#this show is just. broken. it truly refuses to bring up any of the actually interesting characters

[cherrymoonvol6]

.

[celtic-crossbow]

Series Masterlist

*Click here to be added to taglists.

Chapter 8

Warnings: Mentions of past SA, mention of injuries sustained from SA, scars, masturbation, poor mental health all around

You spent the day with Carol, getting a tour of the prison. There were places that were considered safe, cleared of the dead. That included most of the yard, the towers, a few cell blocks, and the area separating the blocks. You were advised never to go into the tombs, especially until you had been trained to defend yourself. From the living and the dead. 

You watched her prepare a small, simple lunch of stew with some rabbits that Daryl brought back and prepped for her. The stew would need to be stretched out to cover dinner as well. Carol confided in you that she was hoping Daryl could get a deer on his next outing. 

Between meals, laundry had to be done and the fence had to be cleared. Carol opted for laundry. It was something a couple of other women had taken over since the group had grown in number while Carol had moved to the fence. However, she refused to take you close to the walkers without any knowledge of how to defend yourself. You were introduced to the other women but only worked with Carol so that you were less afraid and anxious. Daryl volunteered to take her spot clearing the fence line. 

You had seen him several times but he would only interact with Carol, not even sparing you a glance. His dismissal of you made you feel odd, to say the least. He bought you but didn’t want you. On top of that, the women worked alongside the men on normal activities and were treated kindly. The men you had been introduced to were respectful, but you did have Carol always ensuring she positioned herself between you and the strangers. Kids were playing and learning. There was even a baby. 

It was a lot for your first full day. By the time dinner was over and you came inside with Carol, you were exhausted. 

“Why don’t I show you where the showers are? You can get cleaned up. I’ll bring some soft clothes for you to sleep in and leave them just inside the door.” She suggested, already leading the way. You really didn’t want to give up the clothes Daryl had given you. You found them comforting. It was the first time you had been in something that wasn’t lace or sequins for as long as you could remember. 

Still, it would be nice to feel clean. Really clean and comfortable. So, you relented with a nod. “Okay.”

“Look at you. Baby steps are still steps in the right direction.” When she gave your upper arm a squeeze, you actually didn’t flinch.

Carol showed you how the showers were rigged up to the drums of water and advised you not to stay in too long or you’d use it all up. You were terrified of being alone with only the light of a single candle so she promised to come right back after she grabbed clothes for you. You almost asked to go with her instead, but wanted to see that proud smile she had been giving you. So you stayed. 

The water was cold but you were used to that. A bath at the club had usually meant you stood perfectly still and silent while a bucket of freezing water was dumped over you. Still, your breath hitched when the first cold spray touched your skin. 

Using soap was like heaven. You actually managed to forget your fear of the dark, quiet room in favor of running your hands over your skin to rid the layers of dirt and grime your quick lake bath had left behind. You paid special attention to the area between your legs. The wounds had long ago healed and scarred over but you had never truly felt clean there since Todd’s brother had assaulted you. You had killed the man with his own knife but Jazz’s people got to you anyway.

Carefully, you ran your soapy fingers over the sensitive skin, the scars his knife had left raised and bumpy. Imperfect. Broken. Flawed. You pulled your hand away, staring down the front of your body as the suds disappeared, showing the scars across your breasts and stomach. They weren’t as severe as the ones your back held. But they were there. 

Your lip was quivering with tears weighing down your lashes but you managed to get the soap off of your hands and wipe at your eyes before they could fall. The squeaky door opened. You assumed Carol had returned, hopefully remembering you didn’t have a towel. Your shivering only seemed to worsen once the water was shut off so you decided maybe you could intercept her. She was going to see you regardless. There weren’t curtains on the stalls. 

Careful not to slip, you trotted out of the stall with your teeth chattering… and slammed straight into Daryl’s chest. 

You backed up immediately, shocked gazes meeting briefly before you dropped your head. You didn’t attempt to cover yourself. Men had a right to look at your body, Daryl even more so. 

“I’m s-s-s-sorry.” Goosebumps were littering your skin but you didn’t dare move. Maybe he’d finally decided he wanted you, despite what Carol had said. You didn’t even hear him move before his boots stepped right in front of your bare feet. He sighed before wrapping a large towel around your petite frame, holding the front out a little for you to grab. 

“Usu’lly need one’a them if yer gonna take a shower.” His voice was low and gravelly in a way that you’d never heard from him. “M’sorry.” Why on earth was he apologizing?

“Th-thank you,” you took a deep breath, “Daryl.” You squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the rage. It never came. Did he really just want you to call him by his name?

“Mhm.”

The door squeaked again, Carol rushing through with an apology on her lips and a towel in her hand. Her soft expression turned stern. “What’re you doing in here, Daryl.”

The archer lifted his hands in a placating gesture, his sleep pants draped over one arm. “Easy, woman. Was jus’ gonna grab a shower n’ this’un didn’ have a towel. Gave ‘er mine.”

Her face said that she believed him but she leaned to check on you anyway. You gave a tight smile and nodded. “I’m okay.” You all but whispered, scurrying past him and toward the woman you were learning to trust more and more. 

“Here.” She tossed him the towel she’d brought for you. “Take your shower. And learn to knock.”

“More than one stall in here. Shouldn’ hafta knock.” She had an arm around your shoulder when she shot him a look, resulting in his hands coming up in that same gesture once again. “I’ll knock. Jesus.”

“Good.” She smiled at him sweetly and he gave her a middle finger as she steered you through the doorway, pressing the clothes into your torso as you walked. “I’m so sorry, honey. I took a few minutes to set up the top bunk for you. I didn’t know he’d be showering this late. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded quickly. He hadn’t even tried to hurt you, which still boggled you. Little by little, you were beginning to believe what she was telling you; that you were indeed safe. Still, your guard was up and the fear lingered. The learned behaviors were not letting go so easily. 

Once you were in the cell, Carol turned away from you to allow you to get dressed. The clothes she brought you were warm and comfortable. They were a little big but fit well enough. You climbed onto the top bunk before she spun back around. She was already dressed in a loose shirt and sweats, her feet bare. 

“You feel safe enough to get some sleep?”

Pulling the thin blanket up to your shoulders, you laid on your side. The mattress was thin but it was more comfortable than anywhere you had been allowed to sleep in a long time. “I think so. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. Just try to rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” She said from the bunk below you. 

“Okay.” Once the candle had been blown out and shadows swept into the room, you pulled the blanket up further, covering everything up to your eyes. Fear was building up in your chest, your gaze on the blanket over the cell door, watching it as if someone would tear through it at any given moment. 

You realized your eyelids were growing heavy only seconds before they closed and you fell into a deep sleep. 

The image of you standing bare in front of him was etched into his mind. He found himself extremely grateful for the cold water dousing his heated skin. He shouldn’t think of you like that. It was wrong. You had been objectified for god knows how long. He had no right to entertain the scenarios running through his brain. 

He knew it wasn’t attraction that made you look at him the way you did. It was obligation. It was fear. He certainly wouldn’t mind if it was something you truly wanted. He’d let you wrap those pouty lips around him, fucking your mouth and wiping the tears from the corners eyes as you gagged on him. He would return the favor, of course. He wondered what you tasted like. He would make you cum on his tongue first, then bury himself inside you to the hilt. What sounds would you offer to him? Would your thighs shake against his hips as you came again?

“Fuck.” Daryl forced out through gritted teeth. He punched the hard wall in front of him, leaving his fist there to rest his head against it. He was a real piece of work to imagine fucking you when you’d spent so long being raped over and over just to survive. A real fucking prick. 

The cold water was doing little to calm him now. His cock had stirred to life, now painfully hard. With a growl, he took himself in hand but didn’t move. He wasn’t sure what to think about when all he wanted now was you. If it wasn’t the end of the world, he’d still have his brother and Merle would have porn in one form or another. Then again, if it wasn’t the end of the world, he’d probably never have met you and this wouldn’t currently be an issue. 

This wasn’t something he normally did. Daryl wasn’t an overly sexual being. He had jerked off twice since the turn and it had been out of boredom more than anything else. He had to handle this. He couldn’t exactly stroll out of the showers with a raging erection in his sleep pants. God knows how long it would take to go away on its own, especially with the intrusive images of you playing in his head.      

The first stroke forced a hiss from between his teeth, but he pressed on and quickly fell into a rhythm. He tried to imagine girls Merle had brought home before but they always morphed into you. After a few very frustrating minutes, he gave in and let his imagination run rampant. 

He fucked into you hard while you whimpered around the fingers he was pressing down on your tongue. When you took him like a good girl, he slid down your body and devoured your pussy as a reward. The little mewls and moans he imagined you’d give to him were quickly stoking the fire at the base of his spine. When he pictured you riding him, his hands squeezing your hips as you begged for him to cum, he was undone. 

Daryl came with a muted shout, biting his fist to keep himself grounded through each wave. Panting, he turned and placed his back against the wall, tiredly watching his spend mix with the cold water and disappear down the drain. 

Disgusted by what he had just done, he rushed through the actual bathing and shut off the water. He truly wanted nothing more than to disappear into the woods for a few days. At least until the very thought of you didn’t make him feel like he should apologize. 

“Goddamnit.” His voice was a mere whisper. Grabbing his discarded clothing, he just pressed his palm down onto the candle to extinguish the flame. The sharp pain from the burn was easy to ignore. He deserved worse. 

How did he let it get to this point? He truly was an asshole. 

Taglist:

@royaltysuite @thegeorgiahuntsman @livingdeadblondequeen @deansapplepie @feral4daryl @walker-bait-1973 @lazyneonrabbitt @bizquake @littlelovingideas @ririi-3 @ankhmutes @blackvelveteen1339 @sokkasimp101 @lehhos @1ivinqdeadqir1main @loganlostitall @callmeyn

[pacificwaternymph]

Aaaaand everyone give it up for WASTED POTENTIAL

Season finale spoilers under the cut

Okay. I'll be honest. The finale was... not what I was hoping for.

I tried so hard to remain optimistic. I truly believed they could pull it all together and everything was going to have a satisfying conclusion. But I guess that's my fault. I set my expectations too high.

Is this about Tech? Primarily, yes. Yes it was. I am so disappointed. And you can make fun of me all you want but I genuinely believed, with all my heart, that CX-2 was Tech.

BECAUSE WHY THE FUCK ELSE WAS THERE SO MUCH EMPHASIS ON HIM

There was so much to suggest that CX-2 was somebody we knew. We spent so much time on him, suffered through so many completely unnecessary, in hindsight, close up shots and random pieces of episodes that focus on him, only for him to get javelined through the middle in the span of half a second.

It feels like the writers were just making fun of the viewers, at this point. Haha, can you believe they actually thought?

Yes, we did think! Did you?

Tech's death was so... unconvincing. They didn't even try. Not only was his life "cut short" in the midst of his character development, said death was caused by falling, without any other kind of injury, while we watch him disappear into the clouds. And then we see no body and only have his broken goggles as "evidence" of his death. What the hell else were we supposed to assume?

That's not even bringing up that Tech gets maybe three mentions all throughout the entire season. The show never touches on how the death of one of their squadmates, people they have known since birth, affects the batch. Not once do they ever say out loud that Tech is dead until the fucking finale.

This isn't just me reading too closely between the lines. This is genuinely bad writing. It's loading chekhov's gun and then refusing to shoot it.

Even if CX-2 wasn't Tech, or even somebody we knew, the way he is treated suggests that he was supposed to be important. He was supposed to be be relevant. And now, he's neither!

Furthermore, where fuck was everybody? Where was Rex with the reinforcements to storm the base? Where was Wolffe deciding he didn't want anything to do with the Empire anymore? Where was Cody? Where was Phee in all of this?

Where was Cid? So we're just... not going to get any kind of closure for that? She just betrays them and we never see her again? Even if they didn't redeem her, that feels like pretty damn bold move.

The Zillo beast does... barely anything. Really? It just breaks out and moves away from the biggest source of energy it will ever find after causing the slightest amount of property damage to two rooms, and storms off into the woods, and that's all we get? Seriously?

And then once we get to the time jump... Echo's gone. Again. Either still off with Rex, if he hasn't gone into hiding yet, or died off screen. Neither is a good nor satisfying ending for his character. But I guess shouldn't be surprised by that. When have the writers ever cared about Echo?

The biggest problem with the whole thing is that it didn't feel like a finale. It felt like a normal episode, just slightly longer. The Bad Batch returned to Pabu, because I guess there are no consequences from the Batch being discovered there before and the empire decided that they were just going to... leave it alone, and everything returns to the status quo. That's not what a finale does, Dave.

Maybe I'm being too harsh. There were parts that I enjoyed. I'm glad Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair got their happy endings. Seeing Omega all grown up really did something to my heart. But overall I am just so frustrated.

[youmakemyhearthowl]

Part two to this

Steve was sort of beside himself, his heart a little bit broken.

All he had wanted to do was bring to Eddie’s attention how Lucas was feeling. How he understood Eddie was a passionate person about the things he liked and disliked but it wasn’t really a fair way to treat the kids and it had come out so wrong Eddie had basically called him an asshole before storming off.

Steve was so sick of being stupid. Never able to get his words out right, or struggling to even find the right words half the time. He’d even practiced on the way over to Eddie’s. Saying and resaying what he wanted to tell him so that it would come out clearly. And then Eddie had been so sweet to him all day, and Steve was way to distracted by the crop top he was in that everything he’d rehearsed went right out of his brain like everything else did.

And Eddie was mad at him.

He’d been trying so hard to befriend Eddie too. Wanting to show him he was different then he used to be. That he was good now, kind. He wanted Eddie to see him. And he’d been so scared of that thought at first. He knew what bisexuality was, was pretty sure that label for him fit like a coat, but Eddie was the first guy that had actually truly caught his eye and he was trying his hardest to be good enough for him.

Steve had been mad at Eddie too. When he first heard how he’d treated Lucas. But then he’d talked it out with Robin, because he didn’t want to go into this situation with his protective rage right away. Had wanted to make sure this conversation went well. So they’d talked it out, and he spent hours with his best friend making sure he knew as best he could where Eddie might have been coming from in his action.

Robin having been an outcast herself had also been mad at Eddie but was a wonderful perspective on why he might have acted that way towards the kid. How Eddie had been a target so often, especially from the basketball team, that it made sense he had a lot of hate towards them, and would maybe even subconsciously take it out on Lucas.

They were both in agreement that Eddie probably hadn’t meant to hurt Lucas in any way.

Eddie was too kind and good to have intentionally made anyone feel isolated.

But Steve was a fucking idiot and could never say things right, so he of course, had fucked it up.

He just really wanted Eddie to like him and the guy made him nervous. It was extra hard to find the words around him on a good day. But them being alone, just the two of them. He should have known he’d fuck it up. Like he always does.

“Steve? Come on man, your cars in the driveway! I know you’re home, can we talk? Please?” Eddie’s voice rings out around the empty house, pulling Steve from his spiral and jump starting his feet towards the front door.

“Uh yea hey man what’s up?” Steve plasters that fake smile on his face he’s mastered over the years. His stomach in knots, as he flings the front door open and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Thank fuck. Look man we need to talk.” Eddie barrels past him into the house, making a beeline to Steve’s living room and throwing himself onto the couch.

“Yea uh, make yourself at home or whatever.” Steve mumbles, following behind him and sitting on the armchair across from Eddie, whose leg is bouncing like crazy, his eyes refusing to meet Steve’s.

“Steve, I’m so sorry.” The words startle Steve. His body flinching on instinct with the assumption he was going to be yelled at again

“Oh uh, what for?” Jesus Steve how many times are you gonna say uh in this conversation huh? Get it together.

“I was completely unfair to you yesterday. I got defensive and didn’t even let you speak and that was not cool of me. I just got so caught up on waiting for the other shoe to drop with you, I couldn’t believe you were this nice guy, this like.. unbelievably kind person I guess i had been on edge. Waiting for you to prove my old assumptions about you were correct. And that was not fair to you, at all” Eddie talks with his hand, gesturing around the room and enunciating words with certain gestures.

“I’m so sorry for who I used to be.” Is what Steve settled on saying back. He’s not really sure why Eddie is apologizing when Steve has been the asshole that had hurt him yesterday. “And I’m sorry for being a dick to you yesterday, that wasn’t my intention. I just… sometimes I have trouble finding the right words, and I get extra jumbled around you and nothing came out right” Eddie’s eyes are getting wider the more Steve talks, his head shaking slightly.

“Steve, Steve no, man listen. You didn’t do anything wrong yesterday. That’s why I wanted to apologize. You were looking out for one of your kids and were trying so hard to be nice about it and I’m the one that overreacted. I think sometimes I get so stuck on certain ideas that I get caught up in them and just assume that’s what’s happening. And I know you always, always think long and hard about what you want to say before you say it and it still gets a little jumbled and I should have been more patient with you. You did nothing wrong.” He puts a large emphasis on that last sentence, coming over to kneel in front of Steve and taking his hands. “I am so sorry I treated you the way I treated you. You don’t deserve that, and there’s nothing wrong with having to work through what you want to say before you say it. I’m also really sorry for how I treated Lucas back then. I’ve already gone and apologized to him because you were right. Of course you were right, you’re so smart Stevie, and you’re right more than anyone admits to you and I want to make sure I told you that. And I’m so sorry.”

“Okay okay” Steve let’s out a huffed laugh, “Stop apologizing Ed’s, I’m not mad at you.”

“You have every right to be mad at me.”

“No, no cause I get it you know? Like.. uh fuck..” Steve trails off, shaking his head slightly in hopes his sentences can form better, Eddie just kneels there in front of him waiting patiently. “Me and Robin like,” he waves his hand around. “We talked about it, what it’s like to be a targeted outcast in highschool. Cause I wanted to understand where you come from in your like reactions to things, so I get it. I’m not mad” Eddie’s face breaks out into a soft smile, dimples on full display as Steve stares at him and hopes what he said made sense.

“You’re an astonishing person Steve Harrington.” Is what he says back, squeezing Steve’s hands gently. Steve can feel his entire face heat up at the complement. His eyes falling briefly to Eddie’s lips before finding his eyes again.

“M’ nothing special Eddie.” He responds, finally casting his gaze down to their entwined hands.

“That is where you are so, so wrong sweetheart. No one does that you know? Tries to get into someone else’s head to see where they were coming from so that they can go into a situation with that person and have an open and honest conversation. People don’t do that, and you did it without second thought because what? You were mad about how I treated someone you loved, but you wanted to understand -me- better because.. what? You thought I was a good person or something? That’s like an insanely kind thing to do Steve.”

“You are a good person Eddie. There’s always reasons why you do things the way you do, and well I didn’t like being mad at you.”

“You didn’t?” Eddie smirks.

“Not even a little bit.”

“I didn’t like being mad at you either, even though I was wrong in being mad at you.”

“You always have a reason for why you do something.” Steve says again, squeezing Eddie’s hands that are still connected to his. Eddie’s eyes dart down to Steve’s lips and he smiles slightly.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Okay” Steve whispers, meeting Eddie half way, their lips connecting softly. Eddie kinda moans in an over exaggerated way and pulls back, hand coming up to cradle Steve’s face.

“I promise I’ll try to be more patient in the future if you’ll have me.” He whispers, his breath coasting across Steve’s face. Steve knows his answering smile is lopsided and goofy.

“I think you’re stuck with me now, Munson.” Steve leans forward and kisses the answering smile off Eddie’s face.

[bittersweetstargazer]

It was a quiet night. Almost too quiet.

But that was the kind of behavior that made Stephanie laugh at him, made Dick call him paranoid, made Tim roll his eyes, made Jason-

On second thought, it was perfectly quiet. Just quiet enough to let him stew in his thoughts in peace. But there were some things he'd prefer not to think about.

Like how Jason hated him now, their disastrous arguments where Bruce wasn't sure if he was going to come home anymore, his dead body laying limp in his hands-

He stared at the report he was writing, blank face as he tried to focus on Poison Ivy's new pollen that she spread the other night. He had come across a few criminals who seemed to be under the effect of it that night.

He considered packing up for the night, turning in to sleep at— he checked the time —3:00AM. After, he had a business meeting tomorrow at 10. It would do him nicely to get a few extra hours of sleep before he had to get back to business as Bruce Wayne.

He yawned, standing up and stretching his limbs. He felt his back crack, sighing in satisfaction. He closed up the report, checked all the security cameras around the manor and few around Gotham to make sure nothing bad was taking place.

Bruce walked to the door, hand almost on the handle before the door burst open, smacking him on the nose.

"Gah!" He stumbled backwards, feeling blood stream down his face. "What the hell?"

"I should be asking you that question!" Jason stomped in the room, way too loud for the current hour, and punched him across the face, agitating (or breaking, if it's not already) his broken nose. "What in the fresh hell is this!?"

Jason pulled out his hand and shoved it into Bruce's face, showing a series of messages between him and Clark. Bruce's heart ached for a second, knowing that Jason still kept in touch with Clark, more than Jason had done with Bruce.

The messages seemed to be casual back and forth conversation before he could see Clark asking Jason to give Bruce a chance. It goes on, with Jason refusing, but then Clark brings up how Bruce had, in fact, actually tried to kill the Joker, but was restrained due to Clark and the Iranian government. Bruce had a quick, sudden flash of anger, remembering how enraged he was when Clark had stopped him, explaining everything. He suddenly deflated, nodding silently to validate the fact that yes, he legally could not have killed the Joker.

Jason's face froze for a second, staring at Bruce with an unreadable expression. "W-why didn't you tell me any of this?"

Bruce shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, although a little clumsily. "You were mad. I already blamed myself for your death and I wasn't in the best state of mind. I thought it didn't matter if you blamed me for anything else, and that it didn't matter because either way, you died under my watch. I thought I deserved it."

"Shut up, shut UP!" Jason roared, shoving him into the wall. Bruce's head hit the wall hard, the low thud that echoed reverberating in his head.

"This isn't about you, but you always make it about you. It's always about how heartbroken you were or how angry you were! I bet you never gave a single shit about me when I was still alive, huh? Just wanted the street urchin to prove to your golden child that you could replace him easily, almost as easily as you replaced me!" Jason had tears streaking his face, his words sounding more melancholic than furious.

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed. "It was never like that, Jason, I loved you, truly. Nothing you could do could ever change that."

"Really?" Jason's voice was quiet- shaky, even -as he took in what Bruce was saying. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I already said that—"

"No, Bruce. I don't want that bullshit answer. Why didn't you tell me."

Bruce opened and closed his mouth a few times, lost for words. Finally, he settled on "I don't know."

Jason froze, devastated. His face morphed into anger, and snarling, he said, "I don't even know why I tried with you."

He turned around, ready to stomp back out of the cave, but Bruce grabbed his arm. "What do you mean, Jaylad?"

"Don't call me that, and never contact me again, you- you—"

"Jason! I don't understand. Please, let me make things right—"

"NO!" Jason yelled– no, screamed –and ripped his arm out of Bruce's grip. "No." He broke down crying.

"You never wanted me to be in the family did you? You knew you couldn't tell the Joker and you never told me because you didn't want to see me around again, huh? Well, screw you. I can do so much better than this shitty family."

"Jason, that- that isn't true. I—"

"If it isn't true, then why didn't you tell me?"

Silence rung throughout the cave as Bruce was left grasping for answers. Jason shook his head slowly, backing out of the room.

"Forget this."

"Jaylad. I- I'll admit that there might've been some part of me that couldn't bear seeing you again. You reminded me of all my failures, all my weaknesses, and all the way I could've done better. That was wrong of me. I shouldn't've forced my regrets onto you, shouldn't have made you living proof what went wrong. You deserved better than that. And I promise you, if you turn around and come back to me, I'll give you what you wanted all along. Just please, forgive me."

Jason stopped walking. Bruce held his breath.

"I'm so tired. I don't know if I can keep doing this."

"I know. And I'm sorry."

. . .

"Do they hate me?"

"I don't think anyone could hate you, Jaylad."

Jason crumbled to his knees, running his hands through his hair in a crazed manner, sobbing loudly. "I just- I just want my dad. I just want my dad."

Bruce slowly crossed over to Jason, kneeling next to him and pulling him into his chest. "I'm here, Jason. It's going to be okay."

@bruciemilf

[thepenultimateword]

Heya it's me again!! May I request a continuation to 'Villain x Werewolf hero'! I just finished reading and I'm in love...

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Hero must have been truly massive.

Of course, Villain always knew they were a big guy, the permanent crick in their neck from all their fights was proof of that, but when the clothes they wore were as large as they were, the size thing didn't really make an impact. Now, standing in the entrance to the living room with Villain’s brand new extra-large hoodie stretched taught across their shoulders, it really sank in just how monstrous they were.

At least the hoodie sort of passed; it could probably barely be excused as something that had shrunk in the wash, but the sweats... Last time, the tightness of the t-shirt paired with the tightness of the sweats had looked cohesive, but now with an almost-fitting item to contrast them, they looked smaller than ever.

Hero tugged awkwardly on one leg with their heel, but it refused to move any lower than mid-calf.

"Next time, I'll bring a change of clothes," they said. It was more statement than question, as if this 'next time' was a given. Villain gave them a pass this time because of their tail-between-their-legs expression, but in the future, they were fighting it.

Hero padded toward the kitchen, taking in the scratches in the hardwood floor and a few shreds where the sofa was losing its filling. Luckily, Villain had cleaned up all the broken and spilled items fast, so the room looked more unkempt than torn apart by a raging werewolf.

As Hero settled down at the table, they glanced toward Villain's spot at the stove, making fleeting eye contact. Villain quickly focused on stirring the oatmeal, not really optional now since it turned out their two boxes of cereal, amongst many other things, had been knocked from the counter last night, scattering choco puffs and mini marshmallows all over the ground.

"Can I see?" Hero asked, a little quiet but as blatant as ever.

Villain peeked over their shoulder to see the hero pointing at their sketchbook, one of the only completely unharmed items left on the tabletop.

"No!" Villain slammed the oatmeal pot onto a separate burner a little too hard and strode toward the table to snatch the sketchbook safely into their arms. "This top secret stuff. Why would I show you?"

Hero rested their chin on their knees with a pout. "I'm sad."

Vlllain could only bear their big, round eyes for a few moments, maybe because there actually was something terribly sad within them.

"Ugh, fine." Villain gave the sketchbook a quick flip through, tearing out any of the plans they hadn't used yet, and tossed it back onto the table. "Here. It's just a bunch of nonsense."

They folded the loose pages into fours and stuffed them into their pocket before pulling a pair of bowls from the cupboard and piling the mush of steaming hot oats between them.

"Milk and brown sugar?" Villain said holding up Hero's bowl.

Despite being engrossed to a humiliating degree in Villain's drawing's Hero managed to give an affirming thumbs up.

"And cinnamon?"

Another thumbs up.

Villain sighed, but filled both bowls nearly to the brim and began dousing the milky surface with generous helpings of sweetness and spice. There. That was breakfast. Villain actually wasn't sure what the next step after a werewolf attack should be. They knew even less about how to fix Hero's problems. But getting through breakfast and calming down a bit seemed like a good first step.

"Oh, what's this?"

Hero turned the sketchbook around just as Villain set the oatmeal on the table, revealing a page full of yesterday's sketches of Hero. One ate a cracker, another slumped back on the couch and looked up at the ceiling, and yet another existed only as a highly detailed side profile. A smattering of others existed in vague, half-formed glory.

"That's not what it looks like!" Villain yelped, lurching across the table.

Hero held the book just out of reach. "Really? Because even I'm not sure what this looks like." They smirked, seeming truly like their normal self for the first time that morning. "Is this a plan? Or am I just too good a model to pass up? Or maybe… Could this be a crush?"

"Ugh!" Villain gagged, "No! Never! Don't flatter yourself!"

They were speaking way louder than was necessary, which only made Hero smirk wider.

"Y-you were in my house, and it was weird!" Villain said defensively. "I couldn't think! It's not like I was consciously pining over you!"

"Just a little unconsciously."

"Shut up!" Villan said. "In spite of what you might think, you're not all that. There are many, many people who don't find you charming. For instance, me! I think you’re too big, you’re hair’s too messy, and you smell like dog!”

Hero held up their hands defensively. “Ok, ok, I get it. No need to make it personal.” They paused. “All I’m saying is I’m not the one who tenderly hugged someone this morning.”

Villain shoved the hero’s bowl of oatmeal harshly in front of them. “Eat.”

Hero had the intelligence to obey.

Of course it was strange to have a pageful of drawings of one’s nemesis. They knew that. But there really wasn’t a reason for it. And Hero assuming there was was just so…so…Hero. They couldn’t believe they’d actually let themselves go soft for them earlier.

Silence stretched over the room like a thin fog, the only sound the clink of their spoons in their bowls. Villain was suddenly conscious of the blood still crusting their brow and pulling the little hair tight. They hadn’t looked in a mirror yet, but they could only imagine what they looked like. Dark circles, gashed face, wild hair: a walking horror show victim. Unlike Hero who, even with the messy hair and stretched clothing, always remained warm and burnished. Not quite so appealing with a mouthful of snapping fangs though.

They shuddered.

Hero flicked their eyes up, catching Villain staring.

"You're not going to tell anyone I tried to kill you, right?” they said. “Like, ruin my reputation so I can't be a hero anymore?"

"Oh, drat, you discovered my master plan," Villain said dryly. "I suppose you figured out that I'm the one who made you go rabid."

Hero's eyes widened a fraction. "Wait, is that true?"

"No!" Villain cried. "And I'm not telling on you either. You're such a jerk."

"I'm a jerk? You're the villain!"

"The villain who isn't constantly assuming bad things about people before they've done anything."

“You assumed I was making fun of you for the drawings.”

“Weren’t you?”

Hero paused. “Sort of. But I was also flattered.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

Hero leaned back in their chair and spread their long, long legs in front of them. “Because you think I’m unattractive. Right.”

Villain wished they didn’t make that sound like such an impossibility. Even if they did—in some other universe where they had oatmeal for brains—like Hero, that wasn’t because it was inevitable. People could actually live their lives without the grace of the hero’s stupid face. No, if Villain did like Hero, it would be for a good reason.

“Exactly,” Villain said. “So why don’t we focus on something we can fix.”

Despite their confident tone, their insides were already worming with doubts. They’d only just learned about werewolves. How were they supposed to help tame one?

“You said you’ve felt weird lately? That’s why you came to me? Can you connect that weird feeling to anything specific?”

Hero had all but inhaled their entire breakfast, but they suddenly became very busy scraping down left over clumps of sugar pasted along the sides of their bowl. “I don’t know. I can’t think of anything in particular.”

“You only transform on full moons, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you feel the strangeness last month?”

“Nope.”

“Well what about other blue moons? Could it be that?”

Hero’s spoon scraped even harder at the ceramic. “No. I’ve been through lots of blue moons, they’re no different from a regular full moon.”

Well that wasn’t very helpful. Those had been Villain’s top questions. Where else could they get werewolf information if Hero didn’t know themself? They didn’t exactly trust Google on this one. Hero said Superhero knew about them, but they hadn’t made it sound like the other hero was a part of the supernatural community. Perhaps it didn’t hurt to at least ask.

Something warm and heavy settled over Villain’s hand, causing them to flinch violently. No matter how many times they blinked, the sight didn’t grow any clearer. Somehow Hero's big hand had found its way into their own average-sized one.

"I'm scared,” Hero said. And they were. All that pomp and teasing and accusing commentary and they were really scared. It lurked in the wide whites of their eyes and the rigid way they held their muscles.

I don’t like you. The only reason for any of this is because I feel bad for you.

That’s what Villain wanted to say, but what they really said was, “Is this the first time its happened?”

“I…think so?” Hero said.

How convincing.

“I don’t know!” Hero cried, reading their dry expression. “I don’t have memories of what the wolf does! As far as I know, they’re not aggressive unless threatened, but that doesn’t mean something didn’t happen. Especially back in the beginning when I was under watch.”

Villain scrunched up their face in confusion . “Watch?”

“Sort of a…supernatural clean up crew for young werewolves. Whether you’ve been bit or born a wolf, the initial change is messy. Usually one can trust their inner wolf to be a smart decision maker, they become in tune with their other side, not doing things that their human self wouldn’t. But the young wolf is impulsive and hungry, so the Watch keeps them in check, cleaning their messes from the public eye and stopping them from doing too much damage.”

“And we could talk to these Watch people?” Villain said. “See if they know anything?”

Hero’s hand jerked away. “I’m not going there.”

“Going where?”

“Wherever they are. I cut myself off from that world a long time ago. I’m a regular hero in a regular city full of regular people. I even have a regular nemesis.”

“I’ll choose not to take that as an insult.”

“Look, Villain, I’m settled here. Why would I go digging up old bones? Besides, I’ve been fine for years. Obviously whatever’s wrong with me isn’t something they saw in me before.”

What was up with them? Maybe their Hero had slipped out the back for a stroll because they didn’t recognize this one. The jerk was usually too big-headed to back down from anything challenging and too prideful to be discomforted. That monstrously oversized ego was one of their defining traits, and even if it made them an unpleasant person to fight, it certainly never got in the way of them doing the quote-on-quote “right thing.”

“But maybe they’ve seen it in someone else,” Villain said. “Are you seriously going to give up a chance to crack this because you have issues with home?”

“Not my home.”

Villain ignored them. “Where else do you expect to find an answer? The internet? Me? Because I don’t know the first thing about werewolves.”

“I’ll find another way,” Hero insisted.

“And In the meantime you’ll just be a raging monster, tearing people apart and drawing attention to yourself? You’ll tarnish you own reputation at that rate.”

Monster was a harsh word, and it wasn’t one Villain had thought even while running for their life, but it definitely did it’s job jolting Hero out of their stubborn stupor.

Hero sat motionless, arms hung tiredly at their sides. The only sign of life was their eyes as they flickered around the apartments remaining damage.

“Fiiiine,” they practically growled. “We can go. But we’ll need a mask and some of my clothes. And a lot of a citrus.”

“We?”

“Well, I’m sure not going alone.”

Master Taglist:

@moss-tombstone @crazytwentythrees @just-1-lonely-person @the-vagabond-nun @yulanlavender @willow-trees-are-beautiful @cocoasprite @insanedreamer7905 @appleejuice @psychiclibrariesquotestoad @valiantlytransparentwhispers @whovian378

Meh. This part felt a little meh to me. 😓 a little dialogue heavy, and maybe not so we’ll paced, but oh well

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Don’t worry about answering this is you don’t want to. I know you don’t like fandom wank. But, if you feel like it, do you think someone could make those endpoints work? Bran as king and Jon at the Wall even though there’s a big old hole in it and Dany deliberately burning King’s Landing before Jon or Arya kills her, is that an ending any writer, no matter their skill, could sell to the hardcore fans? I don’t think the fandom would accept it even if GRRM wrote it.

lololol I deleted my post already anon, so for those of you who didn't read it - I was once again whining about how d&d fucked up the last bunch of seasons and every character. it's not a new take, just something I was high thinking in the shower, so I deleted it bc it wasn't productive.

But I'll answer this, because I think it's interesting.

In short - no.

(Beneath the cut for a longer explanation and just a whole bunch of my ranty thoughts. pls remember I am no asoiaf scholar and I haven't studied every aspect of the books or read every meta. These are just my opinions.)

Longer - at this point, too much time has gone by, there is literally no way George can please... probably even half of his fanbase, no matter what he does. From what I can tell, the fandom too divided and there's so much hatred between stan groups (which I do find ridiculous, but it is what it is). People have cemented their own ending in their heads after decades of the fandom existing without an official ending, and I can see a lot of them not liking that they're wrong. Some people have spent 30 years with their theories, it's sunk cost fallacy. Case in point, the show ending being written off as fanfiction by a lot of fans.

which, tangent, I get. I GET why d stans don't believe the ending, because it was so poorly executed. I truly do understand their denial, because the show gaslit the audience for soooooo long that she was the girlboss hero and then seemed to do a 180 at the end. What was that post I just reblogged the other day? I don't hate villains, I hate when the narrative tries to convince you the bad person is actually good.

now, you asked if anyone could make those endpoints work, but I don't actually think most of them are the real endpoints? I think they were D&D giving up and not trying, or going for Shock Value™. But for fun, I'm gonna go by endpoints I think are most to least likely, and my thoughts on how they could happen and how D&D fucked them up.

Bran as king: Confirmed by grrm. How he'll make this work, I have no idea. I genuinely didn't see it coming tbh. I thought the "bittersweet" ending would be Jon being forced to take the crown in KL. like it's a good ending for everyone else, but for him it's misery. I'm sure grrm has his plans, and I'd be interested to see how he pulls it off. This end point does not disappoint me and I'm not mad at being wrong, but I can see a HUGE swath of people HATING it. specifically D stans.

D&D blew this hard. They cut Bran out of an entire season, making him seem to the audience like a lesser character and not important. They made him a robot. Why am I rooting for show!Bran? Also, I will never, ever get over that line - who has a better story than Bran the Broken? I don't know Tyrion, literally everyone else?? JON DIED AND CAME BACK TO LIFE. ahem.

(as far as I'm aware, Bran as king is the only ending grrm has confirmed?? correct me if I'm wrong.)

D as the big bad: I guess grrm hasn't officially confirmed this, but... he's sort of confirmed it, riiiiight? He compared dragons to nuclear weapons. The show has her as the villain (poorly executed or not). When I gave hotd a shot, literally the opening lines were about the Targs bringing themselves down immediately after name dropping her. Seems pretty solid to me. D&D just refused to commit to her villain arc because they didn't want to alienate their audience that they'd gaslit into thinking she was the hero, and they were seemingly obsessed with Shock Value™ twists.

Dany burning KL: I think the burning of KL is going to happen, and it seems like Dany is the only one to really do it? Unclear how it will happen, I'm sure people have theories. What the show didn't have was Aegon, so who knows how he'll factor in.

Arya sailing west: I think there's a lot of foreshadowing for it. It fits her nature. I think this is very likely to happen and I guess D&D handled it ok. They did ruin her character, though, by making her a literal mass murderer. But yayyyyyy feminism I guess.

Theon sacrificing himself for Bran: Theon's was the only arc I think the show did well. They ruined it at the end by having Theon literally throw himself onto the Night King's sword, which was so fucking stupid, but the arc itself is poignant and fits his character. While he can't ever redeem himself to Robb, he can redeem himself to Robb's siblings, and considering he once pretended to kill Bran, I think this is solid.

Cersei and Jaime dying together: this was my theory even before the show ending, and I think it fits their characters. They cannot live without each other, no matter if they hate each other. They're too deeply entwined in each other. Now, I personally wanted Cersei to be taken captive and put in the black cells to be publicly burned later, and then Jaime shows up and mercy kills her and then himself bc he can't live without her.

But I guess getting bonked on the head by some avoidable rocks is also a way to do it

Sansa as QitN: I'll be honest and say I hated this ending because she ended up alone. Sansa, who has wanted nothing more than family and safety since book 1, ends up completely alone. Even Brienne, her sworn shield, leaves her. but she's a queen, so yayyyy feminism I guess.

I can see her as queen, but I can also see her ending up as queen regent for Rickon, because I'm not totally convinced Rickon dies? like in the show he just randomly shows up and gets captured by Ramsay and it just feels like that isn't his arc in the books. Maybe I'm wrong. But I could see D&D having the endpoint of Sansa as regent, but they killed Rickon off already for Shock Value™, and so they went oops! and made her queen.

Now, there is a part of me that thinks she will not be queen or queen regent, because how does one break off and declare independence from their own brother? Feels like that would destabilize his rule and not give people much faith in him. It just seems really strange to me, but I guess it could happen, since Northern Independence is such a huge theme and it would be weird if it didn't happen?? Does Bran just let her secede? And it doesn't make Dorne or the Iron Islands try.... That's the part in the show that literally did not make sense to me. Sansa was like bye, I'm taking the north, and no one else spoke up about that.

I'd be totally fine with her as queen (if she has someone!!) but I can see a gooooood chunk of the fandom absolutely hating this. surprise.

Brienne as Kingsguard: while I like it for narrative purposes, because she deserves it, I just can't see her leaving Sansa, if she becomes as close to Sansa as she does on the show? If Sansa is queen, I could see her as Sansa's Queensguard. But what does she have in KL? The south didn't ever respect her, why would she want to go back. I think D&D put this in so they could have the ending shot of her writing in the book about Jaime for the shippers

Jon at the Wall: the only reason he went to the Wall in the show was because Grey Worm demanded it? And then left. So. You know, real enforceable. So stupid. Genuinely the worst writing of all the endings, I think, the logic made zero sense there. Now, that could be because they'd written themselves into a corner, but knew Jon ended up at the Wall, and had to force it?

But to me, it's like - what was the point of his resurrection, then? In the show, he doesn't even kill the Night King (we'll get to that). He kills D, sure, but... He's also the reason she succeeds in Westeros to begin with. So what, he gets resurrected, causes havoc, fixes the havoc he caused, and then is sent away to a Wall that serves no purpose anymore? WHAT PURPOSE DOES THE WALL SERVE. The Others are defeated, there's a big ol' hole in it, and they've allied with the Free Folk to an extent. How does the Watch continue on?

I guess he could self-banish. I know the show sort of makes the implication that he goes off with the Free Folk, but in the books, he doesn't really like FF culture? He's appalled by a lot of the violence in it. I can't see him wanting to live that way.

Brai.me: don't get me wrong, I like Brai.me. I think it's cute, in fanon. In canon, I think Brienne is too good for him. I don't see their relationship going romantic or sexual. I think Brienne is who Jaime desperately wants to be (but Cersei is who he keeps being pulled back to). Them having sex was 100% for the shippers

Jo/ner.ys: I'm putting all the punctuation in that. don't need them finding me somehow. Anyway. I don't think this happens, at least not as a true romance. They're on opposite continents and there's not a ton of time left, but more than that - and I know I've said this before - I can't see Jon "hates seeing people burned alive" Snow falling in love with D "loves to burn people alive" T. Could it be a political thing? Maybe, but I also could see her having an alliance with Aegon.

I think there's 2 possible reasons for this being in the show and presented as an actual romance. 1) it was supposed to be that pol!Jon theory, but they chickened out (same with jonsa & a love triangle, I think they chickened out bc of the incest. I think now with hotd being incest central and fans loving it, they wouldn't balk anymore). 2) just the spectacle of it? people have been theorizing this for years, why not give it to them? see above, brai.me

Tyrion as Hand: bleh. I know the fandom loves him and he was clearly D&D's fave, but grrm has said Tyrion is the most morally gray character, and I can't see him letting Tyrion get everything he's always wanted, you know? People think asoiaf is grimdark, but I can't imagine grrm punishing Jon with banishment while giving Tyrion a cushy position with lots of power.

I've read the theory that Tyrion ends up at the Wall, which I like thematically, but again, WHAT PURPOSE DOES THE WALL SERVE. Is it just a penal colony at that point?? someone smarter than me, tell me.

Grey Worm & Missandei condoning/encouraging D: hated it. Take the only characters of color to have speaking lines (i'm 99% sure) in the last season and turn them vengeful and murderous (especially grey worm). Throw their characters under the bus to absolve D of blame

Arya killing the Night King: no. he doesn't exist in the books, first, and even in the show it made zero narrative sense. It was just a Shock Value™ twist. You thought it was gonna be hero Jon, hmmmmmm? WRONG. I've said it on here before, but my hope is that it's Sam that brings down the Others in the book somehow.

.

Did I forget anything, anon? This probably veered wildly from the point of the ask, but oh well, it was fun. (I had a jonsa section in here at first, but then I remembered this is show canon ending stuff and that was not canon sorry fellow jonsas. I obvioulsy want it to be the ending bc the shipper brainrot is real, buuuuuut...)

[theendwhereibegin]

This chapter is only Pedro's POV. Feels like after all those emotions have resurfaced, Olivia needs a bit of a break from storytelling.

Universally meant. Earthly bound

Part 5

I looked at my phone and the clock read 3 a.m. I wanted to move, but I couldn't as her head rested comfortably on my shoulder as she slept, holding onto my arm, so my head rested back on the sofa.

Last night was an emotional one. Emotional doesn't even begin to describe it.

She laid her entire past in front of me, telling me how it's important that I know everything before I made my decision.

Truth be told, there was no decision left to make as my heart was already in it the moment I laid my eyes on her. I knew she needed for someone, anyone to hear her side of the story without judging her life decision, and I did just that.

Who was I to judge her? Who was I to tell her she was wrong when all she wanted was to be loved in the true sense?

She talked about her ex and everything that happened to her. How he had the audacity of keeping her awake until 6 in the morning to talk about why she wants a divorce whilst he downed a bottle of whisky all by himself, not letting her go to sleep even, whilst she had to go to work early in the morning. How she functioned on no sleep the day after and how he packed his entire life and didn't even fight back for her. That's what broke her heart. The reality that he actually didn't care enough for her to stand his ground and fight for them.

She talked about how much she wanted a child and how she was always told that she was too immature to handle taking care of a baby. How he had the nerve of telling her that if she chooses to stay with him, they can have a child whenever she wants without any issues. He wanted to trap her even more than she already had been for almost their entire relationship.

He toyed with her feelings and desires as he wished, and she was nothing but a pawn that made him feel less alone as it created a false sense of being wanted, I suppose.

He held onto her during the best years of her life, as she called her 20's, a period in which everything was about fun, self-discovery, and feeling alive.

As these thoughts kept bouncing in my head, she stirred a bit while snuggling closer into me. This brought a smile to my face, knowing that she felt safe with me, comfortable with me.

I kissed her forehead while my hand stayed firmly on her back, letting her know that I was still there.

She needed all the comfort and care that this world could offer. She wasn't broken. She just felt lost into a world that moved too fast for her to catch up with, but there was never anything to catch up with.

I still remember the pain that showed on her face whilst talking about her friends who were now all married and with kids and how she was the eternal bridesmaid and aunt. She knew she didn't have to be the same, but she longed for happiness, and her happiness was all about having a family.

She also talked about her family and how they didn't even believe that it wasn't her fault they got a divorce. That truly broke my heart because I know just how much she loves them. Tears were streaming down her face as she told me her mom believed him over her. How his lies about her cheating spread like wild fire, and everyone seemed to take his side without even giving it a second thought.

She felt the need to tell me over and over again that she wasn't a cheater and that she never even thought about another man while she was in that relationship. I wouldn't have blamed her if she did think of another man while he was with her. He quite literally brought nothing to the table whilst she offered him everything. She deserved someone to love her as badly and madly as she loved the person next to her.

Whilst I have had my fair share of relationships, I always felt like I didn't bring enough to the table either, but not because I refused to or didn't want to. It was because I never seemed to find the time to or they were only invested in me because I am famous. So, I decided being alone is better.

My sisters and brother always told me that I should get our there and find someone who is worthy of my love. Someone that would see me for me and less as Pedro Pascal, the actor.

Olivia saw me as me. She never once mentioned Narcos, The Mandalorian, The Last Of Us. Not even once, even though I was in the studio for phots regarding Disney+. She talked about Star Wars and how it was the first movie she's ever seen on VHS. She talked about how she played a lot of computer games in her life, how she was fascinated with true crime documentaries, and staying on top of the world news, but she never once mentioned any of my roles, because she knew I didn't need that from her. I needed to feel normal.

She stirred again, this time to move her arms around my torso while she sighed happily in her sleep. Her eyes were smiling while she slept, and I knew that I was a goner right then and there.

Her features were lit up by the moon shining bright outside her window. Her hair was splayed on the pillow while her hands held onto my side. I could see her brown hair being complimented by a few strands of whites. She decided she didn't want to dye her hair anymore, that she wanted to embrace her natural looks for a while because ageing is good and a part of life.

I admired that. I admired the fact that she knew who she was at this very moment, even if she felt so lost not so long ago. I admired the fact that she embraced her true self and wasn't compromising anymore.

"Pedro, why are you awake?Wait, where am I?" Asked a slightly disoriented and sleepy Olivia.

"It's okay, Liv. We fell asleep on your sofa. I am sorry if I woke you up. " I kissed her lips softly. What she did next made my heart jump out of my chest.

She smiled into the kiss and mumbled something that I couldn't understand. She nuzzled her head into my neck whilst her hand searched for mine to hold while whispering, "I've searched lifetimes for you, baby," and rapidly falling back asleep.

Her words kept playing round and round in my head. 'I've searched lifetimes for you, baby,' and all I could do was hold her tighter because I have spent at least this lifetime looking for her, my Olivia.

Before I knew it, I was wide awake again, but this time, it was 10 in the morning, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee made me get up and go to her kitchen.

I could see her dancing around the kitchen with her headphones on while she was making coffee and preparing breakfast. I stayed in the doorframe admiring her, and then I heard her sing softly to herself

'Something's happening

Happening to me

My friends say I'm acting peculiarly

Come on, baby

We better make a start

You better make it soon

Before you break my heart'

I could recognise these lyrics anywhere. She was playing Fleetwood Mac 'Everywhere' while she made her way from the stove to the fridge and cupboards.

" Why don't I have normal mugs like normal adults do? Guess these ones should do." She was debating with herself and gave in and pulled out two mugs, one with Yoda and one with Chewbacca, and put them on the counter next to her coffee machine.

As she turned around, she saw me standing there just looking at her. Her headphones came flying off her head, and her careless expression turned into shock.

"Please tell me you haven't been there long. Otherwise, I don't think I can survive the embarrassment, " she said while making her way to me with coffee.

" I mean, I think I haven't, but at the same time, I did hear you sing," I said while accepting the coffee that was in her hand. She smiled shyly and took her mug, and sat at the table.

"Can you put that song on your speaker? " I asked, hoping she would. It was one of my favourite songs.

She nodded and connected her speaker, and the song slowly started.

I moved from my spot and offered her my hand. She looked confused at first but just as the lyrics started her hand was in mine and, before we both knew it, we were swaying to it and singing it softly while her head was restung on my chest and our fingers were intertwined.

This was the perfect setting. Morning time with her while the sun shined through her kitchen.

'Can you hear me calling

Out your name?

You know that I'm falling

And I don't know what to say

I'll speak a little louder

I'll even shout

You know that I'm proud

And I can't get the words out'

"If this is how a relationship should be like, I have quite literally never experienced this." she said while we danced through her kitchen.

Little did she know, it was the first time I was experiencing this as well, and it felt so good and warm. It's almost like we've been doing this forever.

'Oh, I

I want to be with you everywhere

Oh, I

I want to be with you everywhere

(Wanna be with you everywhere)'

" You know what? I never did this with anyone, " came my response, which seemed to take her by surprise.

"I do not believe that you never had someone to dance to Fleetwood Mac with," she said while her eyes met mine.

This moment was pure perfection, and I couldn't help but steal a kiss, a kiss that made her blush.

"I danced with my friend Sarah, but this feels different."

'Something's happening

Happening to me

My friends say I'm acting peculiarly

Come on, baby

We better make a start

You better make it soon

Before you break my heart'

"Sarah is nice. I met her years ago. She made me feel so at ease and confident. She's a great lady, " she said while I twirled her around.

"That she is. She is my best friend in a sense, well her and Oscar"

" Oscar, yes. The one that made me give up my only day off because his wife gave birth, and he wanted me to take his sons first photos."

"The very same one."

"He's a nice guy, and his wife is amazing. I didn't mind it. I've grown fond of him and his family. They invited me last Christmas to their place, but unfortunately I couldn't make it."

The song was almost over, and as I looked at her, I realised that I was at the Christmas party.

"You are telling me we were supposed to meet almost a year ago but didn't?" I asked, amused.

"I suppose so if you were also invited. My mum needed my help, so I had to go back home for the holidays. If you ask me, I think we weren't supposed to meet last year. It would have been the wrong timing."

As the song ended and we sat down, I could see her being happy and content. I was feeling the same, and, oh my God, this coffee was heavenly.

"What did you make this coffee with? It's absolutely delicious!"

"It's the way I always make coffee, didn't do anything special. Pressed the correct button, I suppose?" She said, giggling.

I loved seeing her like this. Carefree, happy, and most importantly, mine.

[sharpen-your-hatchet]

Old Wounds - Wenclair Fanfic, chapter 24

Description: Now aged 22, Wednesday Addams is an up-and-coming author. Her time at Nevermore is well behind her, and she is alone, and that suits her just fine...But when a 'new' neighbour shows up in her apartment building, she'll truly be tested on whether her "bad habit" of caring truly has been broken. (Hint: It hasn't.)  

Pairing: Wednesday Addams / Enid Sinclair

Rating: Mature (Fic is fully SFW up to Chapter 20)

Click Here For Previous Chapter

Click Here To Read This Chapter On AO3 or keep reading below!

x-x-x-x-x-x

Following their latest tryst, Wednesday and Enid indulge in their privacy for a considerable amount of time. The day is still young enough that they have no need to rush back downstairs… and despite it’s unique appearance, Wednesday’s dark and dreary bedroom is quite the perfect backdrop for them simply enjoy each others company away from the prying eyes, ears, and other limbs of whomever lurks in this grand family home.

Which, considering the entrance they made earlier in the day is quite the blessing.

For Enid in particular, it allows her time to lay in a gleeful daze. She murmurs gentle affirmations about her experience those precious few minutes ago, and makes self-sustained small talk as she curls up by Wednesday’s side. It is hard to ignore how Enid is glowing. Truly she is on cloud nine – but despite this, she is still wary; still cautious. Ensuring Wednesday’s comfort is second nature to her at this point, and so Enid knows when and where to bring the energy down.

Right now is certainly one of those times – as their bodies and brains settle following their impulsivity. Wednesday is quietly thankful for Enid’s empathy. It is a trait Wednesday often considers a flaw in many people; a trait that makes them susceptible to manipulation...but Enid wears it with a piercing level of sincerity that it’s almost disarming. In fact, Enid sometimes uses it in her work to flip the narrative on others and make them the one being manipulated, all in pursuit of the latest gossip for article. It’s rather devious. Wednesday is quite fond of it, actually.

And of course, in this particular moment, Enid’s empathy brings both calmness and understanding. Perhaps it is not such a bad trait after all...

Wednesday watches Enid with a fond yet pensive gaze.

And Wednesday, naturally, does take this extended moment of restful seclusion to evaluate their latest sexual engagement. Now all is said and done, she mutely takes enjoyment from the intimacy, but knows herself better than to dare try and strive for more… In any case, she has enough to think on when she considers the touches, the sounds; the rush of endorphins Enid’s closeness brings.

Wednesday has never been one for drugs (unless they are of the poison variety, or being used for an appropriate kidnapping, of course), but she would wager the nature of oxytocin - that is, the brain’s love chemical – causes addictive rushes in much the same way. She feels crazy at times, but in a way that is much, much different from how she initially expected her loss of sanity to go.

Considering how she had wished for a dark psychosis to take hold of her, it is strange now to think upon how much she prefers this; how she prefers the love drunk inner chaos that Enid causes.

There is something she tries to not think too much on, however: there’s still a low grumble of need that sits in Wednesday’s lower stomach. It’s hungry and hard to ignore, like the quiet flame of a candle that refuses to snuff out… but Wednesday being Wednesday – she ignores it anyway. It’s rather inconvenient and she has no time for it just yet. Maybe one day, but not now.

Frankly, She’s still a way off addressing her own needs… but it’ll happen. Eventually.

Wednesday continues to muse; Enid continues to talks.

Enid returns to find Wednesday staring thoughtfully at a large painting of her mother and father. With a gentle nudge of her elbow, Enid offers Wednesday an amused grin at the portrait before them.

They lay together for a while longer. However, Enid eventually excuses herself to freshen up in the bathroom, which turns into an agreement to head downstairs. Conveniently enough, as she opens Wednesday’s bedroom door, she is met by their bags neatly waiting outside for them – presumably placed there by Lurch at some point or another.

Enid chucks them into the room with little effort. Wednesday then collects them and places them somewhere they’re less likely to be a trip hazard. Wednesday also neatens up the bedsheets, to ensure the room is as pristine as when they initially entered. She then exits the room, letting the door shut behind her with a satisfying ‘clunk’.

“Wondering how we’d look in our own painting, eh?” Enid jokes.

“Not at all,” Wednesday replies dryly. “Whilst I might show a preference for historic tradition, I find paintings like this to be frivolous and excessive.”

“Right? We could just take a selfie together!” Enid says with a light smirk. She pulls out her phone and wiggles it teasingly in front of Wednesday’s face.

Wednesday’s expression remains stoic. She is silent for a second.

“…Absolutely not.”

Enid rolls her eyes playfully, returning the device to her pocket.

“I’ll convince you one day,” She hums with a smile, as she quietly slides her hand into Wednesday’s own and gives it a light squeeze. “Are we ready, then?”

Wednesday looks down the staircase.

“Indeed. Let’s go discover what nefarious activities my mother has planned for us.”

Wednesday and Enid make their way downstairs. They seek out Morticia who has remained in the kitchen since their initial meeting. Thing is there too, and he casually greets Wednesday and Enid with a wave of a finger. He appears to be assisting Morticia by stirring a pot of something – A soup or strew, presumably, though considering the multi-use purpose of the Addams’ family kitchen, it could be anything – but he seems inexplicably coy for a hand who is usually so outspoken.

Enid and Wednesday exchange glances; a silent acknowledgement to each other that they now know for certain Thing must’ve been a part of Morticia’s earlier plans… but even with that in mind, Enid is far too excited to be upset and quickly scuttles over to him to have a catch-up. Wednesday is consequently left alone to the practised, disarming gaze of her mother.

“Have you and Enid settled into your room?” Morticia asks. Her voice is honeyed, a mischievous inflection leaving no room for second-guessing the true question that lurks behind her words.

Wednesday offers her signature glare.

“Yes, however Enid was intrigued and horrified by my collection of literature procured from the evidence of murder investigations,” She lies. “I am surprised you did not think to tidy them away. I had to spend 30 minutes hiding the ones with bloodstains so she would not faint.”

The falsehood rolls off her tongue naturally. On all accounts it sounds realistic too – from timekeeping, personalities; even Wednesday’s very real and beloved collection of murder books. Most people would fall for it easily... but Wednesday’s mother is not just anyone. Truthfully, Wednesday knows she won’t fall for it, but she also cannot see a world where she’d be anything but secretive concerning more intimate details of her life. Even with her mother who she trusts more than anything. Wednesday would frankly rather eat glass.

(Which suddenly gives her a great idea for a trap to set up for Pugsley.)

Morticia eyes Wednesday. She is clearly unconvinced, holding Wednesday’s challenging gaze for just a moment with a slight smirk and quirk of her eyebrow. She elicits a quiet, amused hum before she glances away to Enid and Thing across the kitchen.

“We’ll have to discuss these things later, my little raven. We must make haste with our activities for the day.”

Wednesday has zero qualms about this change in topic. Though she and Enid are both in the dark about these fun and exciting plans of her mothers’ – she is starting to think she might actually prefer the torture of painting each other’s nails than being subject to her Mother’s omniscient gazes… so long as the polish is black, and actually made from snake venom. She would be so lucky.

In any case, it would seem Wednesday’s concern about these planned activities are perhaps unfounded. Morticia directs them into her greenhouse, revealing a table overflowing with a number of dark coloured flowers, thorns, nettles, and ivies, etc. Morticia stands at the head of the table, hands clasped together. She explains that winter has been cruel to the grounds of the house and the family graveyard is looking terribly bare, which – naturally – is inexcusable for a family such as their own. As such, she would love to redecorate with a bundles crafted from the array of plant life before them. Morticia adds that it is wonderful group activity to partake in whilst they make idle chatter about the nature of life and death. Mostly death, of course.

So, flower arranging. She wants them to do flower arranging.

Enid seems pleasantly surprised to be offered such a calm and normal task, though she does stare a bit warily at the various nettles and ivies, concerned by their poisonous potential. That being said, she otherwise seems happy to start crafting after a little bit of guidance from Morticia. Wednesday, on the other hand, is hesitant… It’s not as bad as she expected, but her mother’s green thumb didn’t quite pass through the gene-pool, and Wednesday would frankly rather dig graves than decorate them. She’d even hazard a go at laying in an empty grave whilst it got filled in.

But alas she concedes, for the sake of Enid and her Mother’s happiness. They are both fortunate to be two of the few people in this world she actually cares for.

And so, Wednesday collects a number of thorned vines, and begins weaving them into circular shapes – similar to a wreath. It’s simple enough, and the weaving comes naturally to her. It is much like tying her braids, and though she cares little about the task at hand, she finds it similarly easy to let herself get entranced by the repetitive motion. Over. Under. Over. Under. Again and again, until she reaches the end and passes it over to Enid for her to decorate. They become quite the machine, seamlessly crafting amongst the idle chatter that Enid upkeeps with Morticia. Wednesday will not dignify calling this activity “fun” but she doesn’t feel like stabbing pins into her eyeballs...so, that’s something. Plus, Enid is enjoying herself, which is never a bad thing.

Every so often, Wednesday pauses to asses her work, and catches her mother watching them with a fond, prideful gaze. Though Wednesday says nothing, she can predict the conversation that is slowly forming behind her mother’s watchful eyes. She knows it’ll happen as soon as an opportunity presents itself.

And present itself it does. Unfortunately.

“Enid, darling, perhaps you should take a nap?” Morticia suggests. She puts down the bouquet she’s holding, giving Enid a practised sympathetic look. “We’ve made an exemplary level of progress, and in any case, it would give Wednesday and I time to have a personal catch-up.”

They have been crafting for a few hours when it happens. Enid begins to yawn. Just once at first – It’s a small, sharp yawn of someone who has been focusing on a task for a few hours without

realising. A gentle whip of fatigue that is quickly shaken off out of dedication to a person’s own enjoyment… but then she yawns again. A longer, deep yawn that brings tears to the corner of Enid’s eyes. She blinks them back, only to yawn once more seconds later. It continues downhill from there. It would seem the activities of the day seem to have caught up with her, and Enid’s energy seems to all but disappear within a matter of fifteen minutes. She continues talking, smiling, offering Wednesday cute little glances, but it’s glaringly obvious that her internal battery is running out of juice.

Enid bears a guilty expression for a moment, and she looks to Wednesday for support. Wednesday stares back blankly. She is stuck for an answer. If Enid leaves then she knows the kind of conversation she is awaiting, but if she convinces Enid to stay then there will be an inevitable pang of guilt that will needle its way into her stomach and gnaw at her like a parasite.

Feelings. How inconvenient they are at times like this.

Enid yawns again.

Wednesday feels her resolve soften. She knows what she has to do.

“Go rest, Enid,” She says quietly; quickly, before she can think to change her mind.

Enid offers an appreciative smile.

“I’ll make it up to you,” She whispers in reply, before standing from her chair. She takes a step closer to Wednesday and in lieu of a parting kiss, brushes her hand over Wednesday’s gently. Enid then looks over to Morticia and with another short yawn, she asks “What else are we doing today? I’ll make sure to set an alarm on my phone.”

Morticia waves her hand in the air dismissively, “Oh Enid, do not worry yourself,” She says airily. “Just rest, and we’ll continue our festivities when you return.”

Enid nods, and flashes a smile at both Morticia and Wednesday before excusing herself. Thing, who had been hanging around whilst they worked, hitches a ride on her shoulder – seemingly keen to leave the vicinity. He’s not the only one.

Wednesday now finds herself alone with her Mother. In person. For the first time in goodness knows how long.

Morticia looks at Wednesday with an indulgent, satisfied smile. She picks up the flowers again and gives them a sniff. She sighs happily.

“These flowers remind me of funerals, you know? Your father, despite not being a gardener, helped me plant a whole field of them just so I could see them everyday; just so he could watch my enjoyment. Incredibly romantic, is it not?” Morticia’s voice is dreamy, whimsical. She brushes her hand through the petals, and pulls one from the bunch, twirling it in her fingers. “I see a lot of your father in you, Wednesday.”

“It’s almost like I’m a genetic composition of you and him. Shocking.” Wednesday deadpans in reply.

She wishes she could refute her mother’s comparison. Despite her displeasure at being unceremoniously trapped in this conversation, she would never dare to find disgust in being directly compared to her Mother or Father – not in their presence, certainly. She did so as a teenager, and remembers the pain it caused with regret. Wednesday is happy to cause emotional damage to other people; people who don’t deserve to find kinship with Wednesday in the first place...but to her parents? No. She will accept the comparison time and time again, regardless of the situation.

Wednesday’s response elicits an amused hum from Morticia. She stands and waltzes to the seat that Enid had recently vacated. As she sits, she picks up and assesses one of the flower wreaths that came from Enid and Wednesday’s teamwork. She smiles.

“I see myself and your father in both you and Enid, actually. You’re more than just lovers, you’re partners, teammates, always quietly working together against the world’s expectations of you.”

Wednesday blinks, not expecting the emotional pang that hits her at her mother’s recognition. She forgets at times that her mother’s words hold meaning above everyone else’s… but the flicker of emotion is gone quick, buried before Wednesday can dwell on it too much. Mother or not, Wednesday will never be one for emotional displays.

“What is the purpose of this conversation?” She asks.

Morticia chuckles.

“Do all conversations need a purpose, little viper?”

Wednesday stares at Morticia blankly.

“I am simply expressing that I believe you and Enid to be a perfect match. Our phone calls had convinced me as much, but after seeing you two in person? Well… there’s no denying it.”

Wednesday softens slightly, but she can’t help offer a final bit of snark.

“The phone calls were ideal. It is always preferable when you can simply hang-up on a conversation.”

“Wednesday, you have not hung-up on me once.” Morticia bites back with a mischievous curl of her lips.

Wednesday pauses. She stares daggers into the table for a second as she realises – well shit – she hasn’t ever hung up on her mother. Frankly she would not dare. Wednesday has historically slammed the phone down on major book publishers, scriptwriters, even a Hollywood director or two without so much as a second thought – but may the non-existent Gods forbid she ever even attempt to end a call with her mother unprompted.

However, Wednesday will neglect to comment on the calls she has simply not picked up. Those are outliers.

In any case, Wednesday does not have a witty reply. She’s caught in a box of respecting her mother too much for her regular passive aggressiveness, but not prepared enough to offer any thing resembling emotional intimacy. So Wednesday silently grumbles and stares at the table.

“You find it hard to talk to me, don’t you? Especially in person?” Morticia queries. She reaches out, tracing her hand over the silhouette of Wednesday’s shoulder without quite touching her. “I understand, you have always been this way. I hope you find it easier with Enid.”

Wednesday glances towards her mother. She nods slightly.

“I do.”

A warm fills Morticia’s expression.

“Good. You deserve someone who makes emotion feel safe.

Wednesday pulls in a tight breath. Again, she feels herself soften against her mother’s fond words. Unfortunately she is still struggling to find an anchor to offer much more to the conversation, even with knowing it was going to happen; even when it’s her mother of all people.

Wednesday drags her eyes away from the table. She manages to settle them on her mother’s face, and does her best to offer an expression that does not resemble a glare… but, ultimately, she still says nothing.

Morticia’s hand snakes up from hovering above Wednesday’s shoulder, to floating to the side of her face, faux-cupping Wednesday’s cheek. There’s a pride sitting in Morticia’s eyes; a joy that can only be expressed by a mother seeing her child thrive.

“I am so, so happy for you Wednesday.”

Wednesday feels the tiniest hint of a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. It’s miniscule – practically blink and you’ll miss it, but it’s there all the same, if only for a second. It’s enough for her mother to catch though; enough for her to see what Wednesday wishes she could express.

“-And who knows,” Morticia adds after a moment. “Maybe one day you two will get married.”

Wednesday freezes.

Oh.

[pinkmoondoll9shihtzu]

do you think we should forgive people who havw hurt us? even if they aren't sorry or even aware of the hurt theyve caused? you dont hava to respond to this if you dont want to , but i am just thinking, is it actually wise to let specific people exist in my life , (a parent) when they are delusionally unaware of the lifelong damage theyve caused me (and will never understand), or anyone really. Is there a point in.. getting angry, when they oncr again show that they really dont know or care. Still, i enjoy talking to them. So im thinking that maybe forgiving would be better . but i feel like that way i might be gaslighting myself. Have you ever read anything on this?

there is a good book on this anon, "adult children of emotionally immature parents", u can read it online for free if u google the PDF. it is monumentally eye opening. other than that, i can speak from my own experience w/ my parents. i'll put it under readmore cus im bout to get a lil personal;

so, basically, i have one parent, my mom, because my dad has been dead for over 15 years. my parents were alcoholics who worked full time dead end jobs and we never had a close relationship, but i was closer to my dad. when he died, my mom absolutely lost her mind, like, maybe this is dramatic but i do pretty much consider myself an orphan because in 2006 i lost both of them. my mom chose booze, despite the fact that it made her act completely volatile and disturbed, she chose the liquor over me n my sister. my sister is an extrovert and she started spending All her time at other ppl's houses so i was constantly alone with my mom. the emotional abuse she dealt me after my dad's death i think are the wounds within me that truly can never be healed. worse than having to watch him die. my mother would berate me for everything i did, my appearance, the fact i was flunking school, my friends, and most of all, she would always remind me that i am a bad daughter who doesn't love her enough. once i started w the suicide attempts her abuse and guilt trips only got worse. i made a lot of reckless decisions just trying to get away from her. i still feel immeasuable guilt that she is my only living parent but i can't be her daughter. i havent seen her in 3 years..

now that the context is out of the way, here's how i feel about forgiveness: you HAVE to forgive. you have to. for your own sake. to free yourself. for me, when im so so belligerently angry at my mom, i imagine her as a child. i think of her childhood where she was born to a 16 y/o polish ww2 orphan girl and a 17 y/o fatherless boy who had already been thru several detention camps + was forced to join the navy to avoid jail time. i think of the stories she'd tell me from her childhood where she constantly moved from trailer park to trailer park, the caretaker of her 3 younger sisters while her parents worked, her dad often disappearing for months at a time w no explanation, her mother in and out of psych wards. she's always casually bringing up how her parents would beat her if the trailer wasn't spotless when they got home. she was mercilessly bullied at school for being poor so she's never had many friends. she never got any education and has worked retail/cashier positions her whole life. she had to watch her husband slowly waste away, then go right back to work so we could just barely afford to eat. i think of all these factors and it's so so easy to forgive her, despite it all. like if i could reach into her chest and grab her heart and pour all of the forgiveness inside of me into her body just so she could feel happy and light for one single day, i would do it. we are all so broken and forgiveness is the only way we can ever put things back together.

that being said anon...i still have an immensely hard time talking to her. every time we talk on the phone she immediately just starts dumping all of her problems onto me, like how she used to do when i was a kid and she was drunk. she refuses to acknowledge she could ever possibly benefit from therapy. she can't even begin to acknowlege the ways she hurt and abused me. she is deeply, deeply emotionally immature. when i talk to her it rly feels like im talking to a severely damaged child. our conversations are short. i dont tell her anything about my life, i never have. we'll never be close, i've accepted it. sometimes i have days where i'm so angry at her that im ready to send myself to the psych ward over it. but the damage is done, it cant be taken back, only moving forward. and at the end of the day, i forgive her. and i want her to be ok.

i'm not sure what's happened to you with your parent anon, but just know, you can forgive from afar, you don't have to keep engaging with them if they continuously harm you. i really really reccomend reading adult children of emotionally immature parents. its only like 200 pages and you'll fly through it. like i said, available for free as a pdf online. i wish you the best anon and im sorry you have to go thru this but you're not alone. #<333

[destroyerof]

" i love you. "

i’m never going to let you go ever again, daisy. ever. you know i’m not letting you go ever again, right?

in those days since thanos's defeat, the two of them had stayed true to those promises they'd made each other the first night that natasha came back. as the world around them slowly started to rebuild, they did the same; making the little house on the lake their home, helping the avengers rebuild, donating their help and their time to where they were needed. waking up every day beside each other was something they refused to take for granted. sometimes, daisy still woke up in the middle of the night, sweating and breathing heavily, recalling those brief moments where natasha had been truly dead and gone. sometimes, it took a few moments to come back to reality, and she would have to roll over and cling to natasha's sleeping body until reality settled in. she knew nothing would heal it but time, but it didn't make it any easier. natasha woke up from nightmares, too; making the two of them, just two broken people just trying to heal each other.

today had been a long day. shield had started to rebuild, and although they weren't asking for daisy to fully come back, she still consulted, helping coulson and the others build a team of inhumans to help around the planet. after a couple of hours at the new shield base, she'd met natasha just outside of one of her orphanages, which was in the process of rebuilding itself, too. although many people's parents had come back after the snap was reversed, many kids came back to their parents gone. their job trying to repair the planet was never going to be quite done.

now, as night rolled around and they finally found themselves back in their home, they'd had a brief discussion on how the day had gone over dinner before they found themselves on the couch, not-watching some new tv show (hollywood was working on overdrive now) on low volume.

during those five years, she remembered moments like this, where they could never fully relax, shoulders always a little stiff. there was always an underlying tension. to say there wasn't one now would be a lie, but she found she could sleep far better now, she could actually relax. she feared how her nights would be if natasha had stayed dead. would she even still be here, or would she have run off somewhere? would she have dedicated her whole life to finding her again, to bringing her back?

she didn't like to think about it. and honestly, she didn't really need to anymore. as the tv shifted into a lighter scene, brightening the darkened room, she pulled away from natasha's lips to smile down at her. they'd been laying here, natasha lying on her back beneath her, kissing lazily for who knows how long. after all, they had all the time in the world now. it was cold out, but she felt warm all over as she leaned back down, pressing her lips to the underside of natasha's jaw, feeling the softness of her skin as she drifted along her neck.

i love you, she wanted to exclaim. she had taken to saying it more often -- even if natasha couldn't say it back, didn't mean that she didn't deserve to hear it. even i love you didn't feel like enough these days. how did you tell someone that you would crawl out of your grave just to get one last look at their face after you died? how did you tell someone that you've never considered religion to be anything but a lie until you'd laid with her, and realized that religion was nothing but the stain of wine on her lips, the feeling of her body under your own, the galaxies that you could read in her eyes?

no, i love you didn't cover it. not even close. she hoped that her worship was evident in her hands, in the way that her fingertips grazed natasha's skin as she felt goosebumps follow their path down to her thighs. she pressed her lips to natasha's collarbone, feeling the pulse of her heart, letting it meld into her mind as she remembered that natasha was here, she was alive, and that she'd never stop being grateful for it.

their legs were entangled; she shifted them to give her more room, allowing her knee to rest between natasha's legs as she tilted her head back up to press a kiss to her lips. slow and sensual, she took her time, memorizing every place where their bodies connected. she'd had dreams like this before, where they were just laying down and kissing, only for her to pull away and feel the coldness settle in as natasha looked up at her with dead eyes. it was a muddled memory, but she felt it in her bones as she clung to every little bit of warmth she could feel; as she held natasha's hips with her hands to hold her in place, as she dragged her tongue across natasha's bottom teeth and felt the warmth of her breath and how it made her dizzy.

when their lips parted again, she buried her head in natasha's neck, breathing her in. breaking the silence, she spoke quietly, barely audible over the tv. "you're so perfect," she mumbled; it was the worship in action, of course she knew neither of them were perfect. that somehow made her more perfect in her eyes. "every little bit of you."

she heard natasha let out a little breath. it could've been a chuckle, could've been a sigh. whatever it was, her response were words whispered back just as quietly, and she felt her veins alight and her body freeze as natasha whispered;

"i love you."

just mere moments ago, she had thought that i love you didn't cover everything that she felt. she thought that they were mere words, spoken by everyone on the planet, and couldn't properly capture how she felt.

she had been wrong.

hearing natasha say it, hearing her whisper it, like it was a revelation, a truth, was unlike any moment she'd ever experienced. she'd never pushed natasha to say it, and hadn't expected it from her. she knew natasha loved her -- she always made a point to show her -- but hearing it was something else entirely. any remaining, subconscious tension faded from her body, as though those words itself had freed her of any pain, any sorrow that was still remaining in her bones. when she lifted her head, she felt the prickling of tears behind her eyes. suddenly the room was too small. suddenly she wanted to be outside, shouting her love from the rooftops, writing fucking sonnets and poems so that people a thousand years from now could understand exactly how she felt in that moment.

she met natasha's eyes, saw the words repeated in that intense gaze, and allowed herself a smile. her lips shook as she did so, and she leaned down to kiss her, if only to prevent herself from fully crying. her hands let go of natasha's hips, instead placing her palms on her cheeks as she kissed her deeply, until the world felt completely centered in this room, until her lungs burned and begged her to pull away to breathe.

"i love you too," she whispered once she did pull away, a little breathless. the sob still sat on her chest, but she laughed instead -- an expression of pure joy she had gone years barely expressing. as far as she was concerned, nothing could hurt her now. nothing could hurt them. "so much. i love you more than anything. i love you how the moon loves the stars, and just as loyally."

as if to prove her point, she leaned back down to kiss her, once quickly and then again over her chest and collarbone; every part she could reach. it was nothing but pure devotion and love, and she wouldn't stop until she expressed all of that love. until their souls melded, until they were so close together that not even god himself could tear them apart.

until she showed, beyond a shadow of a doubt, just how much she loved her, too.

[lightcreators]

@familyname continue from here

Lucius has the slightly absurd instinct to correct his language. Draco is an aristocrat, the scion of the Malfoy family - he should speak according to his station and nothing less. His lips still turn down, even as he doesn’t have the heart to berate Draco for his language. The pain and exhaustion still sits in the back of his head. And the anger.

Draco is barely a Malfoy anymore. He’s a traitor. Lucius can’t forget that.

“Not everyone can be bribed,” Lucius says. His own father started taking him to the Ministry at fifteen - at that age he was too preoccupied with his own matters and had no desire to implicate his son in his criminal actions. A long shot that paid off. Draco will have to learn from his mother. “You cannot control an entire system. You can only put pressure on the right places. You have to find the right people.” With the Ministry overhauling in favor of the Order, it will be even more difficult.

Lucius is caught in the hopelessness of it. He cannot teach Draco what he knows. There is no time, no way, there is only weak words that can be overheard if the wrong person walks by.

“You will not be a king. You will never be. Don’t try to be,” Lucius says. Words his father spoke to him, years and years ago. His father was older than he is now. Older than he will ever be. Lucius paces, catches himself in his tracks, feels his own terror root him in place. Draco is all he has left and Draco has betrayed him. Lucius is damned.

“Forget about revenge. Just survive.” Lucius cannot look him in his face. At least he will not be alive to see his son betray him in every word and deed for the rest of his life.

Temporary, he managed to push behind everything who happened … slight action he never achieved to reach during an entire year, slight desire he cannot touch meanwhile he had been embraced by complete hopelessness . It won't last. It can't last. Regardless how much he could searching comfort inside an comfortable denial, or even pretending nothing of terrible circumstances he was actually experienced actually happening, he cannot undone to had removed himself an prorective veil of delusions. Besides, something changed from course of their conversation. He wasn't interested anymore to win a childish game against his father. He wasn't interested anymore to play an game fullfilled of illusions … If he truly desired to be honest, he wouldn't even care about the future of the wizarding world. Whatever posterity of the wizarding world will came from his own mood … Besides, for embracing another layer of entire sincerity towards his inner feelings --- by the moment he had to check up a promise that could be broken at any moment, the wizarding world asked to be eaten by the underground !

An disagreement gaze exposed an opposite opinion about his father remembrance. There was still a way, hidden far away in the shadows, when no one could refuse him. There were some guys that would be so happy to bring destruction and terror in middle of the wizarding world, where absolutely no one could save them. There was still an option to dealing with another devil, in which, he was perfectly aware, he will never be able to let go. During one year, he did nothing. During one year, he wasn't emotionally in state to track down all the things the press say about him, to correcting every kind of terrible reputation he got --- nevertheless, hungry for revenge, hungry for blood, he would making them pay for every unfortunate words they had written. Giving all the red truth he craved so much gutting them alive second by second to receive all satisfaction of playback. If it's wasn't counter productive, he would galdy torturing some Death Eater inside his prison, and showing to his father becoming that terrible terror in the shadows would be easy. He learned well from the Dark Lord after all, why not bring all his knoweldge in an inner conquest ! It had been an informative question, an curious sentence who had to leave his lips. His father didn't believed it was possible. His father didn't believed revolution was possible. His father ddin't believed he could controlling an entire system. For once, he managed not to react on the matter.

Everyone can be brided. Everyone can be corrupted. Everyone was something to blame. Everyone had secrets. Everyone had little corners of truths they didn't want to be exposed. Simply, he didn't learned enough how to get such qualified skills on that domain … Simply, he always have been mentally too kind for daring starting touch the heart directly --- ❝ Fine. ❞ He finally expressed in a tone which expressed a half renunciation, which was faked. He would need to control everything inside the chessboard of the wizarding world … Thinking about how to have pressure points everywhere, and be enough invisible and oppressive for remaining something others wizards cannot deny … For a short mental instant, he remembered this was new conditions of his hell, of that endless hell that will not end … He cannot anticipate his reaction where he will learn his father's death, however, depending how much he had advanced inside his little domination project, he might be clement. Not requesting all the wizarding world blood in retrubition because the Ministry just wanted a pool of blood. ❝ I will do that then, and cheerfully perpetuate my name in family traditions. ❞ It had been an fruitless wish, nevertheless, mere fact he had been trying his move generated an silent contentement. Perspective changed : if his father, regardless how much he loved him and accepted to be an sacrifice for compromise of the wizarding world, didn't perceived him as a member of his own family and remained the traitor … he just had to show him what a Malfoy he was, forcing him to recognize him as king. Such words … such discouraging words cannot reach his heart. It was too late for that. He decided to becoming the king a long time ago, and becoming supposed sacrifice of circumstances --- Crown of an Dark Lord already had been eaten, in which he take blame partially, it was too late. ❝ I just have to prove you wrong. ❞ He expressed calmy. He wasn't going to speak about the Dark Lord, it was a very bad idea. Would only awakening fire between them and how much he wasn't his son anymore, where he would had wished to have kill the Dark Lord himself … ❝ A wide shining crown is just higher to reach, but being the ones responsible for their careless choice, a thief must well devour them. ❞ Composed tone noticed.

It was following sentences who catch up him off-guard, regardless about not be looked at. Without revenge, he won't have lived that far … Revenge had been the essence that had allowed him to live a semblance of existence for a few years, where once emptied, reason for his existence escaped him. Despair eating him instead, doomed every nook of hope, gently breaking his will to something, breaking his will to live … and he had just received a new dose of gasoline ! ❝ Apart from revenge, would I have something else to hold on to in order to survive ? ❞ These two sentences, he had heard them time and time and time again from Potter lips who didn't wanted him to break apart. These two sentences, he heard them more than he could count. For what finality, for what ? There was no hope at the end of the road. He would be murdered one day and it was impossible he was experiencing normality as he should be. Create a family, be loved ? It was mere dreams. It was delusions at this point. Without revenge, he had no reason to keep going … Nevertheless, it remained another informative question.

[jellybeanismine50]

I’ve been feeling really alone. I feel like i cant talk to anyone. Ive lost myself and i’m about to become a mother. She is the only thing that brings me happiness but i’m so scared that wont be enough.

He didn’t work out. I gave him my EVERYTHING.

My heart, my soul, my world, my life i gave him everything.

I feel exhausted with how much i truly tried.

I can’t even tell if i actually love him anymore.

Every time he hurt me i distanced and distanced. I tried to make it not visible. I really did try i wanted to be there for him because of his addiction. But he just got worse and worse and overtime i saw this side to him that never existed in my mind before hand.

My perception of him definitely changed and he is no longer the person i knew and loved.

I saw this manipulative side. This side that would make me overthink or even rethink my logical thinking. Things i knew to be true i would reconsider. He was narcissistic all of a sudden and making things my fault when he would cause us to go certain paths.

I quickly became the bad guy when we would argue because he didn’t like the way id speak to him, but countless times had he yelled at me called me names called me fat, called me so many horrible things yelling and cursing at me. And i still stayed.

I wanted to find the person i loved.

Sometimes i see a glimmer of him but i wonder if he shows him at just the perfect times to get me to stay longer. He scares me. Because he has changed me. I became so desperate to find the person i had lost i drowned without even knowing trying to find him. I let myself go heavily. I gained so much weight.

Got into a lot of drugs.

Drank a lot.

Even now being pregnant i never talk about this but i have these strong urges to drink or take Xanax or just anything. But i never have.

They’re urges because of how i feel.

I feel defeated, lost and alone.

He has left me beatin me down and won.

I tried to stay i tried to help him but then he started putting our baby at risk.

My baby.

She comes first i cant go through my mothers footsteps. He may be okay with repeating his fathers footsteps but MY story will not be repeated. i refuse to give my baby girl a life where i choose a man over her safety. I refuse.

I refuse.

I want him to get better for her no longer me.

My heart is broken because yes i miss him but the “him” i miss is long gone and will never return.

Even if he did return the trust is gone,

The butterflies are gone,

but what stays is more fearful.

The fear stays,

The memories stay,

The trauma stays,

The neglect stays,

The emotional torment stays,

The manipulation stays,

The pain of realizing i was a game stays and will never leave.

I want to find peace i truly do. My only peace comes from her. I fear i will end up like my mother because from this experience i just want a man to hold me.

Not any man i want to find a man i can hold a connection with.

Someone to talk to and someone who will understand me for me.

Someone who doesn’t care what i look like or the things I’ve been through.

I have this overwhelming need to be held. To be loved.

To be taken care of.

Because he couldn’t take care of me and i got my hopes up thinking he would. I really thought he would. But it was me taking care of him and myself and so much more.

So much more of what i didn’t sign up for.

A lifetime of pain and regret.

She is the only thing i wont regret. But meeting him i wish i hadn’t.

[talbird]

conversations with my shadow: part two

Labor day weekend. A three day weekend for most, but for me it was just another weekend. I always had Mondays off, and even though there was a holiday attached to this one I had spent it like I had the last several Mondays: alone, in my apartment, with TV sounds in the background as I sat on my couch and looked out the window. Suffering in silence had to be the worst thing ever. Thankfully Shadow isn't here to notice the streaks down my face, the tears that continue to spill over the bottom lashes of my eyes, dampening my skin and causing it to shine from the overcast light outside. Below me on the street I'm watch as a car tries to parallel park. It brings me some amusement, but mostly it reminds me of then.

Then. A blissful time that I ponder on every now and again. What I had thought would've been the first of many - now likely to be a singular memory untouched by repeats. A time when I had truly been myself, had genuinely laughed and smiled. Probably the last time I had actually felt something other than this crushing loneliness.

The car doesn't seem to be getting it and tries one more time, then another, and another - much to the dismay of the traffic that's now piling up as the cars behind this one try to get where they need to be on a Monday evening at 5:37pm. Finally, after some (rather excessive) honking, the car decides to call it a day and pulled out of the spot it was half in, speeding off down the road.

Behind me the front door of the apartment opens - how long had that car been trying to park? - and I turn to see Shadow coming in. He has two plastic bags in each hand, bringing them over to the counters and setting them down. "Dinner?" I ask, praying to anything good above that my voice isn't as scraggly as it was five minutes ago.

He casts me a look, silent for a moment. "No, just some lightbulbs and batteries. You forgot to get them." Oh. I had, hadn't I? Last night, in my dissociated daze, when all I had brought back was ice cream and a package of frozen chicken nuggets (both of which were long gone now). I give a sheepish shrug to which Shadow just rolls his eyes at and continues to put the home necessities away. Watching him do so leaves me feeling anxious for some reason so I look back out of the window.

"Aren't... you the one who asked for it to be this way?"

Shadow's words catch me off guard and I blink, looking back up at him. He's not looking at me and instead rummaging through the fridge. Presumably looking for food, and I swallow hard thinking of what little I have in there. "...Yes and no," I decided to answer truthfully, knowing damn well he can sense lies like a fly to honey. "It's just hard. I guess. But that's my life I suppose." I try to chuckle, make it more lighthearted than the weight I've felt on my chest.

Finally shutting the fridge door in defeat and coming over to the couch Shadow takes a seat on the empty part, resting one arm on the back of the couch and taking the remote. "Did anything in particular happen?"

I shook my head. "Nothing outside of the usual."

"Hmmph."

Shadow doesn't like this, not one bit. He never likes it when I'm like this - sad, broken, not going anywhere. Long gone are the days of him trying to force me out of it though. He knows that won't work, and that only two things can really help me process any changes; time and writing about it.

"...It makes me wonder if any of it was ever... real though."

Another sideways look from Shadow, who'd been flipping through different Netflix shows. I keep my eyes on the TV, refusing to look at him because if I do I know I'll go silent. "I mean of course I know it was. I do. I just... it makes me not want to be... me anymore. Makes me wish I could be someone else."

Shadow lets out a 'hmph' and looks back at the TV. "Their loss, honestly." I roll my eyes and take one of the pillows to smack his shoulder with. He just grunts, but the smirk tells me he was only joking around.

"No one lost anything, you know that damn well." He does have me smiling at that though, which I guess was the main goal all along. Pulling my knees up I hug them tightly against my chest and rest my chin on them. As Shadow continues looking through the options on Netflix, I'm able to catch a faded reflection of myself in the blacks of the screen. Ratty hair that's been up in a bun all weekend day. Puffy eyes. Muscles that have long since lost their tone. Acne that was not as under control as I would've liked.

Lifting my head, I look at Shadow. I open my mouth to ask him a question I know he'll scoff at, but he remains focused on the TV. I know he's aware that I'm looking at him, but that I won't speak until he acknowledges me with a glance - precisely why he isn't doing it. Closing my mouth I sigh and lay my head back down on my knees once again.

"You'll find it again."

At this a tear finds it way out of my eye and rolls down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away with the back of my sweater covered hand before Shadow can see (futile because I know he already did). "Maybe." It's fake, because I know I probably won't. Hell, I hadn't even thought I'd find it once. Twice was asking the impossible to happen.

Shadow just shakes his head and scoffs. "What do you wanna watch?" he asks, and I know for now this conversation has been tabled. He continues flipping through the options, all shows that I've seen before. Comfort shows.

"That one," I say as he lands on a true crime documentary I've already seen a hundred times - maybe more. Shadow clicks on it, and the familiar intro music begins playing.

"I'll go make some popcorn," he offers as he gets off the couch and heads towards the kitchen. I give a thumbs up as I watch the show begin to start, nestling myself back into the couch.

Soon the smell of popcorn will fill the apartment and Shadow will bring it back (along with a blanket) and for a brief while, I'll know I can forget about this haunting sadness.

It's something, at least. Baby steps.

[notcouchtato2398]

My grandma died on Wednesday the 5th of October 2022, and honestly I am still uncertain what I am supposed to do or feel about it. I want to feel anger at my failure to stay in touch with her, sadness at the memories I will slowly lose of her until all that remains of her are a few stories that show only a piece of who she truly was. I at least want to pretend being surprised at the news, but I can only feel numb to it. The last few years we have been waiting for this moment, skirting the conversation, dreading the moment and hoping that whatever plans we had beforehand are enough to contain the shock until we are able to process what happened. But the day is here and I am still unsure of what I am supposed to do, to take a flight to be with my family or to take this short reprieve in life to rush my resume at as many jobs as possible, hoping that one brings me closer to something she might be happy with me having, or if I am supposed to have a breakdown, slowly fall apart until I have to pick myself up again and take a look at what happened.

But I only feel numb, with my wrath boiling under the surface with a part of me looking for any excuse to do something stupid and see what consequences that might have. Or if being inspired is something that she might have liked. Looking for a dream even now I still don't know I am chasing, but perhaps having something worth showing to her.

And that is the tragedy of this moment, I won't be able to truly show it to her, doing this will only be in her memory, one I will slowly distort to perhaps fit with what I end up creating or doing, believing that what I made was what she would have wanted me to. Without her to truly be there to tell me if it great or if perhaps I better take a few more tries at my project.

Right now, the only thing I can do is show empathy and love to my family, and worst of all shitty empathy. Hoping that refusing to take a flight to be there for the funeral just like one of my brothers will bring him some comfort instead of guilt over not being able to be there. Actual love that I am afraid to express, to make a phone call to aunts and uncles to express my love to them and the pain I cannot fathom they might be feeling at losing a parent.

The one thing I know for certain is that I miss my Grandmother, I missed her before the strokes and time shattered the person I remembered and left a broken reflection of who she once was. Still loved and put back together with all the love and attention they received from her before those moments. But aware that some slivers of who she was were perhaps ground to dust and lost before we noticed what we lost. Only able to realize how dimisnished she became until we were able to see her. I still have some earlier memories of her, but they will now have a tint of those moments, of my fear towards what happened and sadness of what she became before death. Not a monster or less of a person, but less of who she once was.

My Grandmother died Wednesday October 15th 2022 and I am uncertain what I am supposed to feel about it. If I ought to feel crushed at being aware that I am already forgetting her voice, or relieved that it is slowly shaving away the pain I might feel from it.

[lustbile]

So i was just watching johnny's segment in the neocity concert thing that happened today and... so fucking horny rn the way he stripped off that silk/satin robe was so smooth i can't do this today. Could you please come up w any scenario that includes him teasing you by stripping or he deadass refuses to undress as you beg to see him or smth... especially he looks so drunk and filthy rich in the clip it gives off rich CEO at a beach penthouse or smth like holy shit he's so hot. #cock

That solo stage will truly be the death of me. Like what were they thinking letting him do that,,, and the fucking call recording thing they added hngefopjngrv anyways yeah I would be an idiot not to write something about this so here we go

Also warning: 1.5k words under the cut

“I didn’t think you were supposed to keep that,” you mutter out, your voice still gruff from sleep as you roughly rub your eyes.

“I wasn’t,” he responds after swallowing his mouthful of coffee before turning to you with a grin far too devious for such an early hour, “but I wanted to.”

“And you’ll always do what you want I suppose?”

You tease, but that doesn’t change the fact that you’re secretly drooling over your boyfriend as he stands in front of you. Or at least you tell yourself that it’s secretly, as he is more than completely aware of how the soft silk fabric of the robe made you feel. He already knew he looked good in it, feeling immensely confident in the thin fabric moments before he stripped it off to perform on stage, but when you were shamelessly gushing over it when their first concert concluded, he knew just how sexy you thought he was in the minimal clothing.

And that was a huge factor in why he brought it home with him, that and how genuinely comfortable it was to wear. He’d bring it back in time for their next performance, but for now he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tease you and made you stare at him like a starved animal.

Which is exactly what you did now.

He leaned as casually as he could against the wood counter in your shared kitchen, the plotting he did the night before for the show he puts on now made him feel uncharacteristically antsy, but he knew he was good at hiding it. Aside from the robe in question, all he had on was his underwear, and he knew the golden hour sun you had frequently rambled about when talking about selfie taking schematics was hitting him perfectly and he had perfectly crafted a scene that only a porn director would be proud of.

“I’m good at getting away with shit,” he winks slyly at you as you walk towards him and he places his mug gently behind him before he reaches out and pulls you closer by your waist, “but you know that better than anyone.”

“I do let you do a lot of stupid shit,” you admit. You let him kiss you, but only for a second before you decide to do some of your own teasing and pull as far away as his tight grip will allow, “actually should we talk about that? I feel like you’ve been getting too cocky lately.”

“Don’t ruin this,” he scolds before reaching one hand up to pull you back into the prematurely broken kiss by the back of your neck.

Your laugh is muffled by his eager mouth, his hand not moving in case you want to play more games with him while his other winds around your waist tight enough that you now press between his thighs.

The laugh is quickly killed by the feeling of his body pressing against you. You feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into your belly, and as he steals the air from your lungs, you can’t help but wonder how long he’s been standing here fantasizing about the moment you would walk into the room.

He manages to keep your lips locked to his as he pushes off the counter and turns you to switch places. And he continues an assault onto your neck and shoulders as he lifts you until you’re sat on the counter and he nestles himself between your opened legs.

“It’s not too early for you right?” He asks between sloppy kisses that leave your skin wet and vulnerable to the cool morning air.

“Never,” you say with a surprising amount of confidence considering how airy your voice had become.

“Oh you want it bad?” He asks rhetorically as he finally detaches himself from your throat, his tone suddenly too sinister for your liking, but regardless you play along as you already feel your entire body heating up from his antics.

“Of course I do,” you whine, pressing your palms to the sides of his face in an attempt to pull him back to your pouting lips, “all the things you do to me and you have the nerve to ask that?”

He resists your attempt at pulling him closer, and to your strong distaste, actually has the audacity to take a step away.

“How much do you like this robe?” He asks so casually you almost feel like every moment leading here didn’t even happen.

“A lot,” you reply mindlessly as you watch the toy with the loosely tied ribbon barely keeping the offending fabric closed.

“So I should keep it on right?” His eyebrows dart up and he pulls on it torturously slowly, “I mean if you like it so much I should keep it on right?”

“John, please,” you bounce where you sit, not above throwing a small tantrum to get what you want.

“Oh wait a second,” he steps closer, enough that you can grab onto him again and tug at his hair, “I really liked that. Do it again.”

“Do what again?” You shake your head, confused at his command as he leans his face close enough to yours that you can feel his breath hitting your lips, but not close enough for his lips to touch yours and it drives you insane.

“Beg.”

His eyes harden, and he almost looks mad as he locks them onto yours. A new wave of heat blossoms across your chest, and the only thing that breaks his stiff stare is the small grin he offers when your hands tighten around his hair.

You mutter something intelligible as you wrap your legs around him and lock your ankles behind his thighs, taking your turn to keep him against you.

“No, no,” he shakes his head with disappointment and pinches your side, making you squeak, “you know how to use your words. Now be good for me and beg or you're not getting shit.”

“Johnny,” you whine and elongate the syllables of his name as your head rolls back in annoyance.

“You’ll have plenty of time to scream my name later,” he says cooly, but the spark of evil in his eyes is ever present, “but now if you want me naked, you’re going to have to ask nicely.”

“Johnny you’re so mean,” you start with a hollow insult to prepare yourself for the self respect you’re about to throw out the window, before you wiggle in his hold and harshly swallow, “you know what seeing you on stage like that did to me. You know how wound up that got me, and you’re just winding me up now. Please, please, please just put me out of my misery. I need you so bad.”

“You need me?” He asks with faux surprise, “is it that bad baby? Am I hurting you?”

“Yes,” you nod helplessly as he starts to run his hands up your thighs, his fingertips dipping under the fabric of your own underwear and you twitch at the hopes that he’ll pull them off, “need you so bad. Need to see you so bad, I’m in love with you.”

His hard facade drops, but only for a moment. You know it was a low blow, but something about you so casually and shamelessly admitting to the love you hold for him always grabs him right by the heart, and he can’t say no when his emotions for you start to overflow.

“Now who’s the evil one,” he accuses with his eyes squinted in playful anger, “pulling the ‘I love you’ card knowing it always lets you get your way.”

“If by getting my way means you get naked then I’m not above using it,” you admit with your own grin before you reach down and pull open the loose knot yourself, trying not to actually drool at your newly accessed sight of his bare chest and stomach, “now please let me see the rest of you, I want you so bad Johnny it’s hurting me.”

He leans away, knowing better than to fully step away from you now, before grabbing your hands from his hair and laying your palms flat against his stomach. He guides you by your wrists slowly, letting you feel the expanse of his warm skin until your fingers disappear under the fabric pulled over his shoulders. He drops his hands to his side to allow you to push the garment off of him, and when it pools to the floor, you let out an embarrassingly pitched sigh of relief.

He lets you get your eyeful of him, and your feel as you let your hands roam around his shoulders, chest and neck, before he leans forward again to push his hands under the shirt you are wearing and starts to push it up.

“Your turn baby,” he kisses your chin gently as he reaches to brush against your spine in a way that melts your muscles, “let me see you too.”

It takes every ounce of patience and power to say what you do next, but the temptation is much too strong to pass up.

You gently wrap one hand around the side of his throat, your thumb pressing below his jaw and directly into his jugular in a way that makes his eyes roll and his blunt nails dig into your spine,

“Beg.”