this is such a complex discussion because for example with deity work, or when divining you want to use discernment to gauge the essence of what or who you're connecting with. just like with people, "dead doesn't mean wise" and powerful doesn't mean it's a power that resonates with and is suitable for you, and so on. but specifically with source, the seed and heart of everything that is, it's my belief that it is in entirety pure, loving and kind. i believe this because i sense it and because in essence all life wants to live, to expand, to blossom, flourish, and these are not expressions of life that are compatible or supported by destruction or repression.

so while pain, grief, suffering can define to us and to all of life what we dont want -> what we do want ("contrast" in law of attraction) i believe there can be more to it, and again that discernment is needed. for example the law of attraction is one out of twelve spiritual laws or truths (one, vibration, correspondence, inspired action, transmutation, cause and effect, compensation, relativity, polarity, rhytm, balance) right away there's more to it. i also believe different souls and lifetimes are affected to varying degrees of these. and that it plays a role what soul plan you have coming in (though i believe you can alter and change it) this can also depend on past lives in the sense of if you came in with the intention of healing past wounds or gain more insight, a soul could seek to aid the planet - that does not always mean it's pleasant and comfortable, sometimes death is a part of that plan, and sometimes horrible things happen for no other reason than that this is earth, it's dense and we have a lot of polarity and contrast. in any case we bring it down, ground it in, and do our best to move through our own suffering and ease that of others'. it's a similar story with bodily symptoms or conditions, sometimes it's a repressed trauma (of this or another life) expressing itself, sometimes its a spiritual law, sometimes there's a soul perspective intention behind it, and sometimes we are alive in human bodies and things just happen. discernment! and again we ground it in, we be present, if healing is needed we heal and lean as much into relief as possible, and we aid, bring as much relief and support for others as possible. head in the clouds and two feet on the ground, we navigate our world, and i always think it best to do that with compassion, understanding and not forcing your perspective or your own unique life experience onto others because you just don't know how their cocktail of life has been put together. and it doesn't matter. because in any case they are souls just like you, and deserve love, or aid, or care, or safety just like you.

and lastly on childhood abuse, sometimes you touch so deeply on such painful elements of life so early because your soul knows you are capable of reaching for the very opposite much faster, with much greater precision and insight than if your childhood was handy dandy. so do i believe that we can learn in love and joy? yes. do i believe a traumatic childhood is the only way to understanding and spiritual development? absolutely not. we take different paths. this was mine, maybe it was yours. discernment.

i've been interested in spirituality as long as i can remember and i've been aware of the connection to source almost as long, if not, to some extent, always. a couple of years ago i had an increase in bodily symptoms and in symptoms of ocd, this followed grief and stress. and i started to experience it being less easy to differentiate between anxiety and intuition, and it was very, very hard for me because of how important my spirituality is to me. and i took more than a year of not really touching on the spiritual much at all, i directly told my guides, i cannot connect now i need to focus on healing. and i did, and i was scared that connection would never have a place again, but towards the end of last year and this it came back even stronger.

all this to give nuance, but my most important piece of advice in this is to look into whether you may have religious anxiety or religious ocd, and if it resonates, i highly advice you take a break from considering, engaging with or seeking out spirituality. work on the wounds that cause distortion ideally in therapy, and when that persception is clear, come back to it when it's time provided you feel called to.

it was my experience that my guides held space for me at that time.

having discernment and feeling the difference between anxiety and spirituality requires even more grounding, healing, patience and gentleness with anxiety, and that's okay, it's doable, but one thing at a time. first you heal

[anghraine]

My post was getting long, so splitting off the discussion of Dúnedain into a new one!

#yesss i have said this before #numenor almost had flying machines and the tower at minas ithil was supposed to rotate #these guys were Up To Some Shit #and i hate when ppl take all that away from them and just think of them as people with long lifespans #mind reading! mind influencing!(to a degree) #magic animal powers! mystic healing powers! matching mental powers with maiar! #its all so good and both subtle and overt at the same time because none of these powers come with flashy moves or light shows #but neither can they be written off as just open to interpretation unless youre like willfully trying to ignore this aspect of dunedain #they are like this bizarre missing link between elves and normal humans and i love it #i also like that the hobbits apparently take all this in stride?? #like oh you caused gollum physical pain bc he lied to you and can see stuff in his mind? #ok cool we will continue to hang out with you in your cave in the woods then take your enchanted sticks when we leave #nothing to be concerned about here (via @khokali)

Exactly!

I think your point about how it's both subtle and overt is a really good one—it's not hyper-visible in a flashy way, but the "oh, it's all so ambiguous" takes have to ignore some remarkably explicit statements and others that are barely short of explicit. I feel like a lot of the fandom genuinely does not want them to be that extraordinary, despite 'Númenóreanness' being so emphatically treated as extraordinary and very clearly recognizable by other characters. Dúnedain at large seem generally depicted outside Tolkien as very normal and 'Mannish' by contrast to Elves, when what they really represent is a bridge between the Elvish/mystical and mortal/mundane, as you say.

I also love how chill the hobbits are! Well, Pippin is fairly swept off his feet by Faramir after one glance, lol, but his reaction is more "oh, suddenly I get the 'Kings of Men' thing" and not shocked or "wtf are these people" or anything. He just thinks they and especially Faramir are really cool. And that seems basically where Frodo and Sam are at— "huh, something weird but cool going on here. Thanks for the virtue staves and everything if our thanks matter to people like you." I think the way they just roll with it is both extremely "hobbit" and contributes to the casual weirdness of Dúnadan culture.

[thepatronsaintoffarewells]

I lost ten people to suicides and overdoses before I turned 28, some I was closer with, others to a lesser degree, all that I wished that I had more time with. My sister had attempted. My mom had attempted. I had attempted. I had friends that were still using and lovers that made threats. It was very hard for me, at the time, to see a way through it all. I clung to my friends that remained. I wanted to erase all our collective grief and sadness. It felt like no one else wanted that, or no one else saw it like I did. It can be very hard, to love an unwell person so fiercely. It can be harder when that person is yourself.

There's a scene in a Robin Williams movie, What Dreams May Come, where his character journeys through the depths of hell to save his wife who had committed suicide. When he realizes that she won't leave on her own, he makes to stay there with her. I used to think that it was really beautiful to love someone like that. I think in my own life that I always wanted to be the kind of person who could stay and bear it. I didn't want to leave anyone alone. What I found in practice though, was that the more obstacles I cleared for a person, the more room they had to cause harm. They call it enabling, right? It went even further than that though. I wanted to experience it with them. I wanted to be able to let go and really feel things and maybe even wallow a bit. I wanted to get splitting drunk and numbingly high. I fantasized, sometimes, about being so awful that no one would miss me, like it would lessen the blow if I killed myself. But I'd feel so terrible and I could never really do it because I also wanted, so badly, to be loved.

I had a friend that I told everything to. We would go up to the bar and he would drink and I would spill my guts. We talked about really painful things like how when my ex had attempted after we broke up I was struck by the realization that I had never felt so loved. I told him I was suicidal. They say you're less likely to go through with it if you tell someone and I didn't really want to kill myself I just wanted everything else to quit. He cried into my hair after I drove him home that night saying over and over "I love you, please don't die." It's fucked, but it's one of my fondest memories from that point in my life.

I got my shit together, to a certain degree, by learning how to walk away and when to leave. There are a lot of people that I love or had loved that aren't in my life anymore. I had to learn how to let them go, how to say goodbye and be at peace with it. In the beginning, I didn't have a lot of choice in the matter. You make peace at the funeral or you don't. I got mixed up wanting to save people I had already lost by sacrificing my own happiness to the people that were still there. The thought of losing anyone else was unbearable, but I learned that leaving is more than just self preservation, it's a gift to both parties.

People will make their own decisions and possibly find their own happiness with or without you. It's not that you aren't responsible for them (you also aren't) it's that you don't have enough control in the outcome. Picture it like being a passenger in a car. Someone else has control of the wheel, the gas, and the breaks. You can direct them as much as you like, but it is their hands and their feet that are making the decisions. You can beg them to not crash the car, or you can get out of the car and hope they have enough sense on their own not to crash. If you, like me, have been in many metaphorical car crashes it's more than grief at that point. It's an injury. You wont find an end to your grief until you figure out how to tend to your wounds.

Because sometimes you are the driver and it's your own decisions that may cause you to crash. Somewhere in me is still the 21 year old that wanted to kill herself. Sometimes, if I'm not careful, she'll surface. I can't be mad at her for it, I remember the things she went through and the things she did to feel like she had any control. I didn't always love her, but I think I'm learning to now. More importantly, I've learned that it's okay to leave her alone. It's okay to grow beyond her instead of joining her. She did fine, she made it just enough to make room for the person I am today, and I think if she was really here, she would thank me. Her friend had told her that she needed to learn how to hold her own hand, how to be her own solace first. That advice got her through a lot, but I think I would tell her now that it's also okay to let go.

I know you might be in different place and that there may not be as much time and distance between the parts of yourself you haven't yet learned how to love. Maybe you're in danger of crashing your metaphorical car, or a part of you wishes for it. It doesn't make you a bad person. We are all made up of complex experiences and thoughts. The people that love you will give you the space to air the worst parts of yourself and they will be there when you are done. I know because I've done those things and I am still very much loved. I have been destitute. I have been a drunk and abused drugs. I have wanted my own death. I have loved people that did not deserve it and been treated badly for it. I have treated those that loved me badly. When I was going through it, I was unable to see a future in which it would ever end. I thought I would always be grieving, that I would always be lonely. But at the end of all of that there was always something more. My sisters had their babies. It was the perfect day outside. My nieces and nephews were growing like weeds. An old friend had reached out. I had people that loved me, that supported me whether or not I needed them to.

The thing that has taken me the longest time to learn is how to be supported and how to be loved. I had a friend who was once very good at saying the things I needed to hear. He called me out on all my bullshit and, more than that, his love was the scaffolding that helped me repair myself. He told me once that the only thing holding me back was me. I grappled with that for a long time and even as I began to understand it, I was still angry. I hated myself for it, and then finally I looked back at the root of who I was before the loss and the anger and the shame. I found the pieces of myself that I had buried in an attempt to protect them. I found a person in me I could love and I watered her like a seed. Somewhere in you is that same seed. We can water it ourselves, and sometimes if you let the right person in, they can water it too.

[autolovecraft]

Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was.

The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb.

He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul.

The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Perhaps he screamed.

The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree.

Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. Why did you do it, Birch? Great heavens, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault.

Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the emerging moon must have witnessed a horrible sight as he dragged his bleeding ankles toward the cemetery lodge; his fingers clawing the black mold in brainless haste, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom.

The body was pretty badly gone, but if ever I saw vindictiveness on any face—or former face. The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he vaguely wished it would stop. It may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities.

It is doubtful whether he was touched at all by the horror and exquisite weirdness of his position, but the other was worse—those ankles cut neatly off to fit Matt Fenner's cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles!

In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. Just where to begin Birch's story I can hardly decide, since I am no practiced teller of tales. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer.

Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced.

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin, but you got what you deserved.

[the7thcrow]

600 degrees

~

pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

summary: you can’t cook. like, really can’t cook. good thing your cute neighbour is here to help clean up the mess.

word count: 5.1k

genre: neighbours au. strangers to lovers. the fluffiest of fluff, slightly suggestive.

warnings: a make-out session, bad humour, minho being a twat of a roommate, and tooth-rotting fluff.

rating: 14+

a/n: hi guys! hope you enjoy this one, it’s so much more wholesome and fluffy than what i usually write, but I'm pretty happy about it. don’t by shy to send me an ask or leave a comment. anything you have to say, I would love to hear. :)

...

..

.

“Fine. Since you won’t come, at least enlighten me on how you plan to keep yourself busy?” Minho asks, casually leaning against your kitchen island. He stares at you, with that familiar condescending smirk you’ve seen far too many times.

“I don’t know,” you state, rolling your eyes. Rising to your feet, you head over to your shared refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Sangria out of the fridge. “But I’m sure I’ll find something.”

“You know, if you want to drink, you could at least do it at the party.” Minho approaches you from behind, placing both his hands on your shoulders. “It’s a lot less sad that way.”

You slap his hand away, letting out a frustrated groan at the laughter he lets out from his own joke. “I get out plenty, quit acting like I’m some lonely cat lady,” you say, grabbing your favourite wine glass from the cupboard. “I like parties, I just don’t like Jisung’s parties. They always get way out of hand.”

“But Y/N,” Minho wines, picking up your freshly poured glass and taking a sip, earning himself a glare. “I never said you were a cat lady, just the lonely part.”

At that you snatch the glass away from his hands. Not wanting to deal with this torment any longer, you walk back to your comfortable, worn-in spot on the couch.

“You know I’m right,” he says, continuing despite the fact you begin to turn up the volume of the television. “And the only way you’re going to change that is by accompanying me to Jisung’s loud, out of hand parties.”

You turn to face him, raising your eyebrows. “Somehow, I doubt my soulmate associates himself with Han Jisung.”

“Well that can’t be right, because I associate myself with Han Jisung?”

“Shut up, Minho.”

Your roommate snickers to himself as he opens the fridge, taking a quick glance at everything - or for a better term, lack of anything - inside. “What are you even going to eat? There’s nothing leftover from last night.”

“I’ll make something,” you say. Frankly, you had expected the outburst of laughter, but that didn’t do anything to simmer down your growing annoyance.

“Make something?” Minho laughs, giving you an incredulous stare. “Y/N, I’ve lived with you for two years and I don’t think I’ve seen you cook anything once.”

“Hey, I can cook,” you return, wrinkling your nose. “But why would I, when I have you to do it for me?”

At this, it’s Minho’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I take that back. I don’t want you to come, have fun curling up on the couch alone with your three cats.”

“They’re literally yours.”

“Whatever,” he says, opening your front door. “Just don’t burn the apartment down, alright?”

As he closes the door, you flip him off. At first, you aren’t sure if he saw, but you’re given your answer as his laughter echoes down the hallway, fading as he walks further away.

You scowl. Of course you can cook. Well, at the very least, well enough to make a meal for one on a saturday night. Minho didn’t know what he was talking about.

Minho. Your best friend and roommate for the last two years. Man, does the guy have a way of pushing your buttons. You love him, of course. In the weird, bickering, just short of volatile friendship sort of way the two of you had developed.

Still, you can’t deny that even with his painfully irritable nature, he is still a good friend. No matter how many times you say no, he always offers to take you anywhere he goes. He pushes you out of your comfort zone. He’s there to console you when a date goes bad, or you failed a test you studied hard for. He makes all his meals for two, just because he doesn’t want you to live solely off shitty take-out.

He’s your rock. Your platonic other half. Your closest companion.

Which means you are going to prove him wrong, and then rub it in his face as much as you possibly can. Of course, because that’s what friends are for.

~~~~

Then again, maybe you wouldn’t. Or, at the very least, it was going to be exceedingly more difficult now that your apartment was full of smoke.

Covering your nose with one hand, you take the tray of chocolate chip cookies out of the oven. If you can even call them that, as they now held a far closer resemblance to that of hockey pucks. Both in looks, and what you could assume in taste, as well.

Okay, you know chocolate chip cookies don’t really count as a decent meal, but they are the only thing you remember how to cook from when you lived at home. Or maybe you didn’t remember, based on the tray of failure sitting in front of you.

Then, to make matters even worse, your fire alarm starts going off.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath. Now you are going to have to go to the front desk, let them know everything is okay.

Maybe Minho was right, you should’ve just went to Jisung’s stupid party and eaten something there. Putting all the other painful aspects of Han’s parties aside, Felix was his roommate, so the horderves were always excellent.

They were better than your hockey puck cookies, anyway.

Letting out a disappointed sigh, you open your apartment door, prepared to get a rough scolding from the lady working the front desk. However, you are surprised to find a man standing in front of you, his hand in the air, as if he were about to knock.

“Hi,” he says, awkwardly putting his hand back down at his side. He has messy platinum blonde hair, and soft eyes. He’s cute, and the realization quickly makes you recognize him.

“You’re my neighbor,” you say, pointing a finger at him. It’s not until he doesn’t respond immediately that you realize it was a strange thing to say. Obviously, he knows he’s your neighbor, and he might be a little offended you didn’t recognize him immediately.

Then again, the two of you had never really talked before. Everytime you would pass each other in the hall, he’d always give a polite nod and continue walking. Sometimes you’d try to say hello, or start a small conversation, but he always disappeared quickly. It had gotten to the point where you assumed he had some strange, unwarranted grudge against you.

So, it was safe to say that you were more than just a little surprised to find him at your door.

“Uh, yeah, I am. Are you okay? I thought I smelt something burning, and then I heard the fire alarm go off.” He asks, peeking behind you into your apartment, seeing if he can catch sight of any flames.

Instead, his eyes land on your tray of butchered cookies, and he… smirks?

“Oh,” he says, attempting to hide the smile growing on his face. “Having some cooking trouble?”

You stare at him for a moment, watching as his lips pursed together, stifling a chuckle. “Are you...” you begin, your jaw dropping slightly. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No,” he looks down at you, finally letting his grin free. “I would never.”

“Yeah, okay,” you frown, already not enjoying that sarcastic look on his face. You thought you’d be able to avoid that humiliating look considering Minho wasn’t here, but apparently not.

 “As you can see, it’s nothing. So if you’ll excuse me,” you continue, attempting to move past him. “I need to go get my neck rung by the lady at the front desk,” However, he doesn’t budge from his place in your door frame. You cast him a glare, which only makes his smile grow wider.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’ll go let her know,” he says, already turning to walk down the hall. You open your mouth to object, but he casts a glance over his shoulder, snickering. “You focus on cleaning up whatever those black lumps were supposed to be.”

You stand in your doorway, dumbfounded as your neighbor disappears down the complex staircase. Who did this guy think he was, openly laughing at your current predicament? Sure, if the roles were reversed, there’s no doubt that you would do the same. But that isn’t the point.

No. The point is that you are not impressed by the audacity of this stranger, and you are going to make sure that this distaste is known.

Grumbling to yourself, you dump the still smoking cookies in the trash can. It’s a shame, really. You’d thought you were doing so well, too. You thought this would be your chance to prove Minho wrong. Minho. Oh, he would be having an absolute hay day if he were here right now, and the thought only makes your scowl deepen.

“Well,” your neighbor calls from behind you, causing you to jump slightly. He reappears in the open door frame, sticking his neck inside, but not fully crossing the threshold into your apartment. “She’s not thrilled, but the alarm didn’t trigger the main system’s sprinklers, so you’re good.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God.”

The man smiles. “If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly were you trying to make anyway?”

An embarrassed blush casts itself over your cheeks. “Chocolate chip cookies,” you mumble, not meeting his eyes.

He lets out a burst of laughter, smiling widely. You can’t help but notice that he had a cute smile, dimples on both of his cheeks, eyes crinkled. Not that you were looking. Not that you cared, obviously.

“How’d you manage to mess up chocolate chip cookies that badly?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging your shoulders helplessly. “You tell me.” You gesture towards the oven. Your neighbor smirks, walking inside your apartment. He bends down in front of your oven, before taking a look inside.

“Well, nothing seems to be wrong in there…” he starts, before glancing up at the set temperature. “Oh,” he states, before looking back at you, his eyes full of pity. “Oh boy.”

“What?” You ask defensively.

“The temperature. You forgot to convert it from celsius to fahrenheit. See?” He says, leaning away from the oven to give you a closer look. “So you thought you were cooking them at 350 degrees fahrenheit, when in reality they were at over 600 degrees.”

“Oh my god,” you say, smacking your palm against your forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I don’t know,” the guy shrugs. “You could have burnt your apartment down, so I’d consider it a win. You’re lucky I got here on time.”

You cast him a scowl, although you can’t seem to relinquish the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. You know damn well you wouldn’t have started a fire, and that the man showing up really didn’t stop anything but an uncomfortable conversation with the front lady. You are also sure that he is fully aware of this too, which makes your smirk grow wider. Alright, you’ll play along.

“Right, what ever would I do without you?” you say sarcastically, causing your neighbor to playfully roll his eyes. He leans against your kitchen counter, relaxing slightly.

“Does my saviour have a name?” You ask, opening the fridge to take a look at what’s inside. You feel your stomach rumble, taking a glance at the clock to see that it was already past 9:00.

“It’s Chris,” he smiles, leaning over your shoulder. “So what are you going to eat, now that you’ve successfully butchered the easiest recipe known to man?”

“Hey!” You snipe. “That is certainly not the easiest recipe known to man.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris says, putting his hands up in defense. “Maybe not the easiest, but it’s definitely up there. But putting that aside, what are you going to eat? Because I genuinely don’t think I’ve ever seen a fridge so empty.”

You want to quip back at him, but he’s right. Minho usually does the grocery shopping, but because of Jisung’s party tonight he wasn’t planning on cooking anything.

“Good question,” you sigh, closing the refrigerator door before leaning your back against it. “Maybe I’ll just order some take out. I don’t think my pride can handle another failure.”

Chris smiles. “Or, I have an idea,” he says, his eyes glinting. He heads over to your apartment door, and for a moment you worry that he’s leaving.

No, you’re not worried. You’re curious. That’s all. You were curious whether or not he was leaving, nothing more.

When Chris returns, he has his arms full of ingredients. Spinach, penne, tomato sauce, cream, a variety of spices. The list goes on, and he stumbles slightly, almost dropping the surplus of food onto your kitchen floor. Imagining the mess, you rush over to help him, placing the load of groceries onto the counter.

“I don’t know if you couldn’t tell before,” you say, motioning to your overflowing counter. “But I really can’t cook. I have no clue what to do with any of this.”

“That’s no problem,” Chris smiles, already separating the food into different groups. “I’ll help you.”

“No, no, no. I can’t ask you to do that,” you say, waving your hands in protest. You step in front of him, squeezing yourself between his chest and the kitchen counter, preventing him from reaching any of the ingredients. “You’ve already dealt with the desk lady for me, and brought over all these groceries. You’ve done more than enough.”

He smiles, gently placing his hands on your shoulders and effortlessly moving you to the side. “Why would I bring you these groceries if I knew you couldn’t do anything with them?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry about it. Just let me help you.”

You sigh in defeat, ignoring the way your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. “Alright,” you say, grabbing Minho’s cutting board from the cupboard. “Let’s do this, then.”

~~~~

An hour later, you find yourself sitting on top of your kitchen counter, Chris stationed by the stove working on the pasta sauce. You had genuinely tried to help in the beginning, you really did. But after Chris criticized your (awful) cutting technique, and said he didn’t exactly trust you to do anything else, you gave up.

Besides, you don’t have a problem watching him work. Over the last hour, you’ve come to learn that Chris is an absolute whiz in the kitchen. Moving from place to place, adding spices by intuition and nothing more. This wasn’t something you could have managed to make yourself in a million years, and it’s obvious that if you tried to assist him right now, you’d only get in the way.

Of course, you’ve learned a lot more about Chris in the last hour than just that. Where he grew up, his hobbies, what he was currently studying at the university. Music theory, as you’d learned. As cool as it sounded, Han had managed to tarnish your image of music majors, but you suppose you could give Chris a chance.

“It’s almost done,” Chris says, glancing over his shoulder to look at you.

“Thank God, I’m starving,” you reply, leaping off the counter to stand beside him.

“What, no ‘thank you, Chris?’ No, ‘what ever would I have done without you, Chris?’” He mocks offence, placing a hand on his heart.

“It’s not even done yet. I’ll thank you after I try it, I promise.” You laugh, rolling your eyes.

“Ah, so you’re only thankful if you like it. I see how it is,” Chris says, crossing his arms in front of himself, pouting his lower lip slightly.

“Guess so,” you say, crossing your own arms mockingly. Chris smiles, those cute little dimples of his dancing across his cheeks.

Then you feel it, that little jump of your heart. The faintest skip of a beat that you’d familiarized yourself with over the last hour. That little hint of anticipation that makes you decide that you are, even if only slightly, a bit interested in Chris.

After all, he’s funny and sweet. Can carry a conversation well, and to understate it, undeniably easy on the eyes. That’s more than enough to give him a chance.

Most of all, however, you like that little flare between the two of you. The sarcasm, the banter. It doesn’t feel the same as when Minho does it, slightly condescending and done purely to harbour your annoyance. No, this is different. It is a challenge. He wants you to quip back, to push further. To make him smirk, or laugh, or roll his eyes.

“Alright, fine then,” he says, taking the large wooden spoon and scooping up some of the pasta sauce. “Tell me if this is up to par, your majesty.”

You aren’t sure if he wants you to take the spoon, or let him hold it for you as you take a bite. You decide to take the gamble, gently moving your lips around the spoon, tasting the sauce. You glance up at Chris, a small look of surprise on his face. However, you don’t miss the flash of something behind his eyes. The faintest hint of affection, interest.

The sauce itself is delicious. A perfect blend of tomato, basil and cream. You hum contently, giving him a thumbs up.

“Chris, this is amazing,” you praise, admiring the small blush that sprinkles his cheeks.

“It’s really nothing,” he says, diverting his gaze and rubbing the back of his neck, shyly.

“No, seriously,” you say, taking the spoon from his hand and scooping some of the sauce up yourself. “Try it.” You hold the spoon out in front of him, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. Your gaze remains firm. A challenge.

Hesitantly, he takes the bite, not breaking eye contact as he does so. You stare at him, watching the way his lips move around the spoon, the intensity of his gaze. The action itself should be innocent, yet you feel a warmth rise to your cheeks.

Chris swallows, taking his lips off the spoon. For a moment, neither of you say anything. You can feel the change in the atmosphere of the room. The spark between you two being brought alight.

You swallow hard. “So?” You ask quietly.

“Yeah, it’s good. Very good,” he says back, his voice low and raspy. He goes to take the spoon from you, and his hand lingers a moment, his thumb trailing the skin of your knuckles.

You feel yourself lean in slightly, fully prepared to take the leap, when suddenly he breaks away from you, eagerly taking a few steps back. He looks away, placing a hand on his face, as if he were ashamed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I know you’re seeing someone, we shouldn’t be doing this. I’m sorry,” he babbles, completely turning away from you.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Seeing someone? Where the hell could he have possibly gotten that idea?

“Seeing someone?” You ask, incredulously voicing your thoughts. You grab him by the shoulder, turning him around. “Why do you think I’m seeing someone?”

Chris still refuses to meet your eyes, instead focusing intently on the wall behind you. “The guy that lives here- Minho - aren’t you two?”

“Minho?” You gape, contorting your face in a look of pure disgust. “Ew, gross! No! Believe me, I am not dating Minho, I’d genuinely rather stick this spoon in my eye,” you exclaim, lifting up the utensil.

At that Chris finally looks at you, wearing his own look of pure confusion. “Wait, really? But whenever I hear you guys out in the hall, the two of you are always so… flirty.”

“Flirty?” You laugh at the ridiculousness of the statement. “If by flirty you mean he teases me literally every god damn second of every day, then yeah sure, I guess. But believe me, there is absolutely nothing romantic about that. Not in the least.”

Chris shakes his head, a smile forming at the corners of his lips. “Wow. I am such an idiot,” he sighs, a rediscovered lightness to his tone.

“No, no. Don’t worry about it,” you reassure him. “Anyone could make that mistake, I guess. It’s really no big-”

“No, it’s not just that,” he cuts you off. “That’s why I’ve never talked to you before now.”

“You never talked to me because you thought that me and Minho were dating?” You ask, slightly confused. Even if you were dating, you didn’t see why that would stop him from starting a conversation with you. “Why?”

“Well,” he sighs, his cheeks reddening further. “I thought you were pretty, and based on the way you always quipped back at him, clever and funny as well. I don’t know, it just felt wrong to try and build a friendship with you, knowing how I already felt a little....”  

You smirk, drawing yourself slightly closer to him. “A little what?”

His smile transforms itself from embarrassed to a sly grin of his own. “A little into you, I guess.”

“It really is a shame,” you shrug, trying to hide the excitement building in your chest. “Because here I was, thinking my cute neighbor had some irrational grudge against me.”

Chris leans in, so the two of you are only inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the strong fragrance of his cologne. Sharp with lemon zest and mint.

“We could always make up for lost time, you know,” he says, his eyes flashing with mischief.

That is all the invitation you need to break the space between the two of you. You press Chris’ lips against your own, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other along the line of his jaw. His lips are soft, you notice. Tender in the slow rhythm the two of you develop.

He runs his hands up along your figure. One of them finding itself locked in your hair, the other placed firmly on the curve of your lower back. Gently, he leads the two of you away from the stove, placing you so that your back is pressed up against the kitchen counter.

You run your hand down along his chest, reveling in the groan he let’s out as your fingers trail down his lower abdomen. The sound is electricity pulsing through you, charging the room and igniting the atmosphere around the two of you.

His lips leave yours, trailing your jaw before making their way down your neck. Each individual kiss is slow and sultry, sending a shiver down your spine. You take a deep breath to stable yourself, and it does not go unnoticed.

Chris smirks, shifting his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with desire. “You know, if we keep this up, the pasta sauce is going to burn,” he says, letting his fingers trail along your collarbone.

“Let it,” you shrug. “I wasn’t hungry anyways.”

Chris laughs at this, leaning forward so his face brushes the crook of your neck. “Yeah, right,” he says, allowing his lips to dust your skin. Suddenly, he bites down, not enough to break through the skin, but certainly enough to leave a small mark.  

You laugh, running your hands in his hair, half-heartedly pulling him off of your neck. “Hey! That hurt,” you exclaim, only half serious.

“Sorry,” he grins, before crashing his lips into yours once again. The pace between the two of you is much faster now, each kiss more passionate. More promising. Your desire rings through you, clouding your mind in a hazy fog of lust. It is dizzying, just how much you want him at this moment.

You're certain he feels the same way, given in how tightly he grips your thigh, his breath ragged every time you break apart. It is messy. Greedy. The two of you so deeply wanting more. More of each other.

You’re about to ask if he wants to move this to the bedroom, when suddenly the apartment door swings open. It’s almost comical, how quickly you and Chris break apart, springing to opposite ends of the kitchen.

“I hate to say it, but you were right,” Minho calls as he walks inside, not yet glancing up from his phone screen. “Shit got out of hand. Someone managed to break the pool table, don’t even ask how, I don’t know either. Almost gave Felix an aneurysm. I swear the kid was about to cry, poor guy. Han had to shut everything down. So you really didn’t miss out on-” Minho stops as he sees Chris, a confused yet bemused expression crossing his face.

“Oh, hey Chan,” he says, causing you to give Chris a look.

“A nickname,” Chris mouths to you, as discreetly as he possibly can.

“What are you doing over here?” Minho asks him, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. He has that smug smirk on his face that makes you want to punch him.

“Oh, well…” Chris starts, casting you a glance. “Y/N made some food, and there was too much of it, so she invited me over.”

“Really?” Minho asks, caught off guard. He walks past you and Chris, staring at the pasta and sauce currently sitting on the oven burners. “You’re saying Y/N made this?”

“Well, yeah?” Chris says, feigning confusion. “Of course, I wouldn’t lie about something like that. Why?”

You have to stop yourself from laughing, looking at the expression of utter bewilderment on Minho’s face. Minho glances at you, narrowing his eyes, before sighing.

“Well then, I guess you proved me wrong on two things tonight, Y/N,” he says, grabbing a bowl from the cupboard.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he begins to scoop some of the penne into his dish.

“Oh, you said there was a lot,” Minho responds, raising one eyebrow. “Can I not have some?”

“Sorry, go ahead,” you say, still slightly flustered by the abruptness of his entrance. Minho finishes filling his bowl and takes a seat at the kitchen island. As he begins to eat, the room is filled with a rather tense silence. You and Chris share an awkward look, unsure of what to do next.

Minho looks up from his dish, glancing between the two of you.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing his bowl and standing up from his chair. “I’m going to go eat this in my room. Have fun you two.”

Before you can say anything, Minho disappears around the corner, down the hallway leading to his room. You turn back towards Chris. The two of you stare at each other for a moment, before bursting out into a fit of laughter.

“He’s a bit of a mood-killer, huh?” You say, grabbing two bowls from the cupboard, offering him one.

Chris nods in thanks as he takes the bowl from your hands. “Just a little bit,” he laughs, beginning to scoop some of the pasta into both of your dishes.

The two of you take a seat at your counter, spending the meal talking and laughing. Nothing else, the moment has passed, but that doesn’t bother you. You enjoy Chris’ presence. His quick humour and thoughtful conversation.

It really is something that you could get used to, you decide.

After you’re done eating, you walk Chris over to the door, handing him his surplus of spice bottles and leftover spinach.

“Thank you for doing all this, seriously. The food was delicious, you’re seriously gifted. And also, thank you for covering for me, I really didn’t feel like listening to Minho die laughing over the burnt cookies,” you admit.

“It’s no problem, really,” Chris smiles. He shifts all the spices over to his right arm, letting his free hand fall down to his side. Softly, he takes your hand in his, letting your fingers intertwine.

“Listen,” he continues, shyly looking up from your hands to meet your eyes. “If you’re not doing anything tomorrow, you’re welcome to come over for a proper dinner. You know, so I can show you what I can actually make when it’s not a last minute attempt at salvaging a meal.”

You smile a goofy, genuine grin. “That sounds good to me,” you say. Hesitantly, you lean forwards, planting a soft, innocent kiss on his lips.

As you break apart, he hums contently. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, thanks for today. You made my night, Y/N.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Chris.” You watch as he walks over to his apartment door, which is of course, only a few meters away from your own. When he disappears into his own apartment, you sigh, closing your own door behind you. You lean against the frame, letting out a shaky breath, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. It’s been so long since you’ve held any genuine interest in someone, you feel almost giddy.

That is until you see Minho, leaning against the corner of the kitchen wall, watching you with his cheshire smirk.

“Dinner tomorrow, huh?” He asks, walking into the kitchen and scooping himself the last of the pasta.

“What about it?” You retort, not giving in to that pestering look in his eyes.

“Oh, nothing. I’m sure it’ll be good, considering Chan clearly made this,” Minho says, shoveling some of the pasta into his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard.

“Save it, the lady at the front desk told me you almost set the apartment on fire,” Minho laughs as you pour the wine.

You let out a groan, handing him his glass. “God dammit.”

“Don’t blame her though,” he smiles, leaning back and taking a sip. “I wouldn’t have believed you could have cooked that anyway.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Had me fooled for a second there though,” he says, patting you on the head. “But more importantly, you like Chan huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Nice hickey, by the way,” he smirks, raising his eyebrows.

You pull up the collar of your shirt, casting him a glare. “Okay, maybe I do,” you shrug. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he replies, before taking a second to think. “Just please don’t fuck him or anything tomorrow. Walls are thin.”

You laugh, taking your glass of wine and flopping yourself back down on the living room couch.

“Shut up, Minho.”

~

thanks for reading loves <3

[wicked-mind]

Last Love

Summary: Based on the quote “He may be your first love but I intend to be your last” by Klaus Mikaelson.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Descriptions of domestic abuse, swearing.

Note: I wrote this in an hour after a sudden spurt of inspiration. Any mistakes are my own due to the fact it is two in the morning lol. As always, any likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. I love that shit (:

Part Two Here

All Writings Masterlist

gifs not mine

You were on your way to class when you felt a grip on your upper arm, pulling you into a janitor closet and shutting the door behind you. Your blinked your eyes a few times to adjust to the darkness before seeing the muscular, dark haired man in front of you with a cocky grin that seemed to be permanently on his lips anytime you saw him, “Bucky! What the hell? Class starts in like thirty seconds, I can’t be late again!.” You whined out at him. It was your sophomore year in college and the teacher in the class you had happened to be an asshole of a professor with a god complex and he had humiliated you in front of the whole class the first time you were late.

Bucky grinned down at you, taking a step closer and placing one hand on the shelf behind you beside your head, leaning closer until he could smell your sweet perfume, “I miss you, doll. That boyfriend of yours has been taking up all your time leaving none for me.” He purred out to you before checking the watch on his wrist, “Nine-oh-one. You’re late. Might as well hang out in here with me.”

You had known Bucky since high school and somehow even ended up at the same college which he always claimed was a ‘happy accident’ or ‘fate.’ You didn’t know why, but he was infatuated with you. He was always cornering you against lockers or pulling you into empty rooms to slip out some sly line that always made your heart beat a little too fast and always managed to make you blush. You pulled your notebooks tighter to your chest as he leaned closer, forgetting how to breathe for a moment in his presence. You always felt something for Bucky, and he knew it, but the fact he couldn’t keep himself out of trouble was something that had always held you back from being with him, “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to spend as much time together as we used to, Buck… It’s just Charlie doesn’t really like you very much and I have a lot of studying to do.” Charlie had been your boyfriend for almost a year and he was so unbelievably sweet to you. He treated you like a princess and always gave you the warmest hugs and softest kisses. Well, almost the warmest hugs and softest kisses... There’s only been one other person that had Charlie beat and he was cornering you in a janitor closet.

Bucky chuckles a little at your excuse, shaking his head before resuming to stare into your eyes, “Oh, Y/N. My perfect little Y/N.” He said, lifting his other hand to gently run his knuckles along your cheek causing a shiver to run up your spine, “Do you love him?”

You pondered his question for a moment, slightly lost in those gorgeous blue eyes of his before nodding slowly, “I do, Buck. I really do love him.” You squeaked out. Bucky always made you nervous and your legs feel numb.

Bucky’s grin turned into a sweet smile towards you. He moved his hand that was stroking your cheek to lean on the shelf behind you as well, trapping you against the shelf now with both his arms. He leans his face closer until you could feel his warm, minty breath against your face and his lips were almost brushing against yours, “That’s fine, sweetheart.” He whispers out to you, staring into your eyes with his mischievous blue ones, “He may be your first love, but I intend to be your last. I’ll wait for you forever, doll.”

It had been a year since you graduated with your bachelors degree and also a year since you had seen or talked to Bucky due to Charlie. You had moved in with him right after graduating and that was when it seemed like his personality took a complete 180. He no longer left sweet kisses on your skin or gave you those warm hugs that made you melt. Instead those once sweet touches you craved had turned into violent ones you flinched away from. Charlie drank too much and that was when he was at his worst. He would lose his temper over what seemed small to you but was the end of the world to him. But you felt trapped. You had tried to leave once but he came home from the bar before you managed to slip out the door. He punished you for that, leaving you a shaking mess on the floor in the bathroom with a broken nose and bruises on your ribs.

It was the holiday season and Charlie had told you to decorate the house for a Christmas party he would be hosting tomorrow. You spent your whole day setting up a tree and decorating it as perfect as you could before moving onto decorating the rest of the house. You hung up the stockings on the fireplace and decorated the mantle with little nutcrackers your grandmother had passed down to you before she passed away. Once you were proud of the decorating of the house, you waited and waited for Charlie to get back from wherever he had went, assuming he went to the bar. You stripped out of your clothing and put on some comfy pajama pants and a tank top before pulling your robe over your body. You went to make some tea and sat on the couch, waiting for Charlie to return.

You tried to keep yourself awake on the couch, but slipped off into sleep sitting up with a blanket on your lap and the tv playing some late night television show. You were startled away with a crack, your eyes opening to see Charlie knocking off the nutcrackers from the fireplace and stepping on them one by one, “Charlie, what are you doing?!” You said, launching off the couch and trying to snag one of the unharmed nutcrackers.

Charlie immediately turned his gaze on you, gripping your wrist roughly before you could grab one of the nutcrackers, “What did I tell you?” He growled out, his eyes glossed over and his breath stunk of alcohol as he spoke to you.

“Honey… I decorated… I’m sorry if you don’t like it just… Just tell me what you were thinking and I’ll fix it…” You breathed out, trying your best to put on a smile to calm him. The grasp he had on your wrist tightened, causing you to wince, “C’mon, honey… let’s just go to bed and I’ll fix it all tomorrow before the party, I promise.”

Charlie shook his head at you, making light clicking noises with his tongue, “Oh baby… Why can’t you just get things right the first time?” He mumbled out to you before a harsh slap came across your cheek, making tears fall from your eyes as you whimpered for him to please stop, “You make it so hard to love you.” He said, moving his hand from your wrist to your cheeks, squeezing them harshly before shoving you back hard enough to make you run into the Christmas tree, knocking it over with a loud crash beside you on the floor.

You looked over to see him approaching you with that look in his eyes that you knew so well. He wasn’t going to stop and this wasn’t over. You scrambled to your feet, making a run for the bathroom to lock yourself inside but as you were shutting the door Charlie kicked it open, causing you to fly back against the counter and wince at the pain that shot up your arm when it hit the edge of the hard counter. You sunk to the ground, holding your hands up towards him as if to tell Charlie that you had been defeated, sobbing, “Charlie I’m so sorry… I’m so-“ Charlie cut off your sentence by landing a punch to your cheek before gripping onto your hair and pulling you up to meet his eye line, “You say your sorry every time and yet here we are again. You’re so disappointing and worthless.” He growled out, throwing you by the hair towards the tub which you stumbled over and fell into, bringing the shower curtain and rod toppling down on top of you. He was on you in seconds, slapping you again with the back of his hand where his college football ring managed to open up a large cut on your lip. He gripped the collar of your robe, pulling your face close to his, “I can’t even stand the sight of you.” He growled out before pushing you back into the bathtub. He stood up straight, placing a hand on his hip while the other ran through his hair slowly as he let out a deep sigh, “I’m going out. I expect this all to be cleaned up and when I get back you better be waiting for me in bed.”

You watched him exit the bathroom door with a slam, staying still with tears running down your cheeks until you heard the slam of the front door indicating Charlie had left again. You let out a loud sob, looking around the bathroom. You felt hopeless, worthless… lost. You needed to get out of here, get away from him. You pulled yourself out of the bathtub, wincing slightly when you got to your feet and noticed a large bruise forming on your thigh which you assumed was from when Charlie threw you into the tub. You forced yourself to look in the mirror at the injuries on your face- a nasty split lip, a cut on your forehead from when you were thrown into the tree and landed on the floor, and a bruise already forming on your cheek where he had punched and slapped you. You shook your head at yourself, wondering how you ended up here. Wondering what you had done to make Charlie turn into a monster.

You stepped out of the bathroom slowly on shaking legs, wincing at the pain in your arm and leg as you made your way to the bedroom, still sobbing. You saw your phone sitting on the dresser and the only thing that could pass through your mind is that you needed safety. You needed someone to help you. You needed Bucky. You grabbed you phone and prayed that his number was still the same, clicking his number and holding the phone to your ear.

“Hey, doll.” His voice was still like velvet, rolling off his tongue in a flirty matter and you just knew he had that crooked grin planted on his lips, “Been a while, how you been pretty girl?” You opened your mouth to speak but only a small sob came out of your mouth which made his tone change instantly to worry, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself so you could form words, “Bucky… I need you… I need help…”

You could hear him fumbling around, assuming he was pulling himself out of bed and throwing on clothes, “I’m on the way, just text me the address. I got you, darlin’.”

You breathed out an ‘okay’ before hanging up the phone, sending him a message of your address and slumped onto the floor of your bedroom, gripping the phone for dear life as if it was your only life line. Then you broke. Wailing and crying at the trauma you had endured for over a year and you couldn’t help but feel like Bucky wouldn’t be able to do anything to help you.

You heard the front door open and you fell silent, your body tensing as you wondered if Charlie had returned. You held your breath, hoping that you could just make yourself invisible if you were silent and still enough. Then you heard footsteps coming towards the bedroom in a rush and you looked up to see Bucky standing in the doorway of the bedroom.

Bucky broke just about every traffic law he could on his way over to your house, letting himself in and scanning the rooms for any sign of you. His brow furrowed when he saw the tree knocked over with broken ornaments and nutcrackers on the floor, wondering what had happened. Then he walked into the bedroom and saw you there on the floor, beaten with tears rolling down your cheeks and gripping your phone, “Oh doll, no.” He whispered out, walking over and kneeling down on his knees in front of you. He lifted your chin up and looked at the wounds to your face, “What happened, sweetheart?” His angel, his perfect little Y/N was there in front o him broken and it was breaking his heart.

You could see the anger in his eyes but his tone was nothing but soft and filled with concern. His touch was gentle which was an immediate relief to you, having not been touched gently for so long. You whimpered slightly and closed your eyes, shaking your head, “Bucky… Please… Just get me out of here…” You sobbed out.

Bucky gently ran his finger tips over your cheek, nodding towards you, “I got you, sweetheart. Do you have a bag anywhere?” He asks and you nodded, pointing over to the closet. He stood up and went to the closet, pulling out a suitcase and placing it open on the bed. Bucky came back over to you, kneeling down and taking your hands gently to help you stand, “What do you need?”

“Just… Just some clothes… I don’t know.” You mumble out to him, your body still shaking and you gripped onto him, worried you’d fall.

Bucky nodded, keeping one hand in yours and moving the other around your waist and helped you to sit on the bed, “You just sit here, I’ll get your stuff.” He told you with a small smile before going back into the closet. He grabbed as many of your clothes he could from the closet, quickly shoving them into the suitcase as you stared at a wall still shaking. Once Bucky was done in the closet, he looked around the room for anything else you may need. He went through the bedside draws, grabbing out your journal and throwing it into the suitcase as well as your phone charger. Then he went to the dresser and opened the drawers, pulling out anything that looked like it was yours such as bras, underwear, and some jewelry. Once he had the suitcase full he turned to look at you, tilting your head up to look at him with his fingers on your chin, “Is there anything else you need, sweetheart?” He asks softly and when you shook your head no, he zipped up the suitcase and lifted it by the handle with one hand and outstretched his other towards you.

You shakily take his hand, letting him pull you up from the bed and help you out of the bedroom headed straight for the front door. You pause when you see all the Christmas decorations ruined, releasing his hand and walking over to grab the only nutcracker that hadn’t been broken by Charlie. You pulled it into your chest before going back to Bucky’s side where he wrapped an arm around your shoulder and led you out of that terrible house and into the safety of his black truck.

Bucky kept his hand in yours for the whole drive, cranking the heat so you weren’t shivering as you were still in your pajamas and robe. He would glance over at you every so often to just see you staring at your bare feet and would give your hand a small squeeze as if trying to ground you. Once he got you back to his house, Bucky helped you through the front door where you were immediately met with familiar faces sitting on the couch watching a football game and drinking beer.

“Oh my god, Y/N?” Steve asked, standing up and walking over to you immediately, looking down at you with a horrified look on his face, “What happened?”

You looked up at Steve and tired to manage the best smile you could, “Hi, Stevie.” You say softly then notice Sam was right behind him and you half smiled towards him before looking back down at the floor, still clutching the nutcracker in your hands.

Bucky noted how uncomfortable you looked, not wanting to talk about what had happened yet, “I’m gonna get her upstairs guys, I’m sure we will have time to catch up later.” He said, giving Steve and Sam a look before leading you upstairs to his bedroom. He set the suitcase down on the floor and watched as you immediately sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the nutcracker in your hands. Bucky moved to sit next to you on the bed, rubbing your back softly, “Y/N, sweetheart, can you tell me what happened? Did Charlie do this to you?”

You kept your eyes on the nutcracker in your hands. At least Charlie didn’t get to your favorite one and you were able to bring it with you. He had red circles on his face for rosy cheeks and a long white beard with blue clothes painted on him and a matching blue hat. Tears hadn’t stopped falling from your eyes since Charlie left, “He just… changed, Buck..” You started, your voice barely above a whisper, “After I moved in with him, he changed. He started drinking a lot more… and then all this…” You lifted a hand to gesture to your wounded face, “All this just… happened. He was upset about how I decorated for Christmas…”

Bucky felt more rage than he had ever felt in his life for what you had been through, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He whispers to you, keeping his voice leveled as he didn’t want you to know how angry he was, “What can I do?”

You looked up into his eyes, scanning his face before looking back down at the nutcracker in your hands, “Can… can you just hold me until I fall asleep?” You ask softly, “I still don’t feel… safe.” Bucky had always made you feel safe even though he was quite the trouble maker. You wished you would’ve just given into your feelings for him then maybe none of this would’ve happened to you. And the way he looked at you… fuck, all those feelings you had for him just came flooding back in like you haven’t seen him for years.

Bucky smiles and nods, “Of course, doll. It’d be my honor.” He told you, “You’re always safe with me, sweetheart. But before we go to bed, why don’t we get you cleaned up?” When you nodded, he stood and left the room coming back with a frozen bag of vegetables, a damp wash cloth, and some rubbing alcohol. He cleaned your wounds on your face, making you hold the frozen vegetables to your cheek to help reduce swelling. Once you were all cleaned up to the best of his capability, Bucky helped you change into some clean pajamas since the ones you had on were slightly torn with spots of blood from your own wounds. It also gave Bucky a chance to assess the large bruise forming on your upper thigh. Once you were all changed, he got into bed with you, tucking the covers over your shoulders.

You stared at Bucky who was staring back at you with a small smile, gently stroking his fingertips along your arm to comfort you. After a few minutes of silence, you decided to speak, “I’m sorry, Bucky.” You whisper to him, “For not talking to you… He made me stop.”

Bucky smiled and shushed you, “It’s okay, doll. You’re here now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You nod slightly and scooted a little closer to him, leaning your head on his chest though it made you wince at the touch but you didn’t back away, feeling safe and comfortable as he had always made you feel, “You’ve always been my person… Thank you.”

Bucky moved his hand to stroke through your hair softly before kissing your forehead gently, “And I always will be.”

Bucky helped you through a lot over the next six months. At first, you’d flinch whenever anybody made a sudden more towards you or something loud startled you. Bucky was always there right beside you though, taking your hand and leaving kisses along your knuckles to calm you down and let you know it was going to be okay. You stayed in his room, he had made room in his closet and drawers for all your clothes. You slept next to him in his bed everynight, feeling safe in his arms. Charlie had been calling your phone incessantly and one day after sixteen nasty text messages and an awful voicemail, Bucky left with Sam while you stayed in the house with Steve watching cartoons. After that day, Charlie never bothered you again and although you were worried about what Sam and Bucky had done to him, you were grateful to finally be able to move on with your life.

After Charlie had been taken care of, Bucky and you quickly got back into the groove of your friendship. He would flirt with you nonstop, always wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulder and leaving soft kisses on your forehead and nose. He even helped you with your nightmares, pulling you close and waking you up to whisper sweet and comforting things into your ear until you fell asleep again. Bucky grounded you, made you feel special. He was slowly making up for all the things Charlie had done to you, showing you how special you are and all the love you deserved.

You were curled up next to him in his bed, staring at his sleeping face as his arms were wrapped around you. He looked so beautiful laying there asleep that it made a small smile form onto your lips. You’d been kicking yourself the last few weeks mentally for not just giving into him years ago, wondering what your life would’ve been like if you just said yes when he asked you out everyday in high school. You bit your lip gently before whispering, “Bucky?”

“Hmm?” Bucky hummed out to you, keeping his eyes closed but a small smile formed on his lips at your voice.

You studied his features, nervous for your next words, “Did you mean what you said years ago? About being my last love?” You ask softly.

Bucky opened one eye to look over at you when you asked the question, his smile widening and he pulled you closer into his arms and kissed your nose gently, “Of course, doll. Why?”

You smile softly to him, watching him now open both eyes to stare at you curiously, “Because I… I love you. I always have and I’m sorry I wasted so much time not being with you.”

Bucky’s smile turned into that crooked grin that you swear was crafted by god himself, “You mean that, sweetheart?” He purred out to you, “You love me?”

You nodded slowly, “I do. And not just for saving me but everything you’ve always done for me. You’ve always treated me like I was important, worthy of love.”

Bucky shifted in the bed, rolling on top of you and staring down at you lovingly, “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say those words, sweetheart.” He said down to you before lowering his face closer to yours, his lips brushing against your jaw softly making you let out a jagged breath at his touch, “Because I have always loved you. And I always will love you. We are meant to be, baby. Just took a little longer for us to get here.” He whispered out against your skin before his lips met yours, kissing you deeply while he brought a palm up to your cheek.

You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach at his words, thinking it didn’t get better than this. But then he kissed you and it was like fire danced across your skin. Your hands went up to tangle in his dark hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. You couldn’t remember the last time you had been kissed so affectionately, felt so loved. You kept kissing him, not wanting to waste anymore time without feeling his love. You were finally his and he was yours.

__________________________________________________________

Taglist: @buckypops @stcrryslibrary @bibliophilewednesday

[iyumeu]

but a wolf in sheep's clothing

...is more than a warning ♡

a more lighthearted companion of my yandere obey me fic spirit guardian featuring: a more violent, assertive (aggressive) MC premise: MC gets hurt by bullies. their demons get upset. MC realizes that they have the power of friendship and also incredible violence on their side. this is the origin story of lucifer's migraine. cw: uh not much, there's just a mild fight scene and also MC might have killed someone? probably not though.

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿Ꮚⓛ ‸ ⓛᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

From the very beginning you had known that you were being bullied.

It was definitely nothing you couldn't handle. Acidic rumors, ruined belongings, isolation... Things that you thought you left behind in high school. You should've known that hell was just another version of high school, except it went on for eternity.

Everything came to a head, however, when some of the demons tried to bring you to a shady place and you refused. You knew what a tertiary location was, and you wanted no part in it!

The demons weren't happy with that and almost broke your arm but you managed to wiggle your way out and run off before any further damage could be done. Unfortunately, the blue-black imprints of their grip remained starkly visible on your hand, causing a large commotion to happen over dinner.

Mammon had been the first one to notice the bruise on your arm and immediately flew into a panic, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you vigorously. You held back your urge to wrap your arms around him tight enough to break his spine. He held your best interests at heart.

Once Mammon was content with the amount of shaking he had done to you, Belphegor was next, pulling your arm over to him and tracing a finger over the bruised skin. Beelzebub was sitting next to him, leaning over to catch a better glimpse of it. It was like none of them had ever seen a bruise before.

There was a sudden, loud crash and your head shot up to see Leviathan on his feet, bristling in anger in his demon form as his tail whipped around behind him. His chair was overturned, the source of the noise. Beside him, Satan was in his demon form as well, the cutlery in his hand bent and distorted from the strength of his grip.

"Who hurt you?"

Asmodeus was still seated with a smile on his face, but his eyes were glowing slightly, gaze fixed upon you as he asked his question.

"It was just some demon," you replied flippantly. "I don't know why but they seem to have it out for me."

"You mean that this isn't a one-off?" Lucifer asked. You shrugged.

"It's the first time things have gotten physical, if that helps," you offer. Lucifer closed his eyes with a sigh. Oh no, you knew that sigh. The I'm-not-angry-I'm-just-disappointed sigh.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he asked.

"Well, I told the teacher. They just told me to deal with it on my own." A low growl sounded throughout the room. You quickly continued before a fight broke out or something. "I also didn't want to be a bother, you know? It didn't affect me at all, honest. Most of the time, I just thought they were really funny."

"Did you..." Satan took a deep breath and the smile on his face stabilized. "Did you never think about getting revenge?"

"Oh. I was allowed to get revenge?"

Seven pairs of eyes turn to you.

"Yes?"

"Huh. I thought that I needed to be tolerant and shit because I was a representative of the human world. Okay. Good to know. Anyway, it won't happen again, I can assure you that."

Uncaring of the tension surrounding you, you went back to your food, knowing that if you appeared calm enough, your demonic housemates would follow suit. And sure enough, on your third forkful of demon's hair pasta, they all calmed down and continued their meal. Little did they know, it was the beginning of the end.

But not for you! ♡

⭒☆━━━━━━━━✿ᏊⓛꈊⓛᏊ✿━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Mammon was sticking awfully close to you today, as was Beelzebub. They flanked either side of you like a pair of underworld bodyguards, rarely allowing you a moment to yourself. No matter where you went, one of the demons brothers would be either with you or in the general vicinity. Even Leviathan had gone to school, and it wasn't even mandatory for him!

You felt loved and protected and also incredibly frustrated. However, all good (?) things eventually came to an end and your demonic housemates could not look out for you forever.

It was lunch and, despite their best efforts, all of the demon brothers had been called away for one thing or another, leaving you alone to poke at your devil chili salsa potato wedges in the lunch hall. You waited for a bit and, as expected, the trio of demon schoolyard bullies appeared in front of you.

"Looks like your demon bodyguards are nowhere to be found," the lead demon mockingly. "And here you are, all alone and vulnerable."

You stabbed one of the potatoes and brought it to your mouth. It wasn't as good as Mammon's cooking but it was still better than Solomon's.

Frustrated at your lack of a response, the demon standing to the left of the lead one kicked your table, almost sending your metal food tray skittering off the edge. You quickly catch the glass of juice that did fall off the edge, fortunately without any spillage.

"Human, are you even listening?!" they snarled.

"Yeah I am," you replied. "I just didn't know what to say?"

One of the other demons grabbed at your arm and pulled you up to a standing position. It was the same arm that contained the bruises from yesterday and the rough treatment made you wince. They gave a snort of derision in response.

"Not so proud now, huh?" they sneered. You searched your memory for the words you used to say when you found yourself in such situations.

"Are you trying to harm me?" you asked, loudly. The cafeteria of demons glanced at you but otherwise turned a blind eye, as they always did. It didn't matter though, all you needed was for them to have heard your question, and the bullies' answer.

"I'm not trying," the demon said. "I am hurting you. And I will until you—"

With your free hand, you grabbed the glass on the table and smashed it against the demon's face. The glass shattered on impact and the demon reeled, letting go of your arm in the process. You wasted no time in picking up your chair and swinging it against the demon with full force and they flew into the, thankfully, empty tables beside yours.

"You— Get the human!" the lead demons snarled. You picked up your lunch tray and harshly brought it down onto the head of the demon charging at you. It impacted the demon's skull with a loud 'clunk' and the demon started to scream and claw their face. It appeared that some of the chili extract had gotten into their eyes. Oops.

You couldn't waste any time, though. The last demons, the lead demon, was fuming and making their way towards you. Lightning quick, you leapt onto the table and aimed a kick at their head. To your utmost surprise, the kick scored and the demon fell onto the ground. You jumped off the table and landed right onto the demon, making them shout in pain. Huh. The teacher wasn't joking when they said that that even you could deal with demons like this.

Still, you had to make a Statement. You had to reforge your Status in Demon High School as someone not to be messed with so as to deter any further bullying attempts.

So, you grabbed the demon below you by the collar and dragged them to the window. You hurled it open and then shoved more than half of the demon's body out of the window so that you were the only thing keeping them from a nasty drop.

"Wanted to bully the human, huh?" you asked. Your voice held no malice or anger. "Well, you should have killed me instead. Anyway, I hope you won't be bullying me, or any other human, ever again?"

The demon was whimpering, casting nervous glances at the ground below. Huh. You had a perfect quote for this, didn't you? You couldn't believe that an entire edgy teenager phase spent memorizing quotes you thought were cool would ever pay off like this.

"Perhaps you should worry less about gravity, who has already made up its mind about killing you, and more about me, who's still mulling it over."

The demon started to shake.

"I won't do it again!" they shrieked. "Please, let me off!"

You were going to pull them back in — you weren't going to kill them, that was illegal — when a loud shout startled you.

"MC?!"

You whirled around to see your demonic housemates standing around the entrance of the cafeteria, all staring at you with varying degrees of shock. With reflexes honed from years of getting into trouble due to fights, both of your hands shot up to either side of your head.

"It was self-defense, I swear!" you blurted out. Behind you, there was a scream that gradually got softer. Ah. Well. They were a demon and there was, like, a pond below. They would survive.

Probably.

[youarejesting]

Reaction 14: Walking in on you.

[Masterlist]

If you have any reactions you would like to see send them via asks and I will write them when I can.

WARNING: This is SMUTTY!

Seokjin: 

You had been stressed and you needed relief, you could have gone to Seokjin for help but sometimes you wanted alone time. Seokjin was great. He went above and beyond for you but it was nice to feel cheeky to feel dangerous. Like he could walk in at any moment. 

What you didn’t expect was for him to walk in at this moment. He walked in and slapped a hand over his eyes, “jagiya!” He whined peeking out from between his fingers. 

“Yes my love?” You groaned, not bothering to stop, your hands gripped the sheets as you looked at him. 

“Ya, stop,” he whined “I can’t talk to you knowing your doing this”

“Then don’t talk to me,” you gasped. He climbed onto the bed and took the remote from beside you turning it off. “Hey woah woah what are you doing no Jinnie I was so close.”

Your voice went weak as you saw the dark look in his eyes, “oh, how the tables have turned my sweetheart, do you want Oppa to let you finish?”

Yoongi:

You knew he did it whenever he got the urge but it was rare, for you the urge was often and you didn’t want to bother him it would be too annoying to stop him at work all the time. 

So taking matters into your own hands you brought a toy hoping it would help you unwind. It was a couples toy which you wanted to buy in the hopes Yoongi would use it with you. 

But as you had just ordered it then it wouldn’t come for another week even with the express post. So you were left on your own, it was a little disappointing after seeing all the fancy devices that you could be using.

You were so close and decided to just move into the perfect position where you would feel your orgasm the best but when you opened your eyes and turned you saw Yoongi leaning against the bedroom door. Watching you with his dark eyes.

Hoseok:

Hoseok was amazing. He was happy, energetic, kind, funny, loving and in the bedroom he was hot as hell. His only flaw was being a little naive, what were you supposed to think when he sent you a video of himself dancing and when he finished the routine he would be panting walking to the camera his singlet stuck to his chest. 

Maybe it was your flaw? Thinking he was sexy all the time, you were insatiable. Hoseok had sent you another video and you were unable to stop yourself reaching into your top draw and finding out your favourite toy, you were watching the video over and over and you were so close. 

“Hands off what is mine, jagiya” he said and you froze removing the toy with a few whimpers. “You have been naughty”

“No, I haven’t even finished yet,” you said trying to think up a plausible lie, “I was just preparing for you” 

He undressed climbing over you, “Well now that you are ready, let me show how I discipline naughty girls.”

Namjoon: 

You had been throwing hints all day, shaving your legs and washing and styling your hair early that morning. Even wore his favourite lipstick. You picked out your best lingerie and put on a really short dress. You bent over, leaned down, stretched to the highest cupboards and Namjoon didn’t get the hint. 

Was it always this difficult to seduce your man, you frowned at the end of dinner when he showered and went to read in bed. You decided to make it obvious, stepping out of the shower in a towel, you sauntered to the bed. You dropped the towel and laid down on the bed and he still didn’t notice.

You frowned, what book was he reading that was more important than you. Sighing audibly you decided that you would just have to have fun on your own tonight. You couldn't expect Namjoon to be horny and ready every night. Slipping your hand under the bed you found an old friend. You walked out of the room to Namjoon’s office and sat in his big desk chair.

You had your feet on the desk knees pressed to your chest and was trying to orgasm quickly. You could feel the batteries starting to drain. Using your imagination and willpower you tried your hardest to orgasm when the door opened Namjoon’s face poking through the door. “Hey, where did you go-OH!”

The batteries died and you frowned, head falling back against the desk chair, panting. “Why do the batteries decide to die now!” You whined legs falling to the floor. You pressed your forehead against his desk and tried to cool down the blush on your cheeks.

“Well, I don’t know if you wanted this to be a personal thing but, I don’t require batteries” Namjoon stepped out from behind the door to reveal his tented boxers.

Jimin: 

You were quite embarrassed about your sex drive it was a lot and you mostly dealt with it on your own quickly and quietly. Jimin was a very sensual creature and he seemed a little down. When you kept your sex life pretty minimalistic, you wanted to tell him but you knew he would say it was okay and that you should let him help but he would get sick of you. 

You were in your room he wouldn’t be back for a while he was filming RUNBTS you took the opportunity to get yourself off a few times. 

You put your vibrator inside you and came a few times and leaving it in you started cooking dinner. You paused between cutting vegetables to orgasm again and you clutched the bench and moaned.

You stirred the dinner and heard a cough. You turned to Jimin who hugged you, his cheeks red. “Are you feeling okay love, you sounded in pain?”

You blushed but he lifted your skirt at the buzzing sound and frowned “baby do I not satisfy you?”

“Jimin, you satisfy me so much, I just don’t want you to get sick of me or think that I only like your body. I love you”

He nodded “I wouldn’t get sick of you are you sure it’s not cause I am terrible in bed.”

“Jiminie,” you turned of the stove “let me show you how much I love you and when I am done tell me if it’s too much”

He looked at you a little nervous and nodded letting you lead him to the bedroom for a long night. “Hey Hobi I can’t come in today?”

“Why not?”

“Y/n broke my pelvis. My back is killing me”

“I’m sorry” you said to him. “I shouldn’t have”

“Darling I want it like that every night” he grinned “you riding me until we both can’t walk”

“Eww hang up first” Hobi muttered in disgust. 

Taehyung: 

You don’t know why but the feeling snuck up on you while you had friends over you wanted nothing but to feel some sweet release. You couldn’t exactly tell your friends that you wanted to borrow your boyfriend for a quickie.

Instead you made an excuse about a stomach ache and heading to the bathroom upstairs. You locked yourself in your room and tried to be quick hoping no one would come check on you. You had this really great vibrator that always made things quick. You were almost there, you could almost feel it when you heard a scoff.

“Jagiya,” Taehyung reached between your legs to remove the toy. He twisted the bottom of the device and took out the batteries. “You can wait, can’t you darling for me.” 

He smirked, taking your underwear off the floor and slipping them in his pocket. He grabbed you by the wrist and led you out the door. Making sure to fix your dress back into position. “You can wait can’t you love?”

Jungkook: 

Jungkook was playing video games when he heard noise from the room, you sounded hurt, had you fallen or were you feeling sick. You weakly cried out his name and he threw open the door to see you on the bed. Jungkook’s face turned bright red and he bowed ninety degrees. “I’m sorry” He left immediately and went back to his games room. He sat down, trying to calm his racing heart and looked down at the bulge in his pants.

[elentiyawhitethorn]

Exile

Rowaelin Month, Day 29

A Work Based on a Song @rowaelinscourt

CW: language, minor NSFW

AN: Based on the Taylor Swift song

Rowaelin Month Masterlist//Main Masterlist//5747 words

Second, third, and hundredth chances

Balancing on breaking branches

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

There she was. Arm-in-arm with that man and standing tall and smiling.

She didn’t have any right to smile like that.

Not when it wasn’t because of him. Not when he wasn’t the one holding her, wasn’t the one telling her cheesy jokes and pressing heated kisses to her neck.

And that man had no right to lay his hands on her. She didn’t belong to him.

Rowan clenched his fingers so tightly he heard something snap. He glanced down to see the plastic lid of his coffee cup with a crack in it. He loosened his grip, then looked back up.

He shouldn’t be watching her. She had given up on him. She was the reason he was struggling, and she was the cause of his pain. Aelin didn’t deserve any attention from him.

But he just couldn’t tear his gaze away.

—

“Stop it,” Aelin complained halfheartedly, a laugh creeping into her voice. “You can’t pay for everything.”

Sam winked. “Who says?”

Aelin rolled her eyes and shoved him lightly, a smile twitching at her lips all the while. “I hate you.”

“And I love you.”

A grin broke over Aelin’s face. Sam had said that for the first time last night, after a lovely dinner. There had been roses and candles and a gourmet (at least to Aelin’s uncultured taste buds) meal. Sam had really gone all out.

And he had been more than understanding about the fact that she wasn’t ready to reciprocate those three words. He’d insisted that she didn’t actually, knowing everything there was to know about the relationship she’d just gotten out of and having complete and utter respect and supportiveness for her.

But she would say it back soon. She was free, and she was with Sam, and for the first time in a long time, she was happy. Aelin may not love him yet, and she never was sure of when that extreme adoration crossed the line, but it had to be soon. It had to be because Sam was good to her. And if she could love people who weren’t good to her, Aelin must certainly be able to love the ones who were.

That’s how it worked, right?

Aelin smiled even as her thoughts raced back in time, to a different point in her life, when things had been much different. These things did not need to be analyzed. Aelin had done enough overthinking to last a lifetime, and she had promised herself to stop. To just stop thinking about him at all.

Aelin leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to Sam’s cheek. “C’mon, our coffee’s getting cold.”

Sam grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “I bet I could find a way to warm things up.”

Aelin choked on a laugh. “Don’t you dare. That was the least sexy thing I have ever heard come out of your mouth.”

Sam pulled her closer. “I have plenty more up my sleeve. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Aelin whacked him on the arm playfully. “You are the worst boyfriend ever,” she teased. “Let’s go, maybe I will let you warm things up.” She grinned, knowing that encouraging him only increased the number of ridiculous jokes and pick-up lines being sent her way and not caring one bit.

With one last smirk, Sam tugged Aelin toward the door of the coffee shop, arm loosely around her waist. She leaned into him as they walked to the door, only slowing down as she reached over to adjust her purse strap over her shoulder… and something caught Aelin’s eye when she looked back.

Someone.

Aelin came to a complete standstill, eyes widening in shock.

It shouldn’t be such a surprise. After all, this was a small town. But Aelin having to see him again, having to see him staring at her unashamedly, maintaining eye contact…

It was unnerving.

His eyes bore holes into Aelin, and she shivered. He hadn’t always looked at her like that. It had been happy, once. Once there had been love in gaze. Not possession. Not loathing. Not fury. Just pure, unadulterated love.

So much had changed. No, Aelin corrected herself. Nothing had changed other than her ability to notice what was really going on. This was how it had always been. Aelin had just been too blind to see it.

Distantly, Aelin realized Sam was asking her what was wrong. He was following her gaze. He was putting the pieces together.

And now he was asking her if that was him, but they both knew. They both knew it was.

Aelin spun around suddenly, a complete 180 degree turn, eradicating Rowan from her line of sight.

“Let’s go,” Aelin said. “Let’s just go.”

—

“See you tomorrow,” Aelin said, kissing Sam on the lips.

He deepened the kiss slightly before pulling away and saying, “See you, babe. Love you.”

Aelin smiled.

Sam smiled back, but the expression dimmed before he could leave, hesitating on the doorstep. “Are you sure…”

Aelin took a deep breath. “Sam, I love that you care about me, but there is nothing to be done. Rowan lives nearby; I’ll have to get used to seeing him every once in a while.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not fair. He doesn’t get to do what he did to you and then walk around untouched, flaunting it.”

Aelin flashed a watery smile. “That’s the thing, Sam. He can do whatever he likes, and it won’t matter. It doesn’t matter because I am with you and I am happy and anything he does is entirely inconsequential.”

Sam held Aelin’s gaze, then his eyes softened. He kissed her again and pulled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he repeated in a whisper.

Aelin smiled, watching him leave.

She leaned against the doorway of her apartment, watching Sam walk away with a gentle expression on her face. He glanced back only once to toss a saucy grin her way as he took the turn and headed down the stairs, out of sight. But she didn’t go back inside quite yet, instead gazing in the direction he’d last been visible at, thinking. Thinking happy things.

And then thinking some not so happy things.

It wasn’t fair that Rowan could consume her thoughts so wholly. Yes, consume was the right word. He consumed her mind now, and before he had consumed every inch of her body, every aspect of her life. And it was a word with so many different connotations that for a long time, Aelin hadn’t thought that was so bad.

She knew better now.

Aelin normally would have willed a smile back to her face to reassure those around her, but she was alone now. No more pretending. Aelin frowned fully as she turned to renter the apartment.

And nearly ran smack into Rowan, who was standing on the opposite side of the doorway. Only a couple feet away, staring at her, breathing her air, and she hadn’t noticed.

Aelin regarded him silently, trying to decide if Rowan was real or not. This wouldn’t have been the first time she’d imagined him beside her.

“What exactly did I do to you, Aelin?” He was real then.

“You have no right.” Aelin’s voice was raspy and beyond furious.

“You can’t stop thinking about me, can you?”

Aelin shook her head, her entire body shaking. “You have no right,” she repeated.

Rowan crossed his arms. The door was wide open, and Aelin stood on the side with the hinges. Which meant she had the disadvantage, unable to get in without Rowan stopping her.

“What do you want from me?”

Rowan shook his head, eyes simmering with something deceptively similar to hurt. “I want to understand.”

“What is there to understand?” Aelin hissed.

“Why did you leave me?” Rowan’s voice was hard.

Aelin breathed hard through her nostrils, not bothering to put a leash on her temper. “Because you didn’t treat me right, Rowan. You ignored me. You used me.”

“I loved you!” Rowan shouted.

Aelin shook her head. “That wasn’t love. That was something else.”

“What was it, Aelin?”

She bit her lip, and Rowan’s eyes snapped down to her mouth. He stepped forward. “What was it?” he demanded, voice far too gravelly for this conversation.

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “Something bad. Something wrong.”

With that she kicked out her foot and caught Rowan on the inside of his leg. Thought likely uninjured, he was surprised enough by Aelin’s spite that he stepped back an inch. Just enough space for Aelin to shove past him and slam the door.

Angry tears streaming down her face in hateful torrents, Aelin flipped the lock, then slid the chain into place.

Then she released a muffled cry of anguish and leaned back against the door, swaying. She started crying in earnest, trying to keep her sobs relatively quiet in case Rowan was still at the door. He probably was.

Aelin slid down the door limply, falling into a pile on the floor. She reached around and placed a palm flat on the wooden surface. He was out there.

She knew he was.

Confirmation came in the form of a shadow, flitting across the crack under the door, and finally blocking the space considerably, accompanied by the a soft thump.

Rowan was sitting next to her. Without the door, he’d be touching her. Holding her.

Aelin pressed her face against the door, getting as close to him as she could while still being able to deny it. She’d slammed the door on him. No one could take that away from her.

But no one could take this away from her either, this moment.

—

Aelin was crying. He’d known she would be, but it still hurt to hear.

Rowan traced his fingers across the door delicately, imagining her own touch on the other side. They were almost holding hands.

Time passed. They kept sitting there, and Rowan knew Aelin well enough to know she’d be screaming at herself inside her head, trying to make herself get up, to no avail.

Rowan felt a twisted sense of satisfaction to know that she couldn’t leave him just yet.

It was two in the morning when Rowan finally heard Aelin stand. Faintly he heard her, still sniffling, shuffle off to somewhere else in their apartment.

For it was their apartment. Rowan’s just as much as Aelin’s. More even. He just wasn’t allowed inside anymore.

Rowan stood and walked away.

—

Aelin giggled. “You did not.”

Chaol flashed a smile. “I swear on all that is holy I did.”

Aelin shook her head, eyes dancing with mirth. “How does one even manage to do that without being—”

“May I cut in?”

Aelin turned, smile frozen in place, to find her boyfriend reaching over to place an arm around her side, fingers digging in a bit too much for her liking. “Of course. We were just talking about you, actually.”

Rowan smiled, but there was something in the expression that didn’t appeal to her. “Oh?”

Chaol joined in. “I told her about the day I met you, how I got so upset with you that I put your phone number in all the bathrooms and you got a bunch of calls asking for a hookup.”

Chaol laughed, clearly under the impression this was long since water under the bridge. Rowan’s returning smile was a bit tighter, and Aelin wondered if he still held a grudge. Or if he was upset about something else.

“As much as I would love to reminisce,” Rowan said, voice dripping with manners and camaraderie, “My girlfriend and I need to go. I’ll see you on Monday, Westfall.”

Chaol smiled and waved. Aelin just took another sip of her champagne.

Rowan plucked the champagne flute from her hand and set it somewhere off to the side, then pulled Aelin toward the exit, his hand still firmly around her waist.

Aelin didn’t say anything as they left the work party. Nor as Rowan opened the passenger door of his car and helped her inside, like he thought she’d bolt at the first opportunity.

The ride home was silent. As was the walk up the stairs leading to their apartment. Rowan unlocked the door with his keys and held it open, letting Aelin go first. Once again, she got the feeling it wasn’t a gesture of kindness.

Aelin dropped her purse on the counter then spun around, anger finally spilling over the top. “What the hell was that?”

Rowan crossed his arms. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rowan didn’t waver. “You were flirting with my coworker.”

Aelin gaped at him. “I was doing no such thing!”

Rowan just snorted.

“You asked me to make an effort with your friends,” Aelin said icily. “That’s all I was doing.”

Rowan scoffed. “Don’t take me for a fool, Aelin.”

“Excuse me? I was not flirting with anybody, Rowan. We were talking about you for fuck’s sake.”

“Chaol always has ulterior motives. I don’t trust him.”

“And what about me? Do you trust me?” Aelin barely managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Rowan’s face instantly softened. “Of course I trust you, baby.”

Aelin didn’t reply.

Rowan stepped forward and brought his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks. “Look at me.”

Aelin hesitated, then brought her gaze to meet his own.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have been so suspicious. Forgive me.”

Aelin’s lower lip wavered. She still said nothing.

“I love you,” Rowan continued, softly tracing a line over her cheek. “Forgive me.”

“I love you too,” Aelin rasped. And it was true. She loved him more than anything in the world.

Rowan leaned in and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut. She was tense as Rowan started to move his mouth down her neck, loving and demanding at the same time.

Rowan’s hand found its way to her shoulder, sliding the thin strap of her dress off. Aelin stayed still, breathing through her nose while Rowan started following the top of her dress down with his mouth, kissing her bare chest, Aelin’s breasts covered only barely.

“Rowan,” Aelin gasped as he finally freed a breast from the fabric and closed his mouth around it. She wasn’t sure if she was spurring him on or protesting.

Rowan pushed her back a step. Then another. Aelin felt the wall at her back. She let her head fall back against it.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan repeated in a dark murmur, breath caressing her ear. His hand fell to her thigh and pushed up the dress, then he reached for his own buckle.

Aelin could only try to convince herself she wanted this as Rowan pulled her underwear to the side and—

Aelin jolted up in bed with a gasp.

Sweat soaked the sheets and dripped down Aelin’s face as she panted into the darkness. Aelin bent over and buried her face in the sheets, face already wet with tears.

—

Routine had long since become mechanical for Rowan. Get out of bed. Take a shower. Eat breakfast. Brush teeth. Dress and get out the door.

It helped keep his thoughts from straying.

It wasn’t just getting ready that Rowan approached with machine-like indifference. The rest of the day passed in a blur, and soon enough Rowan was in a bar, sipping his first whiskey of the night.

It sure as hell wouldn’t be the last.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and placed it on the bar in front of him. Turning it on revealed Aelin’s smiling face, framed by her vibrant golden hair. A white sundress highlighted her curves subtly. The sun was high behind her, and the cloudless sky was the blue of her eyes. The whole picture was so Aelin.

Rowan entered his passcode and took in the home screen, another picture of Aelin, this one with him as well. Aelin’s cousin Aedion had taken the picture. They were sprawled across the grass, Aelin haphazardly lounging on top of Rowan, her mouth open in a laugh that he could almost hear, even now. And that beautiful hair, strewn across his chest.

She looked the happiest Rowan had ever seen her. There was no way someone could look that happy and just be pretending. It was utterly impossible.

Rowan searched for indications that he was treating her wrong, that his grip on her arm was too tight or his eyes were angry or mean.

They weren’t. He was gazing at her with adoration, just as he’d always done. He had loved her, and he still did, and Rowan had never hesitated to tell Aelin. So why had she left?

Rowan entered his photo app and started scrolling through them, though dozens upon dozens of photos of her smiling in the sun and laughing in the rain and eating on the couch.

He was a masochist to do this to himself, but he couldn’t stop.

He kept searching for any signs that something was wrong, that he wasn’t loving her right.

He couldn’t find any.

—

The echoing noises of the thumps on the bag were the only sounds in the room. Aelin struck with deadly capability, slamming her fist into the punching bag again and again.

She’d gotten into self-defense not long after the breakup with Rowan. Punching things, more specifically. And Aelin had gotten good, too.

She used to work out in the gym, but the closest gym was annoying to get to, all the way across town. So Aelin had invested some money into some basic equipment and set everything up in the only empty room in the apartment.

Well, it was only empty after Aelin had dumped all of Rowan’s things out on the curb. This was his former office. There was a picture of him on the wall where there used to be one of her. It was filled with holes from the various weapons Aelin had thrown at it, among them knives, darts, and a single fork.

Maybe Aelin needed to talk to a therapist.

Aelin twisted her body and pivoted her foot, landing a deadly roundhouse kick on the bag. Why the fuck hadn’t anyone told her about this miracle cure sooner?

Aelin was so busy taking out every ounce of fury within her body—which totaled up to a frighteningly large quantity—that she almost didn’t notice her phone ringing. She finally noticed the screen lit up out of the corner of her eye, and Aelin pulled out her earbuds and strode over to her phone.

It was from Sam. Aelin reached for her phone, then paused, breathing deeply. From the exercise, she told herself. Solely from the exercise.

The ringing stopped. Aelin was too late. She reached once more, intent on calling Sam back, but stopped again.

She’d been thinking a lot over the past few days. Trying. Trying so hard to love him. And every time she was with him and she opened her mouth to get it over with, she couldn’t. Because Aelin couldn’t do that to Sam. He deserved better.

And because she was thinking about somebody else.

Aelin spun around and executed a perfect boxing maneuver on the bag. Jab, dodge, duck, right hook to the body, left hook to the body, left hook to the head, slide back with a defensive jab. She repeated it, then moved onto a different maneuver.

Then Aelin stripped off her gloves and bolted for the door, off to do something she would most certainly regret.

—

Panting, Aelin knocked on the door before she could loose her resolve. Then she waited, hands on her hips and shoulders back.

Not even a minute passed before the lock clicked and the door was pulled inward.

Aelin took in Rowan’s tired eyes and haggard expression and knew she was the reason for that. And probably for the smell of alcohol on his breath.

He didn’t ask how she knew where he lived—Aelin had a depressing amount of free time; or why she looked like she’d run all the way here—she had; or why she was here—that one she didn’t know. He just opened the door wider.

“Come here.”

Aelin did. She wondered if her fate had been sealed from the moment she first laid eyes on him. Rowan Whitethorn was like a sinkhole, drawing you in farther and father no matter what you did, only tightening his grip when you struggled.

That gruesome description wasn’t enough to make Aelin turn back quite yet.

She stepped inside and pressed her lips against Rowan’s, hands twining in his hair instantly. His own hands came to her hips, pushing her tank top up slightly and tracing familiar patterns on her bare skin.

Aelin shoved Rowan backward in his apartment one step, then one more. She spun around so Rowan was against the wall. Aelin could feel his lips curve upward against hers, but she didn’t care what amusement he was deriving from her dominance. He wanted to take everything from her? Well, she would take right back.

Aelin parted Rowan’s lips with her tongue and the small groan that left the back of his throat had Aelin pulling his hair none-too-gently, melting into his giant frame even farther.

Nothing mattered anymore. It all evaporated into some space that Aelin couldn’t and didn’t want to access. Her brain was blissfully empty as she hooked a leg around his ankle, and as she nipped at his lip.

Rowan growled and started moving his hands upwards toward her breasts, thumbs brushing the undersides just enough that Aelin could feel it and lean into the sensation, ignoring his gleeful smirk against her mouth. Rowan finally broke the kiss and trailed his mouth along Aelin’s jawline, until his lips reached her ear.

“I love you,” Rowan whispered, voice dark and hoarse.

Aelin exhaled, her grip on him loosening. “I hate you.”

Rowan pulled back and frowned. “No, you don’t.”

Aelin chuckled humorlessly. “You’re right.” She stepped closer to the door. “But I hate that I love you.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

Rowan shook his head. “Bullshit,” he repeated.

“Goodbye, Rowan.”

Aelin started for the still-open door, only a couple feet away.

Rowan’s hand immediately took hold of her wrist. “You can’t leave again. Not like this.”

“How, then?” Aelin asked, shaking her wrist free of his grasp. “Was last time any better?”

“Don’t leave me at all.”

The desperation in Rowan’s voice would have provoked some sort of sympathy in Aelin any other time, but she only felt cold as she stared him down.

“Goodbye, Rowan,” she repeated. Then Aelin spun around and slipped out the door before he could stop her.

—

“Stop it.”

“I will not.”

“Yes you will.”

“No I won’t.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What’re you gonna do if I don’t?”

“I’ll beat you up, that’s what.”

Aelin and Sam only managed maintain eye contact for a minute more before dissolving into laughter.

“I’m being serious,” Aelin said between laughs.

Sam shook his head. “I don’t even understand what the issue is,” he replied, features filled with delight.

“The issue,” Aelin enunciated, “is that you can’t just be stupid like that. It’s not a good look on you.”

Sam scoffed in pretend hurt. “Excuse me, it’s not stupid to tickle my girlfriend.”

“It is,” Aelin insisted. “You’re an asshole for it.” She pouted.

Sam made an over-dramatic frown. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, babe.” He spread his arms wide and leaned over from the car seat.

Aelin could only involuntarily cackle as Sam moved his evil fingers over her again, his false hug turning into an ambush. “Stop it,” she cried between giggles. “This is mean. And foul. A foulable offense.”

“Is foulable even a word?”

“It is now,” Aelin hissed, elbowing him.

Sam grinned. “It’s not my fault. What else is a guy to do when he finds out his girlfriend’s ticklish?”

“You’re supposed to not bully them!”

Sam laughed into Aelin’s shoulder. “I love you so much.”

Aelin hugged him, for the sole purpose of making sure he couldn’t see her face at the words. Before she had been so happy to hear Sam say it, and now the only thought she could conjure upon hearing it was Rowan’s face.

Everything she’d ever had, everything she’d ever worked for, Rowan soured. It was a talent of his.

Aelin hadn’t told Sam about the kiss. Almost a week had passed already, and she hadn’t told him. Acknowledging it validated it, and Aelin didn’t want that. She just wanted to forget. Though it was hard to forget the one thing haunting her through all hours of the day and night.

“Let’s go inside,” Aelin said abruptly, pulling away. “I’m already forgetting what I wanted to get.”

Sam smiled, oblivious to Aelin’s internal struggles. “Sure.”

—

How dare she come to him, kiss him, make him think she was ready to invite him home? How dare she use him the way she claimed he used her?

The nerve of Aelin’s visit left Rowan seething. All he wanted was Aelin. And he’d be damned if he didn’t get her.

The bell dinged to signal a customer’s arrival and Rowan’s eyes snapped up. He relaxed once more as he saw it was only an elderly man, then tensed up all over again as he spotted a familiar car parked outside the shop.

Aelin came here every Tuesday without fail to buy a new book. It was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself, and it was the only part of her routine she hadn’t changed after dumping him, and he’d been waiting in the mystery aisle for over an hour now.

And his waiting had paid off. Except, rather than leaving the car, Aelin and that man were talking and laughing and touching. He was tickling her, like a fucking loser.

Another five minutes passed and Rowan was debating going out there and knocking on the car window when the doors finally opened.

They walked hand-in-hand into the bookstore, and Aelin pressed a kiss against the man’s cheek as they neared a shelf.

His smile made Rowan smile. This poor, innocent man had no idea what had happened last week. He had no idea how unfaithful Aelin truly was.

Aelin murmured something to the man—Rowan refused to even think his name—and headed off to the romance section. Rowan followed her, creeping around shelves and not giving a fuck how bad it looked.

Aelin was reaching for some book or other when she noticed Rowan coming up behind her. Her face flushed, much to his delight, and her eyes widened.

“Go away,” was the first thing to come out of her mouth.

Rowan shook his head. “Not a chance, princess.”

Aelin’s face tightened visibly. “I’m not interested in doing this again, Rowan. We’re over.”

“Really? You haven’t seemed too sure about that lately.”

Aelin huffed. “Last week was a mistake. I know that now. I knew it when I did it. But that’s it. We’re done now. Get over yourself, Rowan.”

“I love you.”

“And I used to believe that,” Aelin snapped.

Rowan ground his jaw in frustration. “What do I have to do to prove that I care about you?”

“That’s just the thing,” Aelin hissed, voice quiet but angry. “There is nothing to prove. You could started acting like the perfect boyfriend, the man I thought I loved, and it still wouldn’t matter. We’re not good together, Rowan. We’re broken. We. Are. Fucking. Broken.”

Rowan took a step forward, every molecule in his body freezing as Aelin flinched. “Are you scared of me, Aelin?”

She shook her head, but she’d always been a bad liar. Rowan could see right thought it.

“I have never laid a hand on you in my life,” Rowan stated, voice devoid of human emotion. “Never.”

Fire swirled behind Aelin’s eyes. “I know that. But you didn’t have to.”

Rowan shook his head vehemently. “What the hell does that mean?”

Aelin’s chest was heaving. “Think about it, Rowan. Think about us. Remember how you were with me.”

He did. Because he was a fair person who cared enough to listen to Aelin, he did.

—

“Maybe you should stop hanging out with Dorian,” Rowan commented.

It was a joke. It had just been a joke.

“What?” Aelin asked. She looked confused.

“I mean, whenever you two are together you’re smiling more than you smile with me. It’s a little difficult to watch.”

Rowan shrugged as his lips twitched. She was supposed to laugh now, amused at the joke.

Aelin didn’t laugh.

—

“You should really learn how to cook something,” Rowan said, watching in amusement as Aelin reached for the Chinese takeout menu, and not for the first time this week.

“Gods, Rowan, if you’re so sick of eating takeout then make something yourself.”

Aelin stormed off. And Rowan had clearly been the right one in that conversation, because after Aelin didn’t like his suggestion and decided to make a fuss about it and be a bitch, Rowan let her leave and didn’t bring it up again. Because he cared about her.

—

And finally, the day everything went up in flames:

Aelin tipped her head back and laughed. Rowan watched this little spectacle from afar. Until she got so loud that his boss’ boss looked over and that’s when Rowan had had it.

“Aelin, come with me,” Rowan said as he grabbed her hand. Gently. He had grabbed her hand gently.

Aelin frowned, but didn’t protest. She would have protested if she wasn’t okay with this. Rowan knew her.

They made it outside the building and both of them stopped. They weren’t waiting to go all the way back to the apartment this time.

“Maybe I need to stop bringing you to these things,” Rowan said, running his hand through his hair.

Aelin frowned. “Why? Am I embarrassing you?”

“No, Aelin, of course you aren’t. But you are bothering my coworkers, and I don’t want them to look down on me because of my girlfriend.”

She snorted. “That’s the literal definition of embarrassment,” she slurred.

“No, there’s a difference between being embarrassed by someone and logically not wanting to have someone with you for strategic purposes.”

Aelin laughed incredulously, and Rowan wondered if she still didn’t understand. But the next thing that came out of her mouth made him the one who couldn’t comprehend what was happening.

“We’re done.”

“What?”

Aelin smiled, but it wasn’t a happy thing, it was twisted and sad and so many other emotions, some of which Rowan couldn’t even name. “I’m breaking up with you.”

A moment of shaky silence passed as Rowan held eye contact with Aelin. Finally, he said, “We’re going home now.”

Aelin scoffed. “Don’t you hear me?”

“You’re drunk, Aelin.”

A tear slid down Aelin’s cheek and Rowan stepped forward to console her, for that’s what he’d always done when she was upset.

But Aelin stepped backward. “Go home. Get your things. Get out.”

Rowan sighed. “Aelin, seriously—”

“No!” she yelled, and Rowan glanced back at the party he’d just emerged from, worried someone might have heard her. “You don’t get to ignore me! Get the fuck out of my apartment. Now!”

“No,” Rowan snapped.

Aelin seethed. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to get your things out on my own.”

She snatched the keys from his hand and took off toward the car, but Rowan’s head was swimming enough that he could only stand there, frozen, for a solid thirty seconds as she climbed in the driver’s seat.

Then he started moving. “Aelin, stop this. Calm down. You’re overreacting and I need you to get out of the car.”

Aelin held the wheel tightly as she hastily locked the car. She didn’t bother buckling in before the car jerked backward. Rowan raced to the other side of it and blocked it from leaving the parking space.

Aelin must have had more to drink than Rowan originally noticed, for instead of stopping like the sensible woman he’d thought her to be, she slammed on the gas and went over the grass, swerving and turning back onto the pavement farther down. Aelin narrowly avoided a lamppost as she got onto the road and started speeding down the street.

Rowan could only watch, mouth agape and heart stopping altogether.

—

“I can’t think of a single thing I did to provoke something like that from you, Aelin.” Rowan’s hands were clenched into fists. “You just started acting out for no reason at all. I wasn’t the one behaving poorly.”

“There were signs,” Aelin breathed, voice riding the edge between stability and insanity. “There were so many warning signs.”

Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but before any sound could come out, Aelin’s so-called boyfriend walked up to her. She was at the corner of a shelf, and the men were on either side of it, meaning Sam hadn’t yet noticed him. Rowan wanted to step forward and beat some sense into the man, show him who Aelin really belonged to, but Aelin spoke before he could step forward.

“Hey, babe. I found my book. Ready to leave?”

The man grinned. It was a snarky little look, and Rowan knew he’d look better with a fist in his face.

“I am.”

Aelin stepped closer to him and farther from Rowan, then paused. Her tactic had originally seemed to be getting Sam away from Rowan as quickly as possible, but now she stance took on a different posture.

Rowan had never wished he could see inside her head more than he was now.

Aelin didn’t even look his way. “I love you, Sam.”

Rowan froze. He didn’t need to know anything about their relationship to know that was the first time Aelin had told Sam that. Not just from the delight on his face, but from the way Aelin spoke. Rowan could feel it in his bones.

She was spiting him. This could easily be discussed anywhere else, at any other time, but Aelin chose to say it now, with Rowan hovering in the background. It was a message to him, to stay away. It was hateful. It was cruel.

Something splintered in Rowan’s chest.

Sam was saying something, presumably a reciprocation of those three words, but Rowan didn’t hear it. His ears were buzzing.

Aelin took ahold of Sam’s arm and started for the checkout desk.

She didn’t look back.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowaelinismyotp

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

[rrasado]

Hello! May request headcanons of Leona and Octavinelle students (separately) react to fem reader having Hanahaki Disease because of them, but she never tells them directly that they're the cause of it? Have a nice day!

Blood Stained Blooms

Ara? What do we have here now 🧐. I’m joking sjsjsj angst is my go to and you hit the spot. Tag some Lion and Octavinelle stans perhaps~?

⚠️ TW: Mentions of blood and vomiting.

When words are left unsaid...

Honestly, he never expected someone with so much spunk as you to just...reel over to the floor choking out bloody flora that could’ve easily been fitting with the greenery at the botanical garden he naps at.

And at the same time, Leona knew that...people with strong fronts have a tender foundation. What do you think he is? Well it wasn’t like he bothered hiding his shortcomings, it just so happened that he never gave a care for what people think of him.

That...would’ve been the usual. What is unusual however is you vomiting on the ground pathetically clutching your chest gasping for dear oxygen. Call it what you will, instinct, concern, desire, it didn’t matter to him what the hell he was truly feeling because the next thing he knew, he was already kneeling next to you brows furrowed whilst his calloused hand placed itself on your back.

He could feel it, with the way your shoulder blades tensed and relaxed at an unnatural rate under his touch while Blood continued to trickle down- The lion beastman was no fool either. Something to this degree isn’t at its early stages is it? He was no doctor but...he felt a tinge in his chest at the thought of someone just suddenly dropping dead. It was it because it’s you who knows…

The way you weakly smiled at him as you ushered him with a blood stained hand wasn’t something that would calm him down, it might’ve made him even more spurred. Gritting his teeth his ear twitched. Before standing up and grumbling to himself.

“Oi herbavour- what the hell is that-“ “A-ah..Leona..”

Leona is Leona, the lonely second prince that forgot his title whenever he was with you, but he didn’t knew how to handle this. How to handle the thought of you in a gruesome state- ah...he accidentally stepped on a flower….Ruggie would later be ordered to fetch whatever information he can manage to attain about the hellish illness.

...His mind is truly in uproar...

It was all too sudden, even for him. One minute you two were walking side by side in the corridors discussing a possible deal and the next thing he knew, eyes locked for a split second when he saw the sudden struck of immense pain on your expression before falling to your knees on the carpet and spewing out…

Azul, was truly ambushed with so many unwanted emotions, his usually calculative mind didn’t know where to focus on, your pain the blood spewing out or the cruelly beautiful flowers that landed on the stained carpet.

His sharp posture diminished shaking his head before finally making a move, a childish reaction but he took out his own cleanly pressed handkerchief and offering it to you. So what if it’d get stained with your blood? He’d rather clean out stains than to see you reeling on the ground!

Once your coughing dies down the octavinelle dorm leader would debate whether to ask or comfort. On one hand he knew that being double weighted by pain and interrogation isn’t good but on the other hand- he wanted to know what the hell you’ve been going through and he wanted to know ASAP.

Look the variety of clients he’s had to deal with never had a near death situation so he wasn’t sure if this was even within his prowess- and if he can’t help you then his vast network of connections should help, it has to help it has to. That’s what he’d be telling to himself unbeknownst to him that you’ve been weakly calling out to him- a-ah yes?

“Dear..you-“ “C’mon we’ll be late..I-I think we can grab some water on the way”

In the end he opted for the former, gently helping you back up on your feet and already concucting his next course of action, he’d later find out the cruel disease...he wasn’t the one having flowers bloom in his lungs so why did his chest wince…?

...You were far too precious for him to let go of...

It was- not part of his predictions, far from within his spectrum of deductions even.

Taking you out for a hike to admire and study the natural specimens Mother Nature has to offer in the land forms near Night Raven college was supposed to be...not bloody.

As much as of a sucker the Vice dorm leader is for the unexpected. This particular instance did not please him in the slightest. He grew and went about keeping his true feelings under an eerily serene exterior, this situation wasn’t an exception.

But he had to wonder wether his forced calmness helped you or made it worse, the way your eyes met his heterochromatic gaze just- the way the pain doubled in your gaze when you saw an eerily calm ocean in his eyes was what you recieved but why does it hurt even more..why does it feel like he doesn’t care when he-

You didn’t had time to even complain about something seemingly insignificant as that- the flowers that fell from your mouth along with spurts of blood like a crimson waterfall was taking up you train of thought. You need air- oxygen was taken for granted huh...like how the calmer eel twin took you for granted.

“J-jade...don’t think much about it..” “...as you wish..”

Honestly, just like how he handles other dire situations, he’ll calmly handle you to the bare minimum- but that isnt to say he isn’t worried, because he is...more than he’d like to admit. He’s seen how cruel life can be but when it comes to you...he never actually considered it. So expect him to frequent the library more rather than taking hikes. Because just like how he handles other situations...it’s better to find the source, and when he does...

...He’ll be even more diligent, unbeknownst to you...

Under the bleachers- hey...is that- Koebi-chan did you spill some juice? Ehehe lemme grab you an extra shir-...that smell...

What’s that in your mouth? He thought you were just snacking on something with strawberry jam but that...land dwellers don’t usually eat flowers with jam now do they? Poor Floyd...denial off the bat. But his body already began to move on its own, taking long strides towards your shuddering form as he grasped your shoulders to steady you.

He gulped down whatever lump hitched in his throat only for nothing to come out, for once floyd actually took the time to observe. The other always told him he was too reckless, he never cared since it adds to the thrill but- shrimpy choking out fully bloomed floranstained crimson isn’t thrilling at all. He doesn’t like this he doesn’t think this is fun- get youre pranking him right?..right?

What would the others do- no he doesn’t have time to think like the others he’s the only one with you now- he should carry you to the infirmary ye that’s good, good job floyd just slowly carry them and- he ran faster than for any errand he’s had to do. The infirmary was his only destination. Wether others stared at his rare expression of seriousness or the writhing person in his arms. It didn’t matter, those useless guppies don’t matter.

He demanded you to be treated, without even thinking wether whatever made shrimpy like this can even be cured in the first place. How would he even know? He’d know when the staff informs him, when they inform him how they can only keep the symptoms at bay but not fully cure the illness. This pest of a decease was making his shrimpy suffer and you’re telling him no one can do anything about it? WHAT TYPE OF A DAMNED DECEASE IS THIS-

“This ain’t fair! What the hell is-“ “F..Floyd hey...it alright.”

Suffice it to say he doesn’t take the news well, this was such an annoying thing to have, all for love? Who the hell wouldn’t love shrimpy!? Shrimpy is shrimpy and they are fun! Goodness Floyd...he only calms down when the teen in the infirmary bed ushers him close with a shaky hand...

...He despises the situation...

[cosmicgoddesswrites]

The Nanny - Prologue

Single Dad!Kuroo x Nanny!Reader

Summary: Kuroo Tetsuro is about at his wits end; there's only so much a man can take with work piling up, his divorce getting messier by the minute, and his 6-year-old daughter raising hell at home. Hiring a nanny sounds like a band-aid solution, but who knows, maybe this will work out?

Word Count: 1147, this ones a lil short since its the prologue

Warnings: Female!Reader, Some cursing, mentions of v!olence

Masterlist. Next. 

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

Oh how Kuroo wished he could play along with his friends' banter as they pointed out the purple bite-mark peeking out from under his shirt collar.

He wished he could lie and say he had met someone to dull the ache his ex-wife had left in her wake; that he had met someone knew who felt the primal yet intimate need to mark him as theirs and only theirs.

He wished he could lie about his sex life still being active despite not having gotten any action in the past year.

The tenseness in his shoulders, the fatigue clouding his mind, the beer that had been long forgotten save for the occasional swirl of his glass, pried the truth from his tight-lipped smile.

"Actually, Emiko did that..." Kuroo admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He practically shrunk at the looks of disbelief and judgement thrown his way by his high-school friends.

"No way!" Yaku objected, "No way Emiko did that! She's an angel!"

Kuroo sighed at that. 'Was' would have been a more proper term to use, but Kuroo could never admit that out loud.

Before the divorce, Emiko was an actual angel. A gift sent from heaven that brightened her father's life each and every day.

Then Kuroo walked in on Emiko's mother on her knees in front of some stranger, some man she had brought into their shared home, with Emiko sleeping in the other room.

Since then, Emiko had begun to get more and more aggressive, often screaming at the top of her lungs, flinging her balled fists at her father, causing scenes in public to the point where the tired 28 year old couldn't even think of leaving the house with her.

Kuroo knew the divorce would take its toll on her, especially since he had to deal with his own parent's divorce at such a young age as well. But with him, well, he never became violent. He became quiet, shy, more reserved and afraid to interact with others.

But violence... Kuroo cried himself to sleep the first night Emiko hit him as he was trying to get her dressed for bed. Just the thought of it had him taking a swig of the room-temperature beer in hopes of hiding his quivering lip.

Yaku quickly masked his shock, placing his hand on the larger man's bicep. "Hey... when's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"Yeah," Kenma interjected, taking a swig of his fresh beer, "your bags are darker than mine." That earned a swift kick to his shin.

"Not anytime recent," Kuroo said, not even noticing Kenma kicking Yaku back. "Emiko is such a pain to get to bed now... she kept me up till 3 last night."

"Is that when she..." Yaku motioned to the bitemark, earning a nod from the father.

"You know... there's no shame in hiring some help." Yaku smiled, "have you ever thought of hiring a nanny or something?"

Kuroo's tired eyes instantly shot open as he shook his head. "Oh no, no no, if I even thought about that Hanako wouldn't let me live it down."

Yaku and Kenma both seemed to recoil at the mention of Kuroo's ex-wife.

"Well it doesn't matter what she thinks, there's a reason she's your ex-wife. She has no say in your life now." Kenma snapped, voice bitter as if that woman were here herself to hear the venom he spat.

Yaku nodded, "Exactly! And there's no shame in admitting you need help! Plus it might actually do you and Emiko some good to have a helping hand around the house."

"Oh?" Kuroo tilted his head, "And did you have someone to refer to me? Or am I supposed to comb through hundreds of nannies I'll have to buy a nanny-cam to monitor?"

Yaku pursed his lips at that. Honestly there were a lot of nannies that he knew. Being a professional volleyball player meant his teammates who were fathers often had nannies hired to help them with their kids. But that of course meant all those nannies were spoken for.

He could practically feel the lightbulb click on above his head as someone came to mind.

"Actually, I do!" he exclaimed, chugging the last of his beer before grabbing his cellphone and sending a text to Kuroo. "She's my little sister's best friend, they both went to university together. She has a degree in Early Child Development and Child Psychology, and she's very eagerly looking for work!"

Kuroo's cocky smile faltered. He didn't actually expect Yaku to have a recommendation right then and there for him. "And... she's not gonna kidnap my child?"

"No!" Yaku gasped, smacking Kuroo's arm. "She's very nice! She's young so she'll be able to keep up with Emiko, and she's got a good head on her shoulders."

Kuroo glanced down at the text. (Y/n) (L/n). He took another quick sip of his beer, maybe he could make a decision on this when he wasn't sober.

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

Kuroo woke up to a splitting headache and the ring of his doorbell. He turned over with a groan to check the time, scoffing when he saw it was only noon.

He had some words for Hanako if she was trying to drop Emiko off at his doorstep earlier than she was supposed to. For someone who made such a big fuss about their custody agreement, she sure did enjoy skipping out on time with her daughter.

Another ring of the doorbell had him clutching his head before rushing to get on a shirt and answer the door.

His bare feet padded over to the entrance of his home, his hangover throwing caution to the wind as he opened the door without even checking to see if it actually was his ex-wife and daughter.

He whipped open the door and immediately froze in place. A young woman, somewhere in her 20s, stood before him. Her eyes trailed over his disheveled figure not-so-subtly as panic clearly set in her features.

"O-oh, Im sorry! I must have the wrong address!" She sputtered, immediately reaching for her phone, presumably to check the address she was looking for.

"Ahhh, that's okay, no worries." Kuroo mumbled, watching her curiously. The big, luxurious houses in this neighborhood were spread apart rather well, it would be difficult to get the address wrong in a place like this. "Maybe I could help you? What's the house number?"

The woman seemed to hesitate for a moment before reading off her phone, "Uhh, 726?"

This couldn't get any more awkward than it already was.

"Oh... this is the right house..."

The woman looked at him, clearly confused, "You're Kuroo? I thought you were expecting me, you texted me last night?"

Kuroo felt his heart seize. What texts?

She continued, sensing his confusion. "Ahhh... I'm (Y/n) (L/n)... the nanny?"

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

Taglist:

@kellyyween @whore-for-anime @lilith412426

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning Into Stone, Chapter 7

A/N  For anyone waiting patiently for this chapter, I apologize.  Somewhere in the midst of writing this story, I fell out of love with it, making it very hard to find the inspiration to finish. I’m too stubborn to abandon it, though, so here is the final chapter.  The good news is the angst fest is over, for the most part.  Slight reference to child trafficking in the past.  Thanks to everyone who read and interacted with this story!  This final chapter is entitled A Dragonfly in Amber.

The whole story can be found on my A03 page.

Eighteen Months Later

The breeze off the firth was picking up, and Claire wished she’d grabbed a  jumper before leaving her flat.  She spent a lot of time these days looking back at the million decisions that made up a life, aware of their path as though they were footprints visible to the eye.  Where once missteps would have inspired judgement or shame, she could now chart their passage with a certain measure of peace.

A rare free Thursday brought her to a seasonal market in what was otherwise a car park overlooking Edinburgh Castle.  With no specific objective in mind, she wandered the stalls of fresh produce and locally made crafts, meandering but purposeful.  A jar of raw honey and a half-dozen blueberry scones made their way into her tote bag before she stopped at a store selling beautifully woven woolen goods, thinking that she could perhaps invest in a shawl.

Lifting the various offerings from where they were displayed, something caught her eye.  Beneath the many-patterned pile of wool stood a beautiful wooden chest, its heft and patina speaking of its craftsmanship.   It had been painted in a rusted umber, the shape of a dragonfly elegantly carved into its solid lid.

“Tis lovely, is it no’?” a soft lilt startled her from her trance.

“Yes, very.  Is it for sale?”  She had no idea why she’d asked.  Her flat was crowded enough as it was and frivolous purchases no longer within her budget.

“Alas, no.  Twas an anniversary gift from my man.”  Perhaps seeing the disappointment register on her face, the woman added, “I can give ye the card o’ the man who made it, at least.  Ye’re no’ the first tae have admired his work.”

Claire’s hands shook slightly as the shopkeeper sought out the card, an eerie sense of premonition settling over her.  Sure enough, the familiar names leapt into relief as she accepted the woman’s offering:

Lallybroch Furniture Design

James Fraser, Proprietor

***

The afternoon and evening passed in a blur of obligations and routine.  It was only as she settled into the peace of her own bedroom that Claire allowed her thoughts to return to the business card tucked safely into her wallet.  

She’d known Jamie was still in the city.  While she’d resisted the urge to seek him out a thousand times, she couldn’t stop herself from searching his name on the Internet.  A harmless indulgence, she rationalized, and one that assured her that he was well, his business going from strength to strength. Despite the capitol’s tight-knit community, however, their paths had never crossed.  Until now.

Was it a sign?  Long Ago Claire paid no heed to such foolishness, but that was before a chance encounter spun her life one hundred and eighty degrees, sending her down a brand new path.  Now she accepted these memos from the universe with humility.  Tomorrow, she would go looking for Jamie Fraser.

***

Jamie heard the jingle of the bells above the door, even over the mechanical whirr of his sander.  Unbending and blowing a sweaty curl off his forehead, he admired the intricate scrollwork of the custom hutch that was his latest commission.  It still amazed him to watch his visions take shape before his eyes.  If life hadn’t slapped him hard across the face, knocking him far off course, he might have spent the rest of his days unaware of the gift that resided between his hands.

“Took ye long enough, Geordie,” he called out to the footsteps approaching from the door.  “Where’d ye go fer the varnish, Glasgow?”

There was a pause, and an eerie sense of premonition settled over him.  Today was going to be the day.

“It’s not Geordie, it’s me.  Claire.”  He’d thought of her voice each day for the past eighteen months, and yet he hadn’t been able to summon its exact timbre: sonorous, precise, with a smoky finish like well-aged whisky.

“Claire,” he replied to the universe, summoning her by name before he even turned around.

Sawdust motes danced in a sunbeam descending from a clerestory window, illuminating the mahogany in her curls.  She was everything he remembered, and so much more.  The nacre of her skin, now dusted with cinnamon freckles.  The topaz of her eyes less fierce, more open, and overwhelmingly anxious.  The tight line of her jaw was less defined, her once whippet-thin figure filled out into plush curves.  Overall the impression was one of softness, of willing vulnerability.

“The door was open,” she explained needlessly, her eyes drinking him in hungrily.  He wondered what changes she read on his surface.

“It’s... uhhh...” his voice wobbled painfully, “it’s good tae see ye, Sassenach.  How have ye been?”

He hadn’t trusted himself to seek her out since Maggie’s death, understanding that they both needed time to heal.  It didn’t stop him from zeroing in on every glimpse of brown curls, nor from reading wedding announcements with an invisible fist gripping his throat.  If it was meant to be, he counselled himself, they would find one another when the time was right.  And now she was here, standing in his workshop and more lovely than his zealous imaginings.

“Good,” she replied, eyes meeting and then sheering away from his gaze.  “Really good.  Busy.”  She was gripping the strap of her handbag like a parachute cord, and he couldn’t help glancing at her left hand, selfishly relieved to note it was still bare.

“I, ummm, I saw one of your pieces.  At the market yesterday.  Not for sale, of course.  The woman offered me your card, so I thought, you know, that I might...  You’re really very talented, Jamie,” she prattled nervously.

He blushed, delighted by her praise.  “I thank ye, Claire.”  To taste her name in his mouth, so long forbidden, was intoxicating.  He would never tire of saying it.

“And yer work?  Tis Friday.  Are ye taking a well-deserved day off?”

“Oh, no.  I’m not practicing anymore, Jamie.”

He froze, horrified.  Of all the scenarios he’d played out in his mind, he’d never imagined her anything but a doctor. It was too much a part of who she was.  A familiar sense of oppressive responsibility crept over him.  If he’d somehow caused this to happen...

“Sassenach, no...” he whispered.

To his utter confusion, she laughed, merry and bright as the bells that had announced her return to his life.

“It’s alright, truly.  I, well, a lot has changed since last year,” she explained, a glimmer of something coy transforming her face.  His wame sunk into his feet.

“Ye’ve met someone.”   A statement of fact.  Punishment for wishing for something that wasn’t meant to be.

Her spritely laugh rang out again, increasing his pain.  He felt the old, habitual hardening around his heart, and fought to keep his breath steady.  No matter how much it hurt, he owed it to Claire to listen to her joy.

“In a manner of speaking.  His name is Fergus, and he’s eight years old.”

Startled, he stared into her upturned face, trying to read the truth in her features.  A hand, delicate but strong, took his own.  He held onto it like a lifeline as she told her unlikely tale.

Shortly after their last meeting, Claire had been walking through Grassmarket when she’d been jostled by a running figure.  It was only upon righting herself that she realized she was without her phone.   Giving chase, she eventually cornered the thief down a blind alley, only to realize that it was a young boy, unkempt and malnourished.

Rather than turn the pickpocket in, Claire had negotiated an exchange: her phone for a four-course meal and the story of how a boy of his age, with a heavy French accent no less, had come to live on the streets of Edinburgh.

“He was trafficked, Jamie.  A group in Paris were keeping him and other orphans in a brothel.  When they came to transport them, Fergus escaped.  He hid in a lorry, and this is where it brought him.  He had no coat, no money, hardly any English, but he’d been surviving on his wits for six weeks before I found him.  I can’t bear to think what might have happened to him had we not crossed paths that winter’s day.”

“Christ,” he swore, thinking of his own nephew, and what he wouldn’t give to protect the lad’s innocence.

Claire went on to describe the painstaking process of reporting Fergus, whose real name was Claudel, to the authorities without allowing him to be deported back to France and into the waiting hands of the very people he had escaped.

“There was no formal steps to follow, no real resources I could rely on.  I ended up filing for adoption, because it was the only way to keep him safe.  In the beginning, he needed all my attention.  He had no formal schooling and had to learn English in a hurry.  He suffered from terrible nightmares.  I transferred all my patients, shut down the office, but I assumed it was only temporary, until he felt more secure and could go to school with other kids his age.  But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Fergus isn’t the only trafficked child in Scotland.  I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do whatever I could to protect every one of them.  So I quit.  I’d made some contacts at ECPAT in London, trying to sort out the mess with Fergus’ immigration paperwork.   I called them up and offered my services on a part-time basis.  A former pediatrician with experience in grief counselling.  They couldn’t accept fast enough.  So now, when I’m not busy being Fergus’ mom, I’m the executive director of ECPAT here in Scotland.”

“Christ,” he repeated.  “Sassenach, I’m...  God, ye’re an amazing woman.”

It was her turn to blush, glancing down to notice that their hands were still clasped, fingers woven together like thirsty roots.  They were standing toe to toe, breathing in harmony.  Jamie smelled of pine, a sharp sweetness that seemed to cling to his body.  She dared a look upwards and found his gaze locked on her mouth.  Oceans stormed in the depths of his eyes.

“You’ve got a little...” she reached for his jaw, “...a little something, right here...”  Before she could dislodge the fleck of sawdust trapped in his auburn stubble, Jamie’s whole body surged forward, their noses practically bumping.

“Sassenach...” he beseeched.

“Yes?”  Wispy, fluttering wings of hope surrounded her.

“I’ve bided as long as I can.  May I please, for the love of all tha’s holy, finally kiss ye?”

A tiny nod, a murmured assent, then their lips took up the conversation that had begun so many months before.  There, in a dusty workshop at eleven o’clock on a Friday morning, the last obstacle that stood between them came crashing to the ground.  In its place came warmth and certainty, a candleflame of cherished possibility.