#to try to not only manage your own feelings but have to manage the feelings of a loved one because they're too immature/unaware

[the-xolotl]

Sweet, Soft Shadow Man

Alastor x gn!Reader & Al’s Shadow

♡ Itty bitty snip

♡ a/n: i feel like i’ve only been writing smut recently so here’s something soft

summary: Alastor’s shadow adores you, because Alastor adores you, but he’s a lot more reserved with his feelings. His shadow on the other hand has little qualms about showing affection or responding to yours, and maybe Al feels a little jealous.

♡ TAGS: sfw, domestic fluff, slight jealousy, some banter, no use of y/n, latine coded reader lowkey.

One thing to get use to as you and Al had begun dating was his shadow constantly hovering around you anywhere you went where Alastor himself wasn’t. At first it had felt smothering, like he didn’t trust you alone or like you couldn’t defend yourself, when you in fact very much can. You’d roll your eyes every time you caught the shadowy figure out if the corner of your eye or even tried to get it to go back to Alastor but of course it only listened to its master and would stare at your blankly with the holes that are supposed to be his eyes.

However, as you got to know it and Alastor you realized it wasn’t that that your lover thought you couldn’t look after yourself. No, what you came to realize (and kept to yourself because it’s much too precious) is that Alastor is a proud man ok not that, you knew that very well but that he has his peculiar way of showing affection, one way was to keep his shadow with you when he himself couldn’t. His pride got in the way of him being outwardly affectionate towards you even after courting, properly asking you be his partner and all the time spent together, he still kept to himself a lot simply reciprocating what you initiated. But having the one thing that’s an extension of himself guard you and keep you company was one of the first tokens of care he’d given you.

Thereafter this discovery you didn’t mind it as much, in fact, you even gave it a name; Sombra. You grew very fond of the curious creature that mostly kept itself to surfaces or even in the silhouette of your shadow. It made you giggle every time Sombra did, because you could feel an odd, ghostly weight on your person when it did despite being in its intangible form. Sombra,you also found, is very animated with you. It showed a lot of emotion: joy, sadness, excitement etc. And it didn’t always smile like Alastor did, it could frown, or have a neutral expression. The more you got to know it, the more you became attached to it and it to you. Where to even without Alastor sending it to you, Sombra came to you out of its own accord or even when you called it.

While not entirely against it, Alastor found it a little irritating that literal part of him spent more time with you than he did sometimes. After all he’s an Overlord and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel with the Princess of Hell, he’s a busy man. And the fact you named it, like a pet. His shadow was wrapped around your finger the same way Alastor was, but at least Alastor didn’t show it so forwardly. This fact made Alastor a little bashful the first time you had revealed this to him, all of the little things his shadow did for you.

For example it would bring you little gifts, either from Alastor… Or its own. Small trinkets, flowers (not even store bought just wild flowers off the streets) or even limbs. You didn’t question the limbs even if they put you off at times. Sombra became very cuddly and liked to follow you around even when you only did mundane things. Like today, you’re in the kitchen making a dinner you had made Alastor promise to be there for. He’d been unusually busy recently and as much as you love Sombra, you miss your significant other. You had been prepping the ingredients for a special dish you wanted Alastor to try, that while not entirely southern food, it’s very similar to something like gumbo, when out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of a black figure. It disappeared as soon as you turned to look in that direction, so you shifted your focus back to the food.

A few times more this happened before a menacing shadow loomed right over you as you threw chopped vegetables into the pot of already boiling water with salt and other seasonings on it. It made half the kitchen dim and it seemed to swallow up its surroundings. You smiled wide giggling looking up at the ceiling, “Sombra~” you sing-song, greeting the ghostly silhouette, “Want a taste?” you offered one of the still uncooked pieces of red meat. It shrunk down to its usual size on the wall taking the offered food. Chuckling at how the meat hovered in the air before it disappeared as Sombra put it in its mouth. The shadow smiled wide giving you a thumbs up as it watched you add herbs into the cooking pot.

“That’s not a pet, you know that right darling?” Alastor’s unfiltered voice came from the door frame as he entered unannounced. While his voice had its usual uppity lilt his tone came a little annoyed. You had reach to hug and pet Sombra like you always do to welcome it, you thought Alastor wouldn’t come for another while longer so you indulged the little servant before its master arrived but you got caught right in the act. It retracted to Alastor’s side like it always did as he threw it a sideways glance.

“Of course he’s not. But its cute, in its own way,” you smile. “Welcome home, my love,” smiling at the radio demon you gingerly made your way to him wrapping your arms around him with a tight hug. He did the same, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, your smile widen. “I missed you,” you whispered looking up at him with big doe eyes. Because you did. You really, really did. You didn’t want to say it outloud but you almost thought he wouldn’t show or he’d be late. So it made you exceedingly happy he had already arrived. “It’s almost ready, why don’t you go sit at the table.”

From his seat, he watched you prepare the side dishes as the pot on the stove simmered, however his eyes more than fixating on you, they followed the movement of his shadow standing next to you at all times. Handing you things, making you laugh and giggle with little actions. And of course it’s his shadow he could feel how giddy your attention made it. Every time you said thank you, every time you gave it a compliment or whenever you pet it. He felt it’s eye twitch seeing Sombra lay his transparent head on the shadow of your shoulder and you didn’t bat an eye. Part of it is guilt, guilt that he had been so absent and distant for weeks, because he’d been too preoccupied with other responsibilities, and jealousy. The jealousy is what bothered him the most. That damn shadow had been hoarding all your attention even as he’d been sitting in the same room with you.

Alastor wouldn’t admit it’s his fault, of course. So instead he gets up from the table again coming up to stand behind you, long arms wrapping around your middle. It surprised you a little, making your stutter the rhythm of your stirring. Alastor rested his chin on the same shoulder Sombra had, making direct eye contact with the sentient being and intimidating it into moving away from you. If it could hiss, it would have. But it moved away without you noticing. Alastor’s arms tighten around you for a second before speaking softly, “I apologize for neglecting you, or if you’ve felt lonely in my absence, darling,” his words were sincere. Alastor didn’t like being away from you very long, didn’t like having to go places filled with people he couldn’t care less about and having to deal with others he disliked. But duties are duties and work is work, he’s a man of principle.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long to be with his beloved, and he know he’s godawful at telling you. Part of the reason he’d kept his shadow with you, in hopes to keep you solace, and company when he couldn’t. But seeing you grow closer to the creature and pouring all the affection you couldn’t give him made his chest tighten, a feeling that crawled under his skin and bothered him in ways that shouldn’t matter to him. You were his. Yet, here he is, acting childish even if you are probably mostly unaware. Or he hopes you are. Because this is embarrassing, it makes him feel embarrassed deep down. His ears twitched in annoyance as the thoughts swirled around his mind trying to push them away but failing.

“I know you’ve been busy. I wouldn’t call it neglect really,” you answer back, relaxing into the embrace and tilting your head so that you can press a soft kiss to his cheek then nuzzling him, “But you are gone too often, I had meant to talk to you about it but I didn’t really know how to. I guess I also felt a little bad asking you to give me more than you already do,” you chuckle unhumorously. Alastor did give you everything, hardly ever did he tell you no and did what he could to make you happy. Your relationship had been very rocky at the start. Both of you had to learn to make your relationship work and meet in the middle on a lot of different things. Alastor had to re-learn what it’s like to love someone, you had to adjust to his own way of loving and take baby steps, slower ones than you were used to. Both of you accepted the flaws that came with the other, you were in hell, he wasn’t the worst out there and you weren’t perfect.

“And you don’t have to be jealous of your own shadow, Al,” you quipped, a grin tugging the edges of your lips. You had to press your lips into a thin line to keep yourself from giggling at the flare of radio static around you after saying that. But he didn’t really refute it.

“Very funny, darling,”

© 2024 the-xolotl — all rights reserved. do NOT alter, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my consent, do not claim my content as yours.

[samkerrworshipper]

how did it end? | arsenal x reader

warnings: suicidal themes, self harm, alcohol abuse, depression

um yeah lol feel grateful for this because i’m going to go ghost mode for the rest of the week! to the anons who have a problem with my writing, don’t fucking read this if it’s such a problem, in fact don’t read any of my stuff at all, my page is a better place without you.

Everything about the day had felt wrong.

Everything about your last month had felt wrong, really the whole year if you thought about it.

It had all started after a blindside move from your home club. Leaving Rsenal had been the worst thing that had ever happened, but you’d known it was coming after they’d signed Russo. There was only so much room for strikers on the team, and your contract happened to be out as the summer started, leaving you as a free agent.

Somehow, you’d ended up at PSG, which you still didn’t understand. There had been offers everwhere, Lyon, Real Madrid, Man City, Chelsea, Bayern, Wolfsburg, yet your manager had fucked you and gone for PSG.

It had been a clusterfuck from the day you’d arrived, the language barrier, your horrible mental state, the different playing structure, the weather, your lonely apartment, the lack of friendships, the lack of support.

It had taken a month before you’d crashed and burned, withdrawing yourself from both club and national team. You’d been lower then low, sadder then sad, completely withdrawn from your own life. You wish you’d stayed, you wish that none of it had of happened, because maybe life wouldn’t have turned out the way it had, maybe you’d be happier.

Your Arsenal teammates had visited as often as the schedule permitted, helped you move your whole life from one country to the other, but at the end of the day you were still hundreds of miles away from them.

You’d stopped answering their calls after a few weeks, too consumed with the completely inebriating struggle that you were going through in Paris, trying to stay true to yourself whilst being so far in the deep end of the pool that you were struggling to keep your head above the water.

After the call to Sarina and the call to your manager it had made more sense for you to return to London, even if it had pained you to do so.

Not a month after you’d packed your whole life away against your will, you were packing it all back up.

You didn’t like what happened in Paris, you weren’t proud of it, all you wanted was to get back to your house in St. Albans, but you were also terrified of what your ‘home’ looked like now. It wasn’t the same place it had been for the last 8 years, you didn’t have your bestfriends as teammates more, you didn’t have any teammates, you were unofficially, self-decidedly, retired. Sarina had begged for you to return, tried to reckon with you, but you were done, your love for the game had died in Paris and you had no desire to re-open the wounds that had been torn into your skin in France.

You didn’t tell anyone, you just hoped that you’d be able to avoid everyone for as long as possible, that you’d just be able to slowly become nonexistent and become forgotten by everyone from the past 20 years of your life, but you were aware that life didn’t work that way.

You were sick of all the pain you were going through, all the suffering that you were being forced to endure for no good reason. You didn’t want to talk to anyone about it, you didn’t feel like you had anybody to talk to about it, it was just you nowadays.

That was how you spent most of your nights, alone.

Alone with a bottle of your posion of choice sitting on your bathroom floor.

It was the only thing that made it all better nowadays, the feeling of alcohol slipping down your throat, typically with a razor blade in your other hand.

There was something satisfying about it all, something perfect about being perfectly intoxicated with a sliver of metal between your finger tips.

On this particular day, you knew you’d drunk to much, but it had all been wrong. You’d woken up with a headache, in your shower, the tiles of your floor stained with your own blood. It wasn’t a uncommon place for you to wake up anymore, but everything about it felt wrong. Your head was aching in a way it never had, your whole body was hurting and for some reason it all just felt off.

You went about your normal routine, pushing the temperature of your shower to as hot as it would go, finding peace in the blistering water falling down across your skin. Once your skin was bright red you’d climb out, falling into your bed to help to sleep off the rift that the hangover had left inside of you. Around midday you would climb out of your bed, slipping out from the covers to enjoy your few hours of life that your days now gave you. Sometimes it would be spent in your kitchen, trying your hardest to piece together some kind of sustenance, other days making and eating food was too hard. On this particular day, you forgoed your kitchen, instead opting to walk straight past it and out onto your patio, as per the usual london weather, it was pouring down, but you didn’t mind too much.

The rain was nice, it reminded you that not everything in life was pretty, your life certainly wasn’t pretty anymore. Rain was a reminder that everyday could be turned upside down just based off of something that was completely out of anybodys control.

After deciding it was a bit too wet to enjoy the outdoors you tracked your way back indoors, your bare feet creasing and digging into the hard, cold wood floors of your home. You eyed off your uncomfortable couch, the one that your manager had found on facebook marketplace which was the most uncomfortable piece of furniture you thought could be bought. It kind of felt like a metaphor for you, you’d been bought, and it had been the worst decision PSG had made, and you were destined, just like the couch, to be thrown away without anybody really knowing or caring.

You walked straight past the couch and back to your bed, there wasn’t any living for you to do today, it just felt that way, so you pulled the covers back over your body and enjoyed the moment of peace that your bed gave you.

It didn’t last long, your body relaxing into the mattress for a few seconds before the restlessness took over. It was like that nowadays, your body never able to stop. You figured it was probably a result of your body going from pushing its limits everyday, mentally and physically to you doing absolutely nothing. Previously, when you’d been in a depressive episode you would sleep all day, no matter what had been happening, but not anymore. Now, you had to drink yourself into oblivion before your body would force itself to relax, you could be as exhausted and tired as you wanted but your body just wouldn’t let you sleep.

Your brain convinced you that your mattress was the lumpiest mattress made, when you really knew you’d hand picked it for it’s comfort. You brain tricked you into feeling like all of your curtains were wide open on a summers day when really they were drawn closed. Your mind was playing tricks on you and you didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.

That’s how you’d ended up on your bathroom floor so early, the overwhelming need for you to fix the pain becoming too much for you. With a bottle of vodka in one hand and your scared silver blade in the other you finally found yourself at peace.

The stomachache and burn of the vodka going down your throat didn’t truly matter, not when you were staring down at the thin criss cross of lines all over your thighs.

Some were healed, some were thick, some were thin, some were sore. They all told a different story. Thighs were the easiest, less arteries, good to hide, disguisable. They didn’t bleed the same way wrists did, they bled slow and painfully, a couple of lines never hurt you.

With the mix of last nights alcohol though and the new vodka mixed with the sight of blood you found yourself feeling woozy.

You hadn’t always been a cutter, self-harm hadn’t always been your vice. It had always been football. From the minute the ball was at your feet it had been football, and you wouldn’t of had it any other way. It had been your everything, football had been your life and until it had been taken from you, you hadn’t understood the true magnitude of what that meant. Your life had no purpose, no substance, nothing, without your game. Football had been the only thing you were good at, and you were extremely good at it. You’d given up on school in pursuit of your footballing career and it had been worth it, up until now.

Now your life was nothing but a big mess.

You wished it had worked out in Paris, you wished that you’d been able to farewell London and make a new home in France, but it hadn’t meant to be. All of your talent, all of your love, all of your passion, it was all for nothing now. Everything you’d ever done amounted to nothing, you were nothing without a pair of boots on your feet and a football in front of you.

You were never going to be the same again, it was all different now, and you were man enough to admit that you missed what you’d had. There were things that you lost in life, in the heartbreak and the struggles, you just hadn’t expected that you would lose the meaning of your life in the process. You had a hard time understanding why it had to happen to you, why you’d been the unlucky one. You paid your dues, you’d woken up at 5am every single morning to run drills, you’d worked your ass of and yet here you were, drunk on your bathroom floor wishing that you were gone.

Once upon a time you’d believed that a person would do anything for the thing that they loved most in the world, but you didn’t believe ion that anymore, love was supposed to be the most powerful thing on earth, and yet it had failed you.

It was funny because you could drink all of the alcohol you wanted but it never made you forget about what you’d lost. The hundreds of memories of football over the years, Arsenal, it had all been Arsenal. You’d been the kind of player where you’d always been one club, from academy all the way through to the senior team, you bled arsenal. Nobody even asked you what your dream team was, because it had always been Arsenal, you hadn’t had eyes for anywhere else. Yet you’d been thrown away like nothing.

You’d loved playing for Arsenal, when you put your jersey on at the beginning of every game you felt ten times stronger, qall of your bestest friends had been at Arsenal, your bridesmaids, your for life friends, and yet now it all felt like you were drifting away.

For the longest time you’d chosen the good options, the healthy options, what was right.

Now though, you chose destruction.

You sleep when your blackout drunk.

You drink caffeine late at night.

You stay awake until your eyes burn.

You always say yes to whatever vice your brain can think of.

You drink water instead of food and vodka instead of water,

You’re isolated beyond the point of it being okay, nowadays you spend more time with yourself then anybody else.

Maybe it was the vodka that made you feel particularly adventurous, or the scent of your own blood seeping across your skin, but whatever it was it somehow inclined you to reach for your phone which was rested on the tiles besides you.

You’d turned your notifications off long ago, as soon as the trade had come through.

You’d ignored everyone’s messages for the sake of preserving your own mental state, you couldn’t deal with the constant back and forth of trying to keep friendships which felt like had already gone.

You were more intoxicated than normal, or that was how you rationalized your behaviour, because there really wasn’t any other explanation to it, unless all of the emotions from the last few months had suddenly hit you a lot harder then normal.

But you were sick of being alone, you knew that, you’d been alone for far too long.

Maybe the alcohol had pushed that to the forefront to your mind, or you’d just become inherently desperate.

Your phone rang, the sound vibrating against the tile floor of the bathroom, amplifying it to your ears, the noise ringing out in your ear canal.

It didn’t take long for the ringing to cease, the sound of silence absorbing around you.

“y/n? Is that you?”

You blinked a few times, swallowing down the final remnants of your last swig of vodka.

“Hey.”

Your voice was shaky, from the days of not saying any words at all, you didn;t have any reason to speak if you were all by yourself.

“Hi.”

The silence stayed thick, obviously neither of you unsure about what to say.

“Are you okay, no ones heard anything from you in a few weeks.”

You’d vanished, for the good of yourself.

“I wish I’d stayed, le.”

Their was a deep breath exhaled from the other side of the line.

“I wish you’d stayed too, y/n.”

You couldn’t think of a single positive that had come from you leaving, not a single one.

“I wish I’d stayed now, I wish I’d been given the chance.”

You could fele the tears building up in the corners of your eyes.

“Me too, y/n.”

The tears were falling, the water falling from your cheeks falling onto the blood on your legs, the two liquids mixing together, the blood turning into red as they two mixed, blood did run thicker than water.

“I wish i’d stayed le, I wish none of this had happened.”

You didn’t want to know what the blonde on the other side of the phone was thinking about at this moment, you weren;t thinking about her, just yourself.

“Hold in there kid, for me, it’s all going to work itself out.”

There was no working it out, this was the end for you.

“I can’t do it anymore, I can’t pretend that i wish I hadn’t of stayed, that I don’t spend everyday regretting it, I want it all back.”

You pushed the blade down against your skin again.

Drawing the metal against your skin until the blood had begun to pool at the base of the two or three inch line.

“Where are you kid, are you in Paris? Do you need me to send someone to come and check on you? You shouldn’t be drinking like this by yourself, especially not in season.”

There wasn’t a season for you anymore, you were free, you could do whatever you pleased.

“I’m at home, and I’m fine.”

You pulled the blade up, and onto a new patch of skin, it was all littered with past scars, raised white lines.

“You don’t sound fine kid, I have plenty of friends in France, don’t make me get them to come and hunt you down.”

Her voice was an attempt at threatening, but it sounded more worried then anything.

“I’m not in Paris, I left after my contract was annulled.”

Annulled aka we’re letting you go without any pay but you still technically belong to us until the length of your contract is up.

“Annulled?”

You would have thought Sarina would have told the team, but apparently not.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m retired.”

Retired was not a word that you thought should fall from a twenty four year olds mouth, but here you were.

“Retired? Where are you, y/n?”

You supposed the alcohol might have been making your tongue a little bit looser.

“In my house, in my bathroom.”

Another deep exhale, you could just picture the woman pinching the bridge of her nose, maybe even frowning.

“Your house, where?”

You picked up the bottle of alcohol, taking a break from the razor blade to allow the vodka to ease back down your oesophagus.

“St Albans.”

The line went silent for a few seconds.

“You’re back home, since when?”

Another sip of your vodka.

“Couple of weeks, France wasn’t for me.”

France was the end of you.

“How much have you been drinking? You sound awful.”

You didn’t think you sounded that bad, but you also supposed a sober person would have a different perspective.

“Vodka, feels good le.”

Another deep exhale.

“I’m going to come over.”

Rustling on the other side of the phone.

“I’m fine, I’m good, you don’t need to come over.”

You were lying to both yourself and Leah.

“You aren’t fine, you aren’t good, and even if you want to tell yourself you are, I need to see you in real life because for the last months I’ve thought you were as good as dead. Are you safe, y/n?”

You didn’t know how to answer that question, you hadn’t felt safe with yourself in what felt like forever.

“I’m not unsafe.”

More rustling on the other side of the line.

“Do I need to bring somebody with me? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

You thought about it for a few seconds.

“I’m okay Le.”

The alcohol made you feel more okay then you had been, so you supposed it wasn;t fully a lie.

“You’re drunk at 6pm, I don’t think you are fine. I’m going to go get Viv, she knows how to deal with you when you’re spiralling, I’m going to stay on the phone with you and ask you some questions, okay, I’m walking out to my car now.”

You nodded your head, the realized that Leah wasn’t in front of you.

“Answer me honestly, are you safe right now, do you feel safe?”

You didn’t feel unsafe, you kewn by the looks of things, you were in a unsafe position. Alcohol and self harm wasn’t exactly the safest thing, but you felt at peace, and you knew that you weren’t causing any serious bodily harm to yourself.

“Depends on your perspective.”

You heard the sound of car doors.

“Okay, I’ll break it down, hmm? Are you within arms reach of something that could cause harm to you or others?”

Fuck.

“Yes.”

The sound of the phone connecting to bluetooth and keys in a ignition.

“What?”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek.

“Bottle of vodka and a blade.”

It wasn’t hard for you to admit, not when this had been how you’d spent all of your nights the last while.

“What kind of blade?”

You wished you’d stayed, you wished you weren’t in this position.

“Razor.”

You could feel the bile rising in your throat, whether it was alcohol related or from the cosntant questions.

“Alright, I want you to push them both as far away from you as possible, don’t look at them, don’t think about them, think about me. Now, have you caused yourself any harm?”

God, if you’d been able to stay none of this would be happening, none of it.

“Some cuts, le I think I’m going to be sick.”

The tears were full throttle, the sound of somebody’s voice that you’d missed so much in your ears and the vomit bottling itself up in your throat.

“Go to the toilet bowl, let it out.”

The taste of bile in your throat was never going to be something you enjoyed, the feeling of the new cuts along your thighs creasing as you crouched over the bowl stinging in a way that reawakened you.

The vomiting didn’t really stop, the continuous gagging being the only sound in your bathroom, beside the sound of Leah’s car.

Eventually, you finished, all of the clearish liquid mixed with your stomach acid sitting at the bottom of the bowl like a disgusting soup.

You laid down against your tiles, enjoying the cold that covered your skin.

Viv must have been picked up, because you could hear her and Beth talking in the background, beth, happy beth, beth who had once been your bestest friend.

“Bubba, you still with us, we’re just around the corner.”

You let out a groan in aggreance.

They continued to talk to you, allowing you to reply with different huffs and noises as they neared closer and closer to your home.

You ignored the hit of endorphins that you felt melt across you at the sound of your front door unlocking, Leah had kept your key, clearly.

It was a few seconds before your bathroom was crowded by the presence of your past teammates, the three sets of eyes all falling on you.

“Beth, go get a wet handwasher, Leah go get her some water.”

Viv’s voice was soft, but commanding, her body immediately gravitating to your own.

She crouched down beside you, grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you upwards, bringing you eye to eye with her.

“It’s good to have you back.”

You burst into tears, you’d hated being in St Albans out of fear that you’d be rejected, that you’d be told to go back to France, and yet here you were being welcomed back with open arms.

“I wish I’d stayed vivi, I wish I’d stayed, I wish none of this had happened, I want it all back, I want my life back. I can’t do this life anymore.”

Viv brought you into her arms.

“I know liefje, I know, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to figure it out, but we need to get you safe first, and this isn’t it. You need to be in a better place.”

If Viv had a problem with the way thart you clinged to her clothes, literally holding on for dear life, then she didn’t brign it up.

“You could have called one of us earlier you know, when you were struggling in France. You could have called me, you know I’ve been where you are, I’ve moved and hated every single part of it, we could have helped you before it had gotten this bad.”

You shook your head.

“Nobody could have helped me vivi, nothing could have helped me, I was done, I’m done.”

Viv nodded into you.

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up, and then you’ll go back to Leah’s house, and then we’ll work on fixing this, okay, Kyra’s going to be so happy to know you’re back, she’s missed you, the bloody kid hasn’t shut up about you and she only knew you for a week. Kim’s been contacting everybody, trying to figure out where you were, her little protege, she’s been hardly functioning, we all have been, you can’t just disappear on us like that, you had us all worried sick.”

You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Really?”

Viv let go of you a bit, to get a proper look at you.

“Just because you’re forced to leave doesn’t make you any less Arsenal. You can take the girl out of arsenal but not arsenal out of the girl. No matter where you go, or what you do, you’re always going to be one of us.”

You could feel more tears beginning to form.

“I don’t know how it could have ended how it did vivi.”

You felt the Dutch take a deep breath.

“I don’t know either, but we’ve got you alright, we’ve got you now, we won’t let you leave, your staying with us forever, you took a year off of my life for everyday that you ghosted us.”

You looked down and around you, at the mostly empty vodka bottle, the blood, the scars, it all, and you didn’t know how it had all ended up like this.

“How did it all end vivi?”

Viv looked at you, just as lost as you felt.

“We’re going to figure it out.”

——————————————————————

just thought i’d end this with a little etiquette lesson for any anons xo

if you feel like dropping hate over this in my inbox… don’t.

if you feel like having a go at me for this fic… don’t.

if you feel like making personally rude arguments about me… don’t.

if you feel like having a go at for me for expressing my struggles with writing and sometimes making mistakes… don’t.

just don’t. go touch some grass, go for a run, buy a new fucking vibrator. i can guarantee you will get more pleasure from a good orgasm then dropping aimless hate in my inbox.

[b14augrana]

‘Lacy’

Fridolina is perfect in your eyes. Too perfect, actually, and it drives you crazy.

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

masterlist

Warnings: jealousy and reader lowkey has issues

A/N: i’m the biggest frido fan on this planet so this sucked to write ily frido 🙁. i wrote this at 12:30 am so it’s not very good + not proofread and i’m very sorry in advance

You grew up loving Spanish football.

The technicality of it was your favourite thing and later on, you tried to incorporate it into your own play style. It set you apart from your teammates and made you stand out… until she came along.

The Swedish talent, incredible defender, the attacking fullback of everyone’s dreams. Fridolina Rolfö. You had played against her a handful of times and she was nothing short of talented; she was probably the first fullback you had seen that dribbled so high up the wing with so much confidence and actually managed to make something out of it.

Your usual position was in the midfield, but when your starting right back got injured, you found yourself shoved into a completely new position. You loved carrying the ball up the field and creating plays or dictating the game, but from the back, you could hardly do that. Due to the lack of real opportunities to let yourself shine, Fridolina got all the attention. The more goals she scored, the more assists she got, the more headlines she made in German sporting media.

The worst part? She was genuinely nice, so you had no proper reason to hate her besides being extremely jealous. She was kind and always complimented you during training and encouraged you during every match.

Your transfer to Barcelona couldn’t have happened at a more convenient time. Just as you were nearing your breaking point with her perfectness, your contract expired and you signed with the Spanish club. You had no intention of renewing with Wolfsburg, not while she was there. You wanted that fresh start, you wanted to thrive in a completely new place and finally learn the Spanish way of football first-hand.

The first season was amazing. You were breaking personal records and putting up performances for your new club, solidifying yourself as a starting player. You made friends and learned many things both on and off the pitch, and on top of that, you won your first couple trophies outside of Germany. You were at the peak of your happiness.

Of course it had to be ruined by a certain Swede arriving at the club only a season later. “(Y/N), it’s such a coincidence! I loved playing with you, so I could never turn down the contract they offered me,” she happily said to you on her first day. You smiled back at her despite wanting to bash your head against a wall, because you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean.

She stuck with you during her first couple weeks at the club until she got familiar with everyone else; to you, those were the worst weeks of your life as you were forced to confront the reality that she was perfect as ever and you were sickeningly envious of her.

Over the course of the next season, it became harder to understand how she had almost no room for imperfection. Her only flaw was something stupid like not being able to bake which was something you couldn’t do either, so that didn’t make you feel any better.

Everyone in your team loved her. She was a good player, an excellent one even. She was soft spoken and respectful, and a team player who fit right in almost immediately.

She loved cafés and coffee, like Ingrid. She enjoyed kayaking and swimming, like Lucy and Ona. She loved dogs, like Alexia. She liked to travel, like Aitana.

She was everything you wished you could be, and it made you curse her name in the dark emptiness of your bedroom after hours. It made you watch her for a second longer during training, even while you’re on the other side of the pitch. It made you smile at her in the changing room and ask her how she is.

She didn’t even have to try to be adored, whereas it felt like you had been trying to catch anyone’s eye since the beginning of time. She breathed and the media was all over her.

As the season progressed, the envious feeling became a regular thing when you were around Fridolina, so you had gotten used to it. You felt bad for feeling such a way but your heart overpowered your brain and the feelings persisted.

You were having the best season of your career so far, between qualifying for a Champions League semifinal and becoming a league champion once again on top of winning the Copa de La Reina and Supercopa.

During the second leg of the semifinal against Chelsea, you were taken out inside the box, granting your team a penalty. You stepped up to take it with the chance to put you and your team ahead, but before you could even walk up to the spot, blonde hair swished past you and before you could process anything, the ball hit the back of the net and you saw Fridolina running away to celebrate it. You couldn’t even afford to be angry on the surface, because then everyone would know something was wrong and you’d have to come clean and hurt Fridolina and say something that would surely upset her so.. you celebrated with your team. Like anyone in your position would.

That was your breaking point though — her being under the spotlight once again, proving that she’s so magnificent and better than you and perfect.

Perfect, once again.

The worst part was, even as you sat in the changing rooms on your own, fighting back tears, you knew you couldn’t entirely loathe her out of any amount of jealousy. You couldn’t loathe her more than you loathed your own mind, which betrayed you by worshipping her like some sort of idol.

The rude awakening that you worshipped her settled in as you tried to ignore the fact she was the type of person you prayed to be like, to a god you barely believed in.

Fucking perfect angel Fridolina. Damn you.

[five-rivers]

Funeral

“I’m sorry,” said Danny, speaking to the headstone in lieu of anything else to talk to.  He certainly wasn’t going to speak to the empty and expectant grave a few feet away.  “I wanted to wait.  I want to wait.  It’s just–”  He cut himself off, curling his hands into fists.  “There are so many things I haven’t seen, haven’t done.  Jazz got married, you know?  She’s pregnant.  If I was– I could have–”

He fell silent and adjusted the collar of his overcoat, trying to keep the frigid Ghost Zone wind away from his currently human neck.  

“Sam and Tucker are thinking about getting married, now that we’ve all graduated,” he said softly.  “I would have liked to see that, too.  And have a career.  Travel.  I know you wanted to do that, too.  But–”  

He broke off as his voice pitched weirdly, too high, too loud.  Sparks jumped off his fists as his emotions rose.  He flickered in and out of sight and tangibility, and his skin started to–

With an effort, he wrenched himself back together.  

“I’m sorry,” he said again.  “This is why I have to go.  I’m too unstable, and it isn’t like you.  I’m not just a danger to myself.”

(A premonition: Disturbed soil, a hand reaching out, a solid body… but there was nothing there now.  The ground was troubled only by slowly growing grass.)

He turned away from Dani’s grave and walked back to the mortuary shrine.  

The wind kicked up again.  There was ice in it.  

A motto was carved above the threshold of the shrine.  It read, LET THE DEAD BURY THEIR OWN DEAD.  Appropriate.  No one fully living would be here tonight.  Sam, Tucker, and Jazz had all wanted to be, just like they had all wanted to be there for Dani, but there were rules about this kind of thing, old rules, and–

Ice feathered out from under his feet.  And it wouldn’t be safe for them.  

The mortuary shrine was cozy on the inside, not at all like a morgue, or an embalmer’s studio.  There were some similarities, overlaps in function, but the shrine was not organized with decaying fleshy bodies in mind.  The central altar, for example, was high off the ground, for ease of access by the celebrants, but it was soft, bed-like, for the sake of the one who’d lie there.  The other altars were filled with other things, like candles, foods, oils and wines, salt, cloth, books, and strange implements Danny couldn’t name.  All things needed for a burial.  

There was other furniture, too, and the associated accouterments.  Elegant ghost lanterns and a fireplace, burning with cold fire.  Lovely chairs and small tables carved from bright wood.  Plush footstools.  Tapestries and curtains, softening the stone walls.  

Three ghosts waited for him there, the proper number for a rite like this.  Frostbite, his horns only inches from the ceiling.  Pandora, who had taken a smaller form for the occasion.  Clockwork, who looked much the same as he always did, except that he wasn’t changing forms, instead wearing a guise of solid middle age.  

(Danny still had to look up at all of them.  He'd managed to catch up to Jazz, but he'd never reached his father's height.)

“You are ready,” said Clockwork.  

It wasn’t really a question, didn't necessarily call for a response, but Danny understood.  This was his last chance to back out without any more consequences than the ones he was currently experiencing.  

But those consequences were bad enough.  He shuddered as intangibility and invisibility rippled through him again, and he just barely kept a grip on his more destructive powers.  

“Yes,” said Danny.  He looked around the shrine, nervous.  He hadn't been here when Dani did this. He didn't know what came next.  Not in any detail.  “Should I change?”

“No,” said Pandora.  “Not unless you feel the need to.  The ritual will be a guide, as it was for your younger sister.”

“Then we shall begin,” said Clockwork.  

Danny nodded.  

Frostbite came forward fist, and leaned all the way down to kiss Danny’s forehead.  “You are dead, Great One, and we will remember you.”

He stepped back, and Pandora took his place.  “You are dead, little warrior, and we will send you on with honor.”  She pressed a kiss to his forehead as well.  

Then, Clockwork came up.  He looked down at Danny for longer than the other two.  “You are dead, Daniel, and the time comes for all the dead to be laid to rest.”

When Clockwork’s lips brushed against Danny’s forehead, he felt the first strands of the ritual wrap around him like silk.  Still thin and tenuous enough that he could break free, but not without damage to both the weaving and himself.  

Frostbite, meanwhile, had turned to one of the lesser altars.  There was a small teapot chilling there, above a braiser of cold fire.  Frostbite poured its contents into a large mug, then added three scoops of shimmery white powder, each from a different small pot, before stirring three times.  

He held the mug out to Danny.  “For your nerves.”

“Is this drugged?” asked Danny, taking the mug.  He kept his tone light.  Considering the parts of this Danny knew were going to happen, that was really the least of his worries.  

“Drugged and poisoned,” said Frostbite.  “We did research into the best way to ritually account for your continued life.  This is it.”

If Danny was younger, he’d ask if it was going to kill him.  He knew better, now, about how durable half-ghosts were.  Memories of long-ago history lessons, of trivia, of drugged drinks and gentle, honored deaths on cold mountains ghosted through Danny’s mind.  But those were children.  

He raised the mug to his lips and took a drink.  It tasted of chocolate, cream, and a bewildering array of spices and herbs, from capsaicin to vanilla to rosemary.  There was also a bitter undertaste, and Danny would have pulled away instinctively, but as soon as he’d started the reflexive motion, Frostbite put a friendly but firm hand on the back of his head, and another on the bottom of the mug, keeping it tilted back.  

(A premonition: Other hands hovered nearby, ready to assist if Danny resisted.  He could feel them.  One over his nose, another stroking his throat, taking advantage of the remaining reflexes of his human body.  But they weren’t there.  Not yet.)

The rites, now started, would not be so easily refused.  

Danny drank deeply, finding a strange sort of enjoyment in the extended physical contact.  He’d been avoiding touch ever since a nasty scare with his ice powers and Sam’s skin.  There had been close calls before that, too, with his newer, more esoteric powers, but until then…

Frostbite tilted Danny’s head all the way back, ensuring the last few drops of the drink fell past Danny’s lips, then pulled the mug away.  Danny licked his teeth and lips, and swallowed one more time.  He didn’t feel anything yet.  

“What next?” he asked, wincing at the edge of power behind the question.  He should probably just.  Not talk.  Especially not with drugs in his system.  

“After a death, the first step is to clean and prepare the body,” said Pandora.  

Of course.  Danny nodded.  The mortuary shrine… wobbled.  

Frostbite swept Danny up into his arms - which would have been more embarrassing if Frostbite wasn’t huge - and carried him to one of the lesser altars.  It was smooth-surfaced and the neighboring, even smaller altars had bars, bottles, jars, basins of water, and washcloths, all arranged to stand at precise angles from one another.  He was laid down on the altar, and Frostbite and Clockwork started to undress him.  

At first, Danny tried to help, peeling out of his overcoat and sweater quickly.  But then, his movements seemed to… blur.  His mind was still sharp, as far as he could tell, but his limbs were becoming clumsy, slow.  

It was Clockwork who untied his boots, and Frostbite who unbuttoned Danny’s shirt.  By the time they got to his underthings, it felt like there was a barrier between him and his body.  Not anything solid, he could still move, still react, but something muffling, slowing.  Frostbite laid him down so that he was flat on his back on the lesser altar.  Clockwork started going through Danny’s hand with a wet, lightly perfumed, comb.  Frostbite, meanwhile, took out a set of dentists tools and eased Danny’s jaw open with one claw.  

Across the room, at the main altar, Pandora laid layer after layer of cloth.  Some of them were patterned, others plain.  Some were thick with embroidery, others were gossamer thin.  Some were edged with beads or woven with gold, others looked tattered, as if they’d been previously used for something else, the scrupulously cleaned.  

Clockwork, done with Danny’s hair for the moment, moved on to his feet.  It was hard to describe the intimacy of being cleaned like this by someone else.  By someone he knew.  He wasn’t a patient, Clockwork wasn’t a nurse.  He wasn’t an infant, and Clockwork wasn’t his parent.  But this was an act of care and love, offered without judgment.  It was also embarrassingly efficient and thorough.  When a body was cleaned, prepared for internment, it wasn't just the normal surfaces that were cleaned, but areas generally considered private.  

As Clockwork moved upwards, the powers that churned along the surface of Danny’s skin quieted.  They did not go silent - they never did, these days - but they were no longer so maddeningly active.  

Finished with Danny's mouth (which now felt much more clean than it ever did after the dentist's) Frostbite moved on to his nails, clipping and cleaning them, smoothing rough edges and cuticles.  Danny tried to be helpful with this, to at least hold his hands in the right way, but the effects of the drugs were progressing.  His movements were slowing, growing smaller.  

He should be panicking.  The loss of control, at least, should bother him, given the constant vigilance his rapidly growing powerset required.  But, as a human, his emotions were still principally dependent on physical systems and chemical reactions.  His heartbeat was slow, and growing slower.  

They turned him over to work on his back, and Danny half-dozed, eyes barely open, as they diligently scrubbed him clean.  

Then, he was on his back again, anointed with oils and perfumes, smokes and incense wafted over him.  Something wet drew a line from his lips to his groin.  

Danny's heart twitched to a stop. 

Blue-white rings flared from his core in an instant, painfully arresting the moment of death, then swept out to Danny's extremities.  He flinched, twisting on the table, onto his side, suddenly able to move again.  Everything was too bright, too loud, too close, too present.  He covered his face with his arms.

The panic he’d missed earlier was in full force now, shining bright and pure and crystalline in the way only ghostly emotions could.  He was in danger.  He was dangerous.  He could feel his powers coiling, ready to strike, whether it be his will or against it.  He fought them, and paid the price, bones and skin going soft, their fine, detailed structures destabilizing, running like wax, like the flesh of a caterpillar in a cocoon.  

A hand scooped through his sticky, melting flesh and pressed a cool, hard, surface to his lips.  He drank.  It was the same thing Frostbite had given him before, but without the bitterness.  With every gulp, the ritual spun onwards, strands thickening, multiplying.  By the time he was finished drinking, his skin was sticky and damp, but solid again underneath that.  

“No poison this time?” he asked.

“Just because you cannot taste it does not mean it isn’t there,” said Frostbite.  “Do you know what separates a medicine from a poison?”

“Dosage?” hazarded Danny.  Jazz was an MD.  He’d picked up a few things.

All three of the older ghosts chuckled.  Frostbite went as far as to ruffle his hair.

“He does learn,” said Clockwork, unzipping Danny’s jumpsuit (it had grown with him) and gently pushing aside Danny’s hands when he moved to help.  

Whatever was in the second drink, if there was anything at all, it didn’t act nearly as quickly as the first.  He could feel so much more, his sense of touch unblunted.  It made the process of Frostbite, Clockwork, and Pandora undressing him all that much more, especially when they chided him (ever so gently) for trying to help them, for doing anything but lying there like a corpse.  

(Deja vu: Rituals as old as humanity, reaching back, reaching forward.  The preparation of the dead, laying them to rest.  The duty of the family, to clean and prepare, to stand watch, sit vigil, to March the wake, to mourn, to celebrate.  The dead did not move to help.  They did not move at all.)

They washed the spaces between his toes and fingers, his teeth, the backs of his eyelids, the insides of his ears, every nook and cranny they had cleaned when he was in human form was cleaned again.  The stickiness from his earlier destabilization was wiped away, replaced with a dry, fresh feeling.  Invisibility and intangibility stopped wisping across his skin, too tightly bound by the ritual to be used even by accident.  

The perfumes they used now were different, they tickled at his brain and core both, summoning feelings of nostalgia, regret, longing, grief, quiet, peace.  They traced symbols in them, in languages Danny didn’t know but could feel the meanings of, of linear past and spreading future, of the pinpoint present, of decay and rot, of the loosening of muscles, of the blurring of boundaries, of reconstruction, of change, of stability, of things remade, of things caught in time forever.  

Frostbite picked him up and brought him to the main altar.  It was soft, piled high with cloth.  They felt cool and silky on Danny’s bare skin and there was a pillow under his head.  Absently, he ran his palm back and forth across the top cloth.  Or, no, not quite the top one.  The main one he was touching was large, large enough to hang off the altar and pool on the ground, but there was a smaller strip of embroidered cloth, almost like a long belt or ribbon, at the height of his biceps.  

There was, he noted, another such ribbon under his ankles, and another under his knees.  He wondered what they were for.  

He didn’t have to wonder for long.  Clockwork picked up the long ends of the ribbon and wound it around his ankles in a complicated fashion.  The twists and turns showed off the intricacy of the abstract embroidery.  He finished it off with a knot that disappeared under the rest of the ribbon.  

The strings of the ritual gathered faster, wound thicker, tighter, with a physical anchor.  

Clockwork moved on to the ribbon at Danny’s ankles.  The weaving was slightly different, but had the same effect. 

He expected the one under his arms to go the same way.  But instead Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork gathered flowers from another altar.  They were all black and white, so it took Danny a moment to recognize them.  Lilies, roses, marigolds, carnations, asphodel, nettle, nightshade, poppies, lycoris.  Flowers for death, for funerals, for mourning.  

Clockwork wrapped Danny’s hands around the bouquet, and pressed the ring finger of his left hand against a rose thorn.  A drop of blood welled up.  Blood, not ectoplasm.  Danny stared, surprised.  But he didn’t get to stare long.  Clockwork produced another ribbon, and wrapped it around the flowers and Danny’s wrists.  

Then, he picked up the other ribbon under Danny and tied it around his upper arms and elbows before tucking the ends into the ribbon around Danny’s wrists.  

It all felt very secure.  

Under normal circumstances, Danny would have been able to escape such flimsy restraints in a hummingbird’s heartbeat.  But it wasn’t just the ribbons that held him.  He could still escape, yes, but it would take a great deal of effort.  

He twitched his shoulder, just to check that he could.  The motion was slow, heavy, and smaller than he expected.  

Pandora put a stilling hand on his shoulder and held a coin up in front of his face.  It was large and silver, inscribed with symbols from languages both long dead and never alive.  Danny wondered if they had made it just for this occasion.  

“A last chance,” said Pandora.

His last chance to back out, is what she meant.  To say something.  He could do it.  He could stop the ritual and suffer the consequences.  He could be a danger to everyone around him for the rest of his existence, however long or short that was.  

He gave Pandora the tiniest shake of his head.  She smiled and pressed the coin against his lips.  He opened his mouth, just enough to take the coin.  It fit comfortably on his tongue, in between his teeth but not jostling against them.  If it wasn’t custom made and sized, it might as well have been.  It tasted metallic and sweet, as if, given enough time, it would dissolve on his tongue. 

Pandora took out one more embroidered ribbon and wrapped it around his jaw and the top of his head, holding his mouth closed.  There was enough tension in the ribbon to press, but not enough for its edges to dig into tender flesh.  Taken together, the coin and ribbon made an effective gag.  

His wail was now bound just as effectively as his intangibility and invisibility, as effectively as his tongue and voice.  For the first time since the incompatibility between his powers and his body became clear, the stress of keeping his wail under control was lifted away.

(A possibility, unraveled: Danny standing at the center of a crater made with his own voice.  No, kneeling.  No, weeping, curled on the ground, head touching dirt and fractured concrete.  He knew those buildings, teetering on the edges of new cliffs.  He knew them.)

This was the right decision.  

The three older ghosts busied themselves at the other, smaller altars briefly, allowing Danny to collect himself and sink deeper into that sense of relaxation.  The wail wasn’t the only thing that had been taken off his shoulder.  All his other voice-based powers were similarly locked away, and he hadn’t even noticed losing his shapeshifting, but he couldn’t touch that, either.  

When Pandora stepped back into his field of view, she was holding a mask.  A death mask, more specifically, styled after Danny’s own face.  Frostbite, next to her, held a small, square cloth, like a handkerchief and a small bottle.  

Clockwork reached out and touched Danny’s face, briefly tracing each of his features.  His lips, his nose, his eyebrows.  He slid his fingers down, pressing Danny’s eyelids closed.  The motion was gentle, but held a strange sort of finality.  

Danny found that he could not open his eyes.  

Fabric, soft and smooth, whisper thin, covered his face and was adjusted, straightened.  Something fragrant dampened it from above, near his nose.  More perfume.  He inhaled.  Exhaled.  Stopped.  

Stopped.  

Stopped.

Before he could have any more thoughts about not being able to breathe, the death mask was pressed into place.  The weight of it pressed the thin shroud over his face snugly into his skin.  It made his other limitations - his eyes, his breath, his general immobility - more acceptable, somehow. 

Other talismans were placed on his skin or tucked into the ribbons.  Some, he could identify by touch.  The ticklish barbs of a feather.  The cold roundness of another, smaller coin.  The familiarity of his childhood stuffed bear.  Others, his powers identified for him.  The sparkling wonder of a lunar meteorite.  The shiver of a carved piece of ghost ice.  The thrumming power and glory of a vial of ectoplasm shed by a god Danny had fought and defeated.  He hadn’t known they’d kept that.  

But other things were too strange to identify by touch alone.  He could make guesses.  Maybe that was a flower petal, maybe this other thing was a coil of string, and while he was sure that last was paper, he couldn’t say what was on it.  

With every token placed, another one of his powers was called up and locked away, like bound by like.  His awareness of the stars winking out as the meteorite was placed was sad.  The powers he’d ‘earned’ from that god being placed firmly out of his reach, however, was only a relief.

He was verging on helplessness, now.  Helpless, but unburdened.  

Clockwork started to speak.  None of the words were recognizable, but Danny knew the feeling of a prayer.  This one was old.  Old old.  Old even by the standards of ancient ghosts.  They hummed briefly in his bones before settling in them like lead weights.  Or golden ones.  

The edges of the sheet he was lying on were lifted up and folded over him, then tucked under him.  Wound around him.  It was a winding sheet.  Of course.  Of course.  The next cloth, too, was pulled up and over him, the motion a little more brisk now that the tokens were held in place by the first sheet.  Then, the next.  Cerecloth and cerements.  

Danny twitched a little, at first, at certain unexpected touches, but when the third wrapping added  its comforting, soothing pressure he was reduced (or, perhaps, elevated) to a state of perfect limpness.  

They added more tokens between the third layer and the fourth, but Danny couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  They were too muffled by layers of silk - those layers being both the literal layers of cloth and the figurative layers of the ritual.  

Clockwork’s prayers were getting harder to hear, but Danny felt like he could recognize some of them, now.  Snippets of Akkadian, Egyptian, Greek, Latin, a word or two off the Oracle Bones.  Prayers for the dead, for their revenge and their remembrance, for their reverence and their reward, for their repose and their return.  

He was wrapped again and again, until the pressure, the gentle rocking motion necessary to wrap him, and the nearly unintelligible rhythm of Clockwork’s prayers threatened to lull him to sleep.  

He could hear snatches of Esperanto, now, and English.  

“... rest, and rest in peace… until waking… to hope… blessing in memory…”

Some parts of it felt familiar.  Others were strange, so strange, but he was bound so securely, now, that he almost felt as if he was floating.  

“... iron and wood, we entrust this most precious… an embrace… the hallowed graves… deliver and defend…”

No, he was floating, sort of.  He’d been lifted up, sheets and all, and now he was being moved sideways.  Sideways, and now down, down, into a snug cavity.  Was he bordered by flowers?  Pillows?  Both?  He couldn’t tell.  

“... into silk… like dust by sunlight into gold… changed… after a long day, to sleep…”

A faint weight draped over him, a final sheet covering him.  He felt, with a strange sense that lay deeper than instinct, further down and closer to his heart and soul, that Pandora, Frostbite, and Clockwork had drawn closer, that they were kneeling beside his casket or coffin, heads bowed.  

“Now we lay thee down to sleep,” whispered Clockwork, words startlingly clear despite his voice being harder to hear than ever, “we pray thy grave thy soul to keep, until thou choose the form thou take, and the hour thou shall wake.”

“And should thou never wake,” whispered - someone.  It was getting harder to tell the muffled voices apart.  “We shall mourn for thy sake.”

Very slowly, the force pushing in and down on Danny increased, deliciously.  It was almost enough.  

(Danny didn’t know where that thought had come from.)

A loud thump shuddered through Danny.  Another.  They were nailing him in.  Another restraint.  Another limitation.  Another step towards the cumulation of the ritual.  Almost.  Almost.  

Thirteen nails sealed Danny into the coffin.  

(He had been snug before.  Now, he wasn’t sure he could have moved even if the ritual hadn’t removed the ability from him.)

(All his powers were bound.  There was no more sense of responsibility keeping him awake.  His body was cocooned in every way possible.  There was no more fear about destabilizing and melting.  None of his choices would change what would happen to him next.  Only a curiosity about what it would feel like to be buried kept him from succumbing to his soul-deep exhaustion then and there.)

Vaguely, ever-so-vaguely, Danny could feel his coffin lifted, moved.  He knew where he was going.  Out of the mortuary shrine, across the lawn, down the rows and rows of graves, and to one grave in particular.  He’d wanted to be buried next to family, and Dani was his only family available.  

They stopped.  He was lowered.  Down.  Down.  Stopped again.  

A chill stole over Danny, like the cool side of a pillow, but all over his body, as if it meant to draw out the last of the warmth of life from his ectoplasm.  Restful.  

The dirt came down in sifted shovelfuls, like rain on a roof, like distant thunder.  And– he did have more powers, either so subtle he didn’t notice them as such or as of yet undiscovered.  These were buried as thoroughly as the others.  

Up and up the dirt piled, until he could barely feel it as it came down.  Until all that was left was the weighty, solid thump of a headstone coming down.  

Then there was nothing.  Nothing but silence, stillness, silk… and sleep.

.

Danny woke with the comfortable confusion of someone who had gotten their blanket wrapped around them unevenly while they slept.  Slow, unhurried, well-rested, but just slightly less cozy than expected.  

He shifted, mumbling and rolling over.  No, that wasn’t any good.  He made a face.  There was something on his face.  He reached up to wipe it off, and the sheets wrapped around him tore like cobwebs.  

That roused him further.  This… he did not think this was his bed.  It was his, but not his bed.

He wiped something thin and crackly off his face and inhaled deeply.  Dust.  Salt.  Dust, salt, and something like decay, but sharper, fresher, cleaner.  

He breathed, remembering.  His mouth tasted like silver and sugar.  His hands quested outward, seeking, seeking, until he found the edges of the space he was in.  

This was his grave.  His coffin.  

It was bigger than he’d imagined.

His eyes opened to a darkness relieved only by his own faint glow.  The many sheets he had been wrapped in had been reduced to fragile scraps, except a very few that remained stubbornly wrapped around his shoulders.  His mask was a thin shell.  The flowers were desiccated, colorless strands and flakes.  The pillows were flat and torn, showing the wooden sides of the coffin in places.  The only token he could see and identify was the plush and pristine form of Neil Bearstrong.  He gathered the toy close, pressing him against his chest.  

He’d made it.  He was awake, aware, and apparently stable, when before he’d been bracing himself for death.  He breathed out, breathed in.  His breath caught in his throat, and he giggled.  

Did that mean Dani had made it, too?

He rolled onto his back and put a hand against the lid of the coffin.  It looked strange there.  Disproportionate.  But of course it did.  His body had just finished reformatting itself into a stable form.  Frostbite had told him that he’d probably look different, maybe even radically different.  Clockwork had even confirmed that medical opinion, from a temporal perspective.

Positives: his hand was a recognizably human hand.  He was awake.  

He didn’t dare turn human - if he even could - until he had Frostbite and the others look him over.  He wouldn’t be able to phase through the Ghost Zone’s soil.  Teleportation was inadvisable while he was this disoriented.  So were portals.  And most powers, really. 

He’d have to dig his way out.  

Bracing himself, making sure his limbs were free of restraint, he drew back his fist to punch the lid.  The dirt would come in fast, and he wasn’t sure how deep he was.  Six feet was traditional, of course, but it was also traditional for the dead to stay that way.  So.  

The lid flew upward under the force of his strike, all the dirt overhead bending away.  He grabbed the edges of the hole and pulled down, widening it enough for him to claw his way out without warping his body.  He… wasn’t quite ready for that, after the whole melting thing.  

He burrowed upward, feeling like something between a worm and a badger, batting away dirt, crawling, squirming, reaching upward.  Despite his best efforts, some of the winding sheets came with him, clinging, slowing his passage.  Still, his hand hit free air.  Grass tickled at his fingers.  He set his palm down on the ground, and pulled.  

The dirt did not want to let him go.  It pulled back, its embrace offering an eternal peace, but Danny was firm, eager to go, to see, to live.  He pushed himself up, and out, then lay, panting, on the ground.  

That had been… more tiring than expected, actually.  

Someone propped him up, large hands bringing him into a sitting position.  “Daniel,” said Clockwork.  A loose and oddly cut robe was wrapped around him.  

“Mm,” said Danny, his voice cracking.  

A cup was raised to his lips.  He drank greedily, the sweet, floral liquid soothing his dry throat.  

“Shall we get you cleaned up?” asked Pandora, another hand, laid on the center of his back.  

“Can you walk?” asked Frostbite.  “Or fly?”

“Yes,” said Danny, hoarsely.  He reached up to put his hand on Clockwork’s shoulder.  It took some to get it there.  It was further away than he’d thought.  

He was smaller than he had been.  Not entirely unexpected.  Returning to one’s appearance at death was, apparently, one of the more common ways for this to go.  But had he really been this small at fourteen?

They did not go to the mortuary shrine, but made their uncertain way to the other shrine in the graveyard: the revival shrine.  The structure was much the same inside and outside, but it had only one altar.  The rest of the space was reserved for a bath, bed, and mirrors.  

Pandora guided him to a chair in front of one of the mirrors.  Danny stared.  He wasn’t much to look at right now, but what he could see of his body… 

It hadn’t been a winding sheet dragging at him as he’d crawled through the dirt.  It had been wings.  He shrugged the loose robe off his shoulders to see them better.  They were patterned with white and black, star and moon shapes on a dark background. He had antennae.  Long, soft, feathery looking things curving up and back from his temples.  

Clockwork brought a damp cloth to his face and, slowly, began to clean away the dirt.  

“Surprised?” asked Clockwork.  

“Are you?” 

Clockwork chuckled.  

“Did Dani– Is Dani–?”

“She woke seventeen years ago,” said Clockwork.  “She is quite smug about technically being older than you in terms of lived experience.”

“She would be,” said Danny.  

He pulled away from Clockwork’s ministrations to get another look at the mirror.  He had about the same proportions he did when he was a teenager, and his hair was as white as it ever was in ghost form, but it sparkled, as if someone had dusted it with silver glitter.  His antennae matched the color pretty well, too.  Star-shaped freckles littered his cheeks, and when he tilted his head this way and that…  There was an effect like a hologram, depending on the light, of a dark or glimmering domino mask around his eyes.  

And, beneath that, his basic features, the structures of his bones…  They looked about the same as they had when he was young.  Except… softer, somehow.  More neutral.  The change, as subtle as it was, gave him a genderless mien.

(The idea of that trend continuing elsewhere on his body didn’t bother him nearly as much as he would have expected before this.)

He wondered what he would look like in human form.  But… later.  Later.  

For now, Pandora was running a tiny brush though the delicate hairs of his antennae, removing irritating bits of soil and grass.  

“In fact,” said Pandora, “I would wager that she will be smug about physically appearing older than you.”

“She looks older than me, too?” asked Danny.  “That’s hardly fair.”

“That is the way of things, I’m afraid.  She hadn’t truly died until she was buried.”  

“But she’s okay?”

“She’s doing very well, last I saw her,” said Frostbite.

“And Jazz?  Sam and Tucker?”

“All fine,” said Clockwork.  “They visit you frequently.”

Pandora did something complicated with telekinesis that pulled most of the dirt from Danny’s skin and left him feeling distinctly fluffed.  The fuzz along the bases and upper edges of his wings stood on end.  He shook himself all over, then plucked the washcloth from Clockwork’s hands so he could clean behind his ears and in-between his toes.  

“Clothes?” asked Clockwork.  

“Cut for wings?” challenged Danny.  

“Of course.”

[highvern]

YUCK

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x f!reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive moments

warnings: mentions of illness/body fluids (snot, vomit), avoidant attachment from reader, Hoshi best boy

Length: ~2.9k

Note: more of this couples bc im crazy thank u @gyuswhore

series m.list: Houdini [s], Green Light [s, f]

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Two and a half months of hooking up with a guy who may or may not be a furry and things start feeling…comfortable. 

You’ll pretend until the day you die that every time the weekend rolls around you won’t end up naked in Soonyoung’s bed. Or your own. Usually it is your own because he has more roommates than you and yours leaves to stay at her boyfriend’s until Monday night which means there is no need to keep quiet (which you and Soonyoung both struggle with but you refuse to acknowledge that fact). 

It allows for many nights bent over the kitchen counter, Soonyoung’s chest hot against the back of your thighs as he works you up with his mouth. Or occasional nights on the couch after you both are too into each other to make it upstairs to your room, planted firmly in his lap while pinning his hands to the cushions. There's also the nights he drags you straight to bed and demonstrates exactly what all the pictures you took while tucked away in the privacy of a gross bar bathroom did to him. 

You’re pretty sure Soonyoung has picked up on your game by now because instead of asking ‘if’ he’s taken to asking ‘when’ he can come over. And it's annoying that it doesn’t really annoy you at all.

Soonyoung comes over on Friday nights and leaves Saturday afternoon, except when he shows up on Saturday mornings and stays well into Sunday night. Or the occasional weekend where you remember who you are and show up on his door and leave three hours later with cum still drying on your thigh as you walk past his roommates still pregaming in the living room.

Except now it's Friday and you’ve got nothing on your mind except for the inside of a toilet bowl and the cool tile of the bathroom floor.

Call it food poisoning or maybe the flu, but you’ve been in and out of sleep since the early hours of dawn. Shivering on the floor, the only company you have is a pile of dirty clothes. Even the crack of light under the door is too much stimulation for your illness-racked brain to tolerate.

“Y/N?” your roommate calls from the other side of the darkness, out in the hallway where it's safe from whatever curse is making home in your gut. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay home? I don’t mind.”

“I’m fine,” you groan. Your words couldn’t convince the deaf but you try anyway. 

She responds but it slips right past because another bout of nausea takes hold.

You manage to fall asleep at some point, clammy on the floor with aching hips. Maybe an hour or maybe ten minutes. It doesn't really make a difference because you still feel like shit when the door opens and the hall light burns through your retinas.

“Hazel, I said I’m— What are you doing here?” you croak from the floor. 

Soonyoung stairs down at you, face soft with something that might be worry but it’s probably just the fever melting your brain. “You look like shit.” 

“You always know just what to say.” The usual snark isn’t there, replaced by a pathetic helpless whine of discomfort because all you want is to curl up and die. “Did you come to insult me or…?”

“Hazel let me know you were sick and usually sick people need medicine and soup so I brought that and this tea my mom used to give me as a kid.” 

“Are you trying to cure me so you can get your dick wet?” 

“No. If I wanted to stick my dick in a Petri dish I feel like there are easier ways to go about it.” He kneels right next to you like he isn’t the slightest bit concerned about catching the plague brewing in your immune system. A cool hand cups your cheek, thumb gentle at your temple where a dull throb has haunted you all day. You lean into the comforting touch without much thought.  “When was the last time you showered?” 

“I don’t know. Like two days ago?” 

“Yeah, I can smell that. Alright my little germ cell, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

His arms snake under yours, dragging you from the floor even with your muscles limp. It takes more maneuvering but you don’t bother helping. If he wants to play not-so-sexy nurse and patient then that's his problem. The warmth of his sweater is welcome though. 

“Is this some weird fetish thing?” Nose buried in Soonyoung’s chest, it comes out in a jumble. “Because I can’t handle this and the furry stuff.” 

“Yes, caring about your health is a fetish for me. Really gets me off knowing you’ve been a good girl and taken your vitamins.” 

“I knew it.” you whisper. “I’m not calling you daddy if that’s what you want.” 

Soonyoung laughs and the movement sends another bolt of pain through your skull. He tuts over your responding whimper and what may be his lips press to the side of your head briefly. It’s warm and comforting, the beat of his heart lulling you into the first satisfying rest since you woke up. Your hands bunching the front of his shirt are desperate for anything to keep you steady. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t release you while setting things up for a shower; accommodating for your weight with a slow shuffle and more placating coos against your hairline every time you protest a sudden jostle. The chill of the bathroom fully sets in when he pushes down your sweats and shucks off your snot stained sweater before tossing away his own. If you weren’t barely functioning it might even be impressive that he’s kept you in his arms the entire time.

“If you’re trying to fuck me, I hope you don’t mind snot.” You blow your nose against the curve of his neck just to be a bitch. 

You feel more naked under the stream of water than you ever have, which is ironic given you’ve had Soonyoung face to crotch more times than you can count. Something about the non-sexual nature of nudeness, feeling the least sexy you ever have while he scrubs you down with gentle hands, turns your stomach more than before.

“I’m not trying to fuck you,” he laughs again; a thousand volts straight to the heart. “Don’t worry.” 

You pop out of hiding, hurt by the idea. “You don’t want to fuck me?” 

Soonyoung’s face is soft, cheeks round and hair already damp to his forehead. He isn’t disgusted by the puke on your breath or the sweat matting your hair. Or if he is, he hides it well. “I always want to fuck you but right now I’m trying to make sure you don’t die.” 

You dive back into his shoulder, mind numb to anything beyond the silky feel of hands washing away days of ick. You’ve felt his hands on almost every part of your body but right now they lack the characteristic urgency from those moments where you can’t get enough of each other quick enough. He’s touching you the way he does in the glow of the moon after you’ve both been satisfied, when Soonyoung thinks you’re asleep and you let him as every curve and dip and hill of your body is covered in gentle strokes like he’s committing you to memory.

“I can do that on my own,” you argue. 

The facts aren’t stacked in your favor right now but it’s the principle: you don’t need him to take care of you. You can handle it on your own. He’s only here because you let him.

“Oh, I know. Now close your eyes so I don’t get soap in them.”

He cups your face, thumbs rubbing away the sweat that's been caked on since morning. Then it’s a rough washcloth doused in the scent of your face wash but you swat it away in favor of the calluses on his fingers. If you weren’t a dead woman walking he’d never get a chance to be this close. 

How is it more terrifying for someone to wipe away your boogers than let him see you naked multiple times a week? A question knotting your stomach into tight pieces as Soonyoung hums some tune you don’t recognize like he’s more than happy to do so.

Your brain stops working after so long; too exhausted from everything to think more about what this all means. Not even the familiar flat press of his front against yours can incite a response beyond content. All the world shrinks into the pitter patter of the water swirling around the drain, and the parts that are warmed by Soonyoung and the parts that are waiting to be.

When you come back to awareness, the waters off and he is whispering something into your clammy forehead.

“Hmmm?” 

“I said, it’s time to get out.”

More shuffling gets you back into your room where the mattress takes your weight while he digs around for fresh clothes. You roll onto your side, clad in a towel and nothing else, resound to fall asleep then and there.

“Alright, arms up,” he commands. 

You try to pull away, diving back into the pillow soaked from your hair but Soonyoung gets you up at the waist, maneuvering stiff limbs patiently.

“Do you have an armpit fetish too?” you ask with the collar stuck around the top of your head. 

“And you call me a freak?”

Next is pants, and it takes a few tries for you to even consider being helpful. Soonyoung lifts each leg individually, working the fabric as far as he can. Then a few dramatic grunts from coordinating your entire body weight but you’re back in a clean pair of pajamas and tucked under the covers. Soonyoung didn’t rise to any more of your snide remarks about being naked. He simply avoiding your bare skin like it’d burn. Not even his favorite thing about you (boobs) gets any attention, just a few chuckles and more kisses into your temple.

You melt into the plush mattress, hidden beneath a pile of blankets from the cruel world that cursed you with new realizations you're not prepared for just yet. 

Eyes closed the entire time, you hear Soonyoung leave without so much as a goodbye. In theory it’s what you want. Exactly how you prefer; you alone, him somewhere you can pretend all the confounding feelings don’t exist. You didn’t even want him to show up in the first place, but now that he’s been here and you’re horrifically aware how nice it feels to have someone take care of you. You miss him. 

And as soon as the pit opens up, you hear someone shuffling down the hall coming towards your room.

“Alright, once you eat something you can sleep.”

The thought of food tightens your stomach more than the fact he didn’t leave you but he’s right. You need fluids and you’re not strong willed enough to get them yourself.

After the first few bites, you feel a little more human and less like a walking sack of shit. With it, the discomfort of this entire ordeal rears with a new vengeance. 

“Why are you here?” It sounds like an accusation.

He doesn’t even miss a beat. “Because I like you.” 

Soonyoung says it matter of factly, the same way the sky is blue and water is wet, while shoving another bite into your mouth.

You’re too exhausted for a fight right now; not with the only person making a real effort to keep you alive, but the instinct is strong after years of low expectations and plenty of disappointment.

“Why?” 

“Because I just do.” 

Your eyes meet over the spoon. He doesn’t look annoyed or perturbed or even angry. He likes you whether you like it or not. 

“I don’t date.” 

“Okay,” he agrees, wiping at the spill dripping from your chin.

“You aren’t gonna argue?” 

“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ and your need for confrontation with it. “You don’t wanna date? That’s fine. I’ll take whatever I can get, even if that’s spoon feeding you on your deathbed.” 

You take the next bite before commenting, “You’re so weird.” 

“I like you too. Now open up for the airplane.” He makes the noise and the medicine twists your brain into actually finding it funny. “How are you pretty even when you’re blowing your nose on my shirt?”

“Deal with the devil.”

He passes you a cold cup when you brush away the remainder of the soup. One sip is all it takes.

“How did you know I like the orange Gatorade?”

“I asked Jun to give me June’s number and she gave me Hazel’s number and I asked while I was at the store.”

“You went through all that trouble just to buy me the right Gatorade?” you snort.

“It really wasn’t any trouble.”

It isn’t but it’s more than anyone else has ever done for you. The fresh wave of nausea has nothing to do with your cold.

“I’m tired,” you tell him. 

The mess is cleaned up in silence. You pretend to fall asleep and Soonyoung lets you until he’s shoving more medicine your way. 

You shake your head, failing to refuse because Soonyoung is doing that dumb airplane nose again and when you cough up a laugh he shoves the spoon in your mouth and you’re left with no choice but to swallow.

Then he’s up and you watch through heavy eyes as he gathers his things. You’ll blame it on the drugs loosening the clutch you have on your emotions later.

“Where are you going?” you ask with faux apathy, negated by the fist tangled in the hem of his sweatshirt in case he evaporates away.

“Home. Unless…you want me to stay?” A tug at the sweater is your answer to that horrible thought. “Oh, thank god – I was getting sad.”

You roll over, offering him your back to curl around. The muscles tensed around your spine soften when he does. 

I sleep better when you’re here.

You won’t tell him that but Soonyoung stiffens for a moment and the fear you’ve said the wrong thing creeps in where fatigue hasn’t rooted just yet. But a kiss to your covered shoulder and a hand under your sweater, flat against your stomach so you stay as close as possible calms the thoughts enough you can drift off.

It’s strange. Having the heat of his body at your back without the limpness of a good fuck still coursing through your veins to thaw the parts that hate pillow talk and the stickiness that come with it.

What's even stranger is that you don’t really mind it all. If anything, it’s actually pretty nice.

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@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[kyletogaz]

MDNI

cw: fingering

idk something about kyle being impatient and wanting to get his hands on you right now, even though you’re out at a nice restaurant enjoying dinner, or trying to. somehow kyle’s managed to convince you to sit closer to him. and now he’s got a hand trailing up your thigh, his fingers coming to a stop right at the edge of the fabric covering your cunt. kyle’s watching you in amusement as you inhale sharply while clutching your fork for dear life. you don’t even spare him a glance. you are going to kill him when y’all get home.

“open up, sweetheart.”

you ignore his soft request and shove a forkful of food in your mouth instead. kyle’s playing a dangerous game in this restaurant.

before you can protest, you feel kyle’s warms fingers seeking out your clit. when he finds his prize, your body jerks a little. your fork clatters to the table as you let out a soft moan.

kyle laughs softly and says, “keep eating, lovie.”

the glare you shoot at him does not stop him from rubbing your poor puffy clit raw. your pussy is definitely leaking and you’re so glad the the lights are dimmed because you’re on the verge of going cross-eyed with the way your man’s fingers are strumming you like a guitar.

“k-kyle, please.” you’ve entered the begging stage and kyle is eating that shit right up.

you let out a soft whine when he pushes your panties aside and shoves his fingers between your folds. “gonna cum on my fingers, sweetheart?”

you let out a whimper in response as your eyes dart around the restaurant, while you make sure no one is watching you get fingered within an inch if your life. biting your lip, you spread your legs a little wider to give kyle more access. he’s just smiling and watching your reactions. he even had the nerve to pick up his fork with his other hand to resume his meal. you almost go into a panic when your waitress comes over and asks if you and kyle are okay and was the food cooked to your liking.

“we’re fine, the food is delicious,” you say, your voice a little higher in pitch. and you’re praying to whatever god that chooses to listen, that your waitress doesn’t notice anything. you gently shove a forkful of food in your mouth to keep from moaning like a whore in that lady’s face.

when your eyes cut over to kyle once she leaves, he’s fucking smirking at you. “good girl,” he coos as he pinches your clit.

the waves of pleasure that consumes you while he toys with your clit would have had you careening into your dinner plates, if you weren’t gripping the edge of the table. kyle was a goddamn menace and you were at his mercy. because you’re far too composed for kyle’s liking, he speeds up his movements. he wants to see you fall apart in the middle of this restaurant. this was crazy, insane. your poor pussy has a mind of its own as it responds to kyle in the way he likes. when you start to feel that familiar sensation building, you have to brace yourself. you bow your head and press your lips together tightly as soon as the pleasure spikes and your orgasm crashes into you.

you’re only vaguely aware of kyle stroking your thigh with his sticky fingers as he tells you how you did good and how he’ll let you cum on his cock when you get home.

when you can finally breathe again, kyle shoves a cool glass of water into your hands, telling you to drink up.

“was it good for you, lovie? because it was definitely good for me.”

the only thing you can do while kyle licks your slick off his fingers, is stare in shock.

a/n: hiii 😁

[makuzume]

Toge Accidentally Uses His Cursed Speech on You [SMAU + Story]

🔅Content: angst, injury, s2 spoilers, gn! reader, implied relationship, mentions of death (civilians), slight cursing, Shibuya trauma

🔅Synopsis: After the events of the Shibuya Incident, you haven't heard from Toge ever since. You decided to go to him but the both of you get into an arguement and out of frustration... he spoke.

🔅a/n: This is essentially a "PART 2." Read [Texting Them During the Shibuya Incident] for better context and setting the mood

🔅Toge Inumaki🔅

🔅Word Count: 3.3K words

....

You jumped off of the stone wall, trying to gently land over some of bushes, trying your best to absorb most the shock onto your healed leg. However, the pouring rain caused the soil beneathe you to turn into wet mud, causing you to lose your balance and immediately slip upon landing.

You slightly winced, hurt as your whole body fell further into the ground, failing to protect your broken leg from receiving zero pain.

'I deserved that' you thought to yourself. Afterall, there was no one else to blame this accident on other than you.

You came here on your own accord, jumping over a wall no one told you to, who else would have been responsible? 'Maybe Toge, if only he had sent just one text message explaining himself', you thought to yourself in your defense. But still, you honestly can't bring yourself to blame him, afterall, you figured he's been going through so much right now.

From the window, Toge saw your failed attempt at a perfect landing, and without a second thought, he quickly stood up and put on his robe, immediately hurrying to tie the knot closed, rushing to get to you.

Instinctively, he went to reach for both strings of the robe, but it was only when he couldn't feel the soft, towel-like strips of one of fabrics did a sudden realization hit him:

His arm. He only had one arm now.

It was another instance for him to be reminded that he had lost a part of his body: a horrible mark of the events in Shibuya, a memory of all the lives he wasn't able to save, a reminder of all the friends he had failed to protect....

A sickening darkness grew at the pit of his stomach once more as he recalled all those horrible memories.... it was the same awful feeling he'd been experiencing these past few days while he was all alone, trapped in his room, and never even having a second's worth of peace.

Shaking his head, he pushed away those thoughts for the time being and just let the robe loosly hang over him, his only arm going inside one of the sleeves.

Toge was still not used to how to maneauver his body right now, so much so that he still has to even remind himself from time to time about the new state of his physical appearance.

He hurried out of his room and into the garden, little splashes from the puddles staining his legs on the way. When he reached you, you open your eyes, taking your attention off of the pain you felt in your leg to find Toge hovering over you.

Surprised you were when you first laid eyes on him. He was wearing his robe open to you, allowing it to show all the dark bruises, scars, and thick bandages covering his bare upper torso. It was a painful sight to see.

Other than the appearance of his physical condition, he looked awful, emotionally. The bags under his eyes becoming evidence for his lack of sleep while his pupils showed a loss of light in them. His expression was exhausted, and his aura was different- not like the usual playful and relaxed Toge you once knew.

Seeing him as he stood in front of you now.... it felt like he was a different person, and you were taken aback for a moment because of it.

"...Mustard leaf?" His voice was dry and his tone low- more empty of life.... but he still somehow manage to speak with just a bit of genuine concern as his eyebrows expressed slight hints of sadness and worry.

His form slowly crouched down, mildly struggling to bend downward himself from all the injuries he had on his side.

Using his only arm and his body as a support for you, he helped you stand up. You were able to feel him struggle slightly, Toge's body slightly more unsteady and frail as the both of you walked- His breath quietly quivering with each step, and he would take a sharp inhale of air every time you leaned just a little too much on him as he helped carry you over to the nearest gazeebo.

You felt bad for making him lift you... for making him drenched along with you.

Regardless, even if you refused, no way would Toge leave you alone in the rain, all sad and pitiful.

Despite the fact that he had been ignoring you for days, his actions now had served as a reminder that he did in fact still cared about you, you took note.

Yes, there had been a bit of akward tension with the current situation the both of you were in, but he would never even dare of becoming so uncaring and hurt your feelings to do anything like that

...right?

Toge was trying to carefully set your body down on one of the benches, mildly challenged as he did so while keeping his gaze low.

Perhaps he was embarassed that he's not used to maneuvering around with a missing arm just yet, or he's embarassed at the fact you came all this way and somehow endded up getting hurt just because he never replied to you.

You felt small stinging sensations underneathe your cast as you were as you gently settle on your seat, slighthly gripping your fist to hold back the pain you felt in your right leg.

You spoke up, a bit embarassed "... sorry... for making you come out like this..." A quiet moment passed before he responded by shaking his head gently, lightly waving off his hand as he gestured a polite 'don't mind it'.

It was silent, only the sounds emitting noise being the rain hitting the soil and the droplets trippling the roof above you.

"Salmon roe." Softly, he spoke, and you slowly drove your gaze towards him, his eyes looking at you seriously. With slow movements, he gently gestured towards the house, then towards the garage, then at you. Your eyes furrow at the action, understanding what he wanted to comunicate despite lacking the use of words.

"...No, I don't want to be taken back to the school after a shower." You said quietly, a slightly stubborn attitude taking over as you look away in disagreement. But this wasn't a good time to argue. He absolutely wasn't in the mood to bicker and wanted to get away from anything and everything stressful adding to his plate.

He gestured again to the house, then at the garage but a bit more sternly, to which you reply a cold hard refusal.

"...No." in an equally stern attitude, you stated, a slight glimpse of sorrow seeping through your voice as you look down "....I'm not going."

Toge showed hints of frustration, his expression a bit more irritated but also trying his best to retain his composure towards you, but his emotions were beginning to get the best of him once more.

It wasn't like Toge at all: Toge who was always so patient and calm... what exactly changed him since Shibuya? One can't help but wonder what were all the things a person had seen to make him act so different.

"Toge. Look at you. You were already gone for DAYS and not talking to ANYBODY" You gestured towards his body then at his face worriedly "You're thinner and lost the hope you had in your eyes... what happened to you..? What did you see...?" You spoke with worry. "it's scary to think what else you're going through while you coop yourself up in that room by yourself...."

He remained quiet, understanding where you're coming from.

It did make him feel a bit bad, suddenly leaving everyone to find out for themselves what was happening to him. But he figured that everyone was probably having their own mental breakdowns during this time as well, so maybe they need some time to process it too-... or that's what he wanted to believe the case to be.

In truth, he just wanted to rot and drown in his own suffering alone.

You were his best possible source of comfort, and he never even given himself the choice to be consoled by you. In fact, you were the last person he wanted to be with right now.

He didn't deserve your affectionate gazes, your gentle touches, your soft voice, your reassuring words... he knew you would be the gateway to end his suffering... but that's the thing, he refused this comfort willingly, he doesn't want this depressing feleing to end.

Toge let himself sulk in his own misery, torturing himself. All because he believes he deserves it.

"Toge, I know it's just horrible, everything. It's absolute bullshit.. But I hope staying quiet here for days had given you the time you needed to be by yourself.... staying alone in your room any longer might do more damage to you than you think."

You were right, he thought. But it didn't matter to him.

He wanted to drown in suffering, hoping one day he may never wake up from it.

But that would mean escaping his own sins- so he always found himself needing to take back what he said mentally, remembering to endure the twisted thoughts seeping into his mind.

"Toge... I saw their bodies too... some of them, at least... When they took some of them back to the hospital... Our friends..." your voice spoke weakly, almost as if it was about to break as you lightly tremble.

You weren't there, and you felt bad about it. The most you could've done was helping in treating the survivors with your amateur use of Reversed Curse Technique while listening to their horrific experiences.

"... I can't unsee it... though... it made me think about you... I can't ever imagine what it must've been like for you in there." With a shakey breath, you whispered, trying to even comprehend the scenes he must've witness or the weight of responsibility Toge must be pinning on himself.

Suddenly, a wave of flashing images enter Toge's mind as if a slideshow started playing. The memories were accompanied by the same sinking and gut wretching feeling he had during that night, the same feeling he thought he was able to surpress well enough these past few days for it to never re-emerge again.

You lifted your head towards him, a knowing look and spoke with s worried tone. "Toge... whatever happened to the civilians in Shibuya was not your fault."

Your sudden choice of words had taken him aback.

'You heard what happened?' He first thought to himself, but then an immediate tightness was present in his chest and his breath had gotten caught in his throat.

'That's wrong.'

'It was my fault.'

'I led them there.'

'All the civilian's deaths were because I led them there. All of them.'

He didn't want you to know, he prayed you wouldn't find out.

There was so much shame that he felt whenever he would remember that he was the cause for leading so many people to their deaths.

He felt so much shame that he couldn't even dare face you, which was another reason why he's been pushing you away for days on end.

"...I can't imagine what you must've felt, but I know it was horrible." You said, speaking with such a pained and concerned voice.

You understood how this might've made Toge feel, and you knew he would be blaming himself for all the unpredictable deaths of those innocent lives that were caught up in Sukuna's attack... which is why you made the effort to be there for him.

"...n..."

His voice hitched quietly, his mind whispering for you to stop. His breathing got heavier as if the air suddenly thickened; His jaw lightly trembling as he remembered.

Everything else around him becoming mere background noise to him, his awareness to his surroundingsfading. He couldn't think straight.

You noticed his sudden shift in behavior, his previous stoic and serious demeanor disappearing. His body was tensed and his expression stiff, terrified even.

"....s...to..."

It was barely audible, and all you could hear was a low and shakey grunt.

"What...?" Was all you could reply, unable to hear his quiet whispers.

"....n...o."

Once more, he silently whispered.

Concerned, you slowly began reaching for him, ever so gently touching his arm with the tips of your fingers to ease him, to ease his nerves, however, it only did quite the opposite.

At the moment, he only felt your touch, every other one of his senses drowning into nothigness. The moment your hand glazed the skin of his arm, the memories suddenly flooded his mind. The deaths of civillians, the transfigurations, the sorcerers getting killed... It was all too much for him. Too much.

Overwhelmed, he did the unthinkable. Suddenly...

"G..."

He spoke.

"..GET AWAY FROM ME" Toge yelled, quickly retracting his arm away from you by instinct.

With that being said, the curse fulfilled the command.

The next thing you knew, you felt yourself harshly sent flying from one end to the other, across the entire backyard of the clan's abode.

It didn't feel like it was just a gust of wind like you had imagined, no. It felt like suddenly being struck by a train at high speed or hitting the concrete after falling from a building the second the curse was activated.

Toge's eyes widened and immediately snapped towards your direction when he heard the sound of your voice screaming as you were being thrown.

It didn't help that your instincts came at the worst possible time. In a pitiful attempt to lessen the impact of the fall, you allowed your body to make use of its training, instinctively posing the way you were always taught to land while sparring with Maki and the others.

Though you forgot to take into consideration the handicap you had at the moment, and unfortunately for you, your feet would need to be the first to hit the ground with the stance you thought could protect you best.

It was a big mistake- The fall absorbed all the shock which injected itself onto your already broken leg.

You released a scream, but you still couldn't stop the landing just yet. As the force of the throw continued to push you forward, you end up rolling for a few more meters before abruptly hitting the wall on the other side of the garden. Your senses numbed for a moment and your vision blurred; Your mind was disoriented, but your heart was crushed.

It was fucked, your leg, that's what you were sure of. Not even your level of healing could save this one, bitterly you thought as you tried your best to use your reverse cursed technique to at least lessen the pain.

Shock overwhelmed Toge- it would've had him frozen in place but his insticts made him disregard all his negative thoughts and sprint towards you faster than he had the time to even register what had just happened.

Once he reached you, he quickly crouched down, not caring about the pain he felt as he did so, observing your current state, his mind clouded with shame.

He hated himself. Every fiber of his being hated himself for hurting you. He felt disgusted over his cursed speech for ever doing this to someone as kind, understanding, and loving as you.

Everything Toge had ever feared to do... ever since he was young....

He let this happen again... to someone he loved.

For a moment, Toge was a bit relieved to see you still able to move... but the overpowering amount of guilt still filled him to the core.

He wanted to call out your name, but stopped himself for a second as he took the time to think if it was a 'safe word' to say that wouldn't activate his curse again. Afterall, he's already done so much damage of using it just once on you.

"Y-.... y/...n...." anxiously and hoarsly he spoke, his voice low, unsure on how to approach the situation.

With his hand reaching out to you, hesitantly he spoke again "...y/n."

Very slightly, your body gently back away from his reach, a sign he immediately took to back away from you: You didn't want him to get near you. Were you scared of him? Did you hate him? Had he broken your trust?

As your mind began to defog, you sat up slowly, bit by bit regaining more of your vision again. The pain was slowly seeing in more to your broken leg as you gripped the upper part of your cast, grinding your teeth, and silently trembling. Toge could only watch in horror as he takes a few seconds to reflect on his own actions.

You were quiet. Extremely quiet. He hated it. Why aren't you yelling at him? Cursing at him? What were you thinking? How hurt are you? The only sound being the drops of rain hitting the ground as you looked down with a look of disappointment visible in your expression, slowly regaining your composure.

With a heavy sigh to calm your uneven breath, you spoke "... I know you're hurting... I am too... but the last person I thought that could ever hurt me.... was you." You spoke quietly and slowly, your head low and your voice dejected, still gripping on your leg as your breath further turned uneven.

"y/n.... I..." He immediately paused again, stopping himself from even risking the accidental use of his speech again. He hurriedly tried to take his phone, rummaging through his pants as his hand trembled, but before he could even begin typing what he wanted to say to you, you weakly raised your hand, stopping him.

"I shouldn't have pushed you." You looked at him as your eyes had small pools of droplets resting at the lids of your eyes- droplets he knew were not because of the rain. Your caring, gentle, and soft gaze fading, just like how he felt your trust in him starting to disipitate

You made a few attempts to stand up slowly, failing miserably each time as Toge had his hand hover over you, wanting to assist you but respecting the boundaries you had just put up.

It still hurt though, pretty bad. But honestly what hurt most was not the fact you were thrown across an entire backyard, but because Toge had used his curse on you.

Falling onto the ground again after another failed attempt at standing up, he reached for you, but pulled back the last second- afraid to hurt or even scare you.

A second of panic passed before he gestured towards the house and signals you to wait.

He hurriedly run inside to call someone else to assist you. It took only less than a minute for him to find someone to hurriedly run back into the garden with him, and once outside, he immediately looked over to where he last left you only to find no one.

You were gone.

Confused and panicked, he immediately began searching the area, calling your name while his body was numbing all the pain he was having from all the movements he was making right now.

"y/n..." He called out to you, his tone sounding slightly beggining to sound desperate "y/n...!" With a little more volume, Toge yelled.

He wanted to talk to you, help you, at least aid you and get you dressed before sending you a car ride home if you didn't want to see him right now.

In the streets, he looked left and right for any clues that you might've left as he was mentally cursing himself for letting you leave the place in such a state.

He curses himself under his breath. Oh how he wished that he could have been actually affected by it, for he deserved it.

Immediately, he brought out his phone, opened your contact, and quickly stared tapping on the keyboard.

y/n

pls

wait

waiy pls

come back

i didnt meanm it

promisr to god i dindtt mean what ibsaid

i didnt menan to spoeak

i didnt mean to say sanythjng to you

im sorry

im so sorry

it was my failt im so sorry come back

im sorry i hurt you

if u dont want tk talk to me plesase let me get someone to take you home ols

please

im so sorry

---///-----///-----///-----///-----///-----///-----///---

THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING PROMPT I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE THIS BUT IT WAS TIME TO TAKE MATTERS INTO MY OWN HANDS

Next Part: They fix it, they don't, or it never gets a third part who knows where the tides will take me🫡

[Honestly felt like I lost my touch in writing long fics ever since the last one I wrote </3 the writing is not giving much for me. I need to work on my craft again :')]

[Overall Masterlist] [Back to JJK Masterlist]

Tags list: @zhenyuuu @megumisdivinedogs

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 36.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

the intercom signal was activated, and on the screen installed in the kitchen of serim's apartment, you could see karina and her manager carrying some bags. the resident of the place took a large amount of air and let it out slowly, trying to calm herself instead of succumbing to the stress she was feeling. she approached the device and pressed the button that opened the entrance door to the building. she leaned against the kitchen counter as she waited for the knock on the door to indicate that they had arrived and a few minutes later, she heard it.

serim walked to the entrance of her apartment and opened the door, revealing her co-worker and her companion. she stepped aside without saying anything, giving them way.

"why on earth do you have so many plants?" the aespa leader screeched in a high-pitched, stressed tone, as she dropped her belongings to the floor after taking an overall look at the place.

"now are you also going to be bothered by what i have in my own house?" serim furrowed her eyebrows in frustration.

"this is not a house, it's a jungle." karina refuted, glancing at her with an exhausted and serious face.

the eldest crossed her arms, remaining silent as she considered the atmosphere too delicate to start an argument. karina quickly turned to talk to her manager, who finally ended up saying goodbye, leaving her with the instruction to call if she needed anything.

"so..." the newcomer spoke again once the door behind her closed, leaving the two musicians alone in the room. "do you have beds here or do you sleep on a huge leaf?" she asked, laden with sarcasm but showing no emotion on her face.

"come." serim ordered, exhausted, and moved ahead of the guest.

karina bent down, ready to grab the backpacks of clothes she had brought. there weren't many, since she didn't expect to spend much time there, but they were still enough to require two trips, which she didn't feel like making. she planned to take all her things and improvise a way to get them to the room.

however, before she could take anything, serim's hands entered her field of vision and took three of the bags she had brought, leaving only one for her to carry. she didn't say a word about it and turned to continue leading the way. karina watched her walk away with a curious expression but dismissed it and took her clothes to follow her into a hallway and then to the end of it, where there were three doors.

"that's the closet of various garbage." serim pointed to the end of the path, the far wall. "this is a bathroom," she pointed to the door on the left, "and the guest room," she put her hand on the door on their right, "or, now, your room." she corrected.

"and where do you sleep?" karina asked, confused as she received no instructions about the master bedroom.

"on a leaf among the palm trees." serim quipped with a sour tone, earning a glare from karina.

serim entered the guest room with karina close behind and proceeded to leave her things on the bed. the youngest scanned around the place with her eyes. it looked comfortable. it was definitely spacious, bigger than her dorm room, though not as cozy. she understood at that moment that when it was time to move out, she would use her money on an apartment with rooms as large as serim's, just to fill them with decoration, which this one lacked. there was a television and a wardrobe in which she knew that if she had brought all of her garments, she would not have been able to store them. apart from that, there were only a few plants and a large window overlooking the urbanization.

it was a convenient refuge from having to cross paths with serim all the time.

"you already saw the kitchen and the living room. to go to my room, just go through the hallway next to the kitchen, it is the first door you will find." serim spoke seriously, a facet she didn't use often. "listen, karina," she rested her arm on the entrance frame, leaning her weight on it. "i'm sorry for all this." they looked at each other sympathetically. "i didn't imagine it could get to this point, but don't stress. we spend most of the time working. you'll see, it will pass quickly, and you won't even be here that much."

"serim, you don’t need to say all this." the dancer turned her back to start arranging her stuff. "it's like you said, we have to do what the company says."

"alright." the singer dropped her head, dejected. "i'll be in my room. the living is all yours in case you want to… cry while watching cartoons." karina looked at her indignantly. "if you have any questions or need whatever, look for me." she stood up, ready to leave. "oh, and i’m sorry your boyfriend is an idiot." she finished and then disappeared.

the younger woman continued to scatter her belongings across the bed while she wandered around the newly discovered place, finding spots to put them. she couldn't help but feel desperate seeing her most everyday objects in a place other than where they were assigned in her bedroom.

hiding her intimate diary in another drawer, placing the stuffed animal she slept with every night on another pillow.

it all felt disorienting. she couldn't stand the feeling of lack of control over her own life that she had been experiencing for the past month. she felt like a character in some video game, given commands that she inevitably had to carry out, even if they were a sequence of errors that would end in the early termination of the game.

she could feel tears beginning to wet her cheeks as she folded one of her pajamas. the tears turned into uncontrolled sobbing as she put away the third one. even though she had a storm of emotions inside her, she didn't stop, she didn't give herself a moment to deal with it.

"listen." serim's voice filled the room unexpectedly, and karina ran her hand over her face, wiping away as much of her cry as she could so she could look at her. even if she wanted to hide it, she couldn't. her red, swollen eyes and the sheen of her skin, still somewhat damp, gave her away.

"would you like me to cook you something?" she assumed that she was not the person with whom she would open up about her feelings, therefore decided to not question her cathartic state.

"there's no need." the younger shook her head.

"i cook really well." assured.

"serim," the girl called her, the connotation of her tone indicating she didn't want her to insist.

"i'll prepare something for you." the owner of the apartment ignored her plaintive state. "i'll tell you when it’s ready," she warned, with a happier spirit, trying to lift the mood.

(!)

— taglist [OPEN]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @haerinsloverr @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @lovemariana @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo

[ranpoesgirl]

HOME IS WHEREVER I’M WITH YOU— CHUUYA N.

— synopsis; 15!Chuuya who invites you over because he isn’t ‘comfortable’ in his large apartment…

— a/n; not the best but I tried— the idea was way better than the final results.. ((could be considered as a second part of this

Chuuya had never been used to the term ‘home’. It was always ‘base’ or ‘hideout’ but never a place he could enter without expecting the worst. It was always a temporary place for him and the sheep to rest before the sunrises.

The first time he held the keys of his apartment, he felt lightheaded, disgusted and took heavy breaths remembering a silent promise made by him and the sheep to stay together once they were finally free from their trapped lives.

Stepping foot into the large furnished apartment felt wrong, each step felt heavy and unwanted.

He had many life skills, yet couldn’t being himself to use his home for even the most basic necessities as to cook himself when he’s starving, when he tries, he can’t bare swallowing it…

“Chuuya!”

He heard his name being called out tenderly, as though his body recognized the voice before his thoughts could, he turned his heel and walked towards you.

“You look awful,” you tilt your head curiously looking at his slightly disheveled hair that didn’t match his eye bags as he grumbled at your words.

“Good morning to you too,” your name spat out his mouth with venom making you cringe at his forced greeting.

You try to fix his hair by brushing it out of his face but he immediately stepped back glaring at you, “I mean it, you look restless… and that’s a big deal coming from you,”

You were right, it was a big deal.

His body was used to staying up for days and weeks, maybe even months. After all, he always used to stay alert while the sheep rested in peace.

“Were you getting enough sleep, Chuuya?”

And once again, you called him back to his attention with genuine care in your voice, one that you shouldn’t need to show him.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping, not used to living alone in a unnecessary large apartment.” He gave you a simple firm answer.

And this was your chance to tell him to sleep early, or taking sleeping pills, or maybe even recommend him with some weird asmr—

“Would you like company?”

…

“Do you hear yourself?”, you huffed at his response, “I was just offering a solution,”

He groaned in exhaustion pushing his hair back, he didn’t have neither the energy or the time to put into your shenanigans…

Maybe it was because of how exhausted he was, maybe it was his body’s desperate plea for rest, but you were now twirling the keys to his house as he held onto a tote bag with your ‘essentials’ as you put it.

He could feel his eyes twitch in irritation when you struggle to put the key in the hole and turn it, he began regretting his choices, he truly did.

Finally opening it, you entered the place taking a look around the empty walls decorated with unpleasant abstract artwork that probably costs thousands, the halls so bare and empty, a splash of water would make it interesting.

“There is an extra room opposite to the living room, you can use that as a guest bedroom, but there is only one bathroom, you could borrow my shampoo and—

“I’ve bought my own.” You pull your tote bag out of his grasp as you hastily removed your shoes at the shoe stand and walk over to the bathroom.

“Of course, you have…” he grumbled.

You placed your necessities on the sink and shower before walking over to the room and opening the door to only toss your bag on the bed before closing it behind you.

“Tired? Or do you want to waste some energy?” You ask him from a distance as I crashed onto his couch. He thought for a bit before shrugging his shoulders, “I’m going to bed, stay up all you want.”

And with that, he left to his room while you binge watched whatever was on the large tv screen…

Chuuya didn’t want to admit it… he really didn’t.

But he managed to fall asleep.

Sure, it took awhile and it wasn’t a lot but it was nonetheless, the rest he needed to function.

He walked out of his room with a pair of fresh clothes to freshen up in the bathroom when he caught sight of the tv still on and displaying ‘are you still watching?’.

He walked over annoyed by the fact you didn’t bother turning it off but when he went to reach the remote, he heard soft breaths from… you.

You fell asleep on the couch…

He didn’t bother waking you up, he instead wrote a sticky note informing you about his absence in the house.

He contemplated leaving a few yen notes for you to go have breakfast but ultimately decided to write down a restaurant name and telling you to go to and put the meal under his tab.

Everything felt lighter on his shoulders, his neck was no longer tight, eyes didn’t look like he had 10 packs of Red Bull in one go.

But as he unlocked the door to his apartment, he was scared on what to say to you. Should he inform you that your presence helped? Should he ask you to continue to stay? What if you decide your job is done and leave?

“Chuuya, welcome home!”

His breath hitched at the soft call of his name welcoming him to his own home, he felt sick… he was not happy with how his heart fluttered at those words…

“…what’s that?”, he drew his attention to the bouquet of flowers in a glass vase in the middle of the table.

“The flowers? Do you not like them?”, your tone held a sad grimace which gave him a jolt.

“I never said that…” he whispered in a hushed sense of guilt as he felt the soft petals in contrast to his rough hands.

Lilies and Gladiolus…

He quickly snapped out of his thoughts and looked up at kitchen, a cabinet open displaying flour and other items in jars and packaging.

Walking over to open the fridge, he found a new gallon of milk, and other dairy items, a few condiments even.

His eyes softened as the corner of his lips turned as much as he tried not to, “hey, would you mind staying for a while..?”

You woke up in your room and laid there for a while before finally getting up to head to the bathroom.

In there you found chuuya wiping his face with a white towel, you tried greeting him but you were too groggy to the point you sounded like a turtle out of sea.

You heard him laugh in a low tone from his throat, waking you up in surprise that he sounded like that. He seemed to notice your attention on it as well.

“morning voice..” he mumbled in that exact tone, you felt blood rush to your face when he spoke once again.

You noticed his startled face so you went back to brushing your teeth. He stared at you from the mirror for a bit before leaving, he put a palm on his face as he felt it face heat up.

This felt way too domestic…

It became a routine, the both of you would wake up, get ready for the morning, he’d cook breakfast, go to work, eat lunch at the restaurant, come home together, he’d cook dinner as you cleaned the house, and repeat cycle.

All for Chuuya to be able to get comfortable in his home and have a good night sleep…

The truth is, he managed to do so with a week of your presence, but he couldn’t let go of the feeling of coming home to you, or coming home with you…

And tonight when you didn’t come home he bombarded you with calls and messages, yet no response. He was worried, so he decided to call your colleague, and he got a response.

“Could you not sleep alone for the night?”

He hung up.

He sat on his bed in silence before realizing what happened, he quickly sent a text telling you it was alright and he was just checking so that he doesn’t have to stay up all night so that he could unlock the front door for you.

Knowing he’d gladly stay up all night once again if it were for you…

He slumped onto the bed trying to fall asleep, and to his disappointment that he actually fell asleep without you, he woke up and continued his routine, this time without you.

He hated how addicted he became to you…

The following days, seeing you in the halls of the port mafia felt awful, seeing how the both of you did completely fine without the need for each other’s presence— sure, he didn’t need it but he knew he was the only one who wanted it.

As much as he didn’t like the thought, he sucked it up and continued to be beside you like how you were before all of this, he doesn’t want to blame you for his unnecessary childish wants.

So like any other day, he finally poured the rice into the rice cooker before going to clean up the mess on the counter tops until his door bell rang.

Chuuya sighed irritated at the thought of seeing his landlord at 11:45 in the night but still went to open the door to only see you.

He did not like how much his chest lightened and heart fluttered.

“What are you doing here.” He did not mean for his voice to sound as stern and agitated as it did but the way you flinched was enough to make him retract.

“No, no, I meant, what do you want— no, that’s— what is— fuck…! Just… just come in…”

You blinked before letting out a laugh, as you entered, “sorry, I just came back from a mission and I simply missed you…”

His heart squeezed at the thought of him on your mind alone, band in a desperate attempt to forget it, “sit, I’ll put you some rice,”

And once again, he was back with you, eating at the dinner table with a vase of lilies and gladioluses in the middle.

After dinner, you went to your room, he thought that was the end of it but the sound of shuffling made him turn around to see you dragging your blanket and pillows to the couch.

“…what’re you doing?”, he asked you curiously as you turned on the tv before waving your hand at him to come over.

He does as you want and takes a seat beside you, he was caught off guard when you began wrapping the blanket around the both of you.

As you rest your head onto his side while whatever you chose played in the background but it was all muffled, the only thing he could hear was the light breaths from you.

He took in your scent as he let you rest on him before whispering into nothing.

“You make my house a home…”

[jinwoosungs]

{ 174 }

lover is a day.

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ time changed, we're different | but my mind still says redundant things | can i not think? | will you love this part of me? | my lover is a day i can't forget… }

there were many different sides to sung jinwoo that he kept hidden from you, his lover.

things may have seemed perfect and happy for him on the surface, with him putting on a façade that he enjoyed his newly obtained powers and was grateful for the system’s presence in his life.

in the world’s eye, he was a celebrity; a hero meant to be worshipped as he takes on various gates for the sake of protecting others-

yet no one would ever know that deep down, he was still the scared and helpless e-rank hunter who lacked the confidence to truly shoulder such burdens. memories of his beaten and bruised body would resurface at the most inopportune times during one of his many raids, making his movements falter for the slightest moment before he wills himself to bury such self-deprecating thoughts, forcing himself to keep fighting.

never once had jinwoo been given the chance to cry and let out his emotions, yet still, he didn’t wish to burden those he loved with his anxieties.

and of course, you were none the wiser.

being a healer who stood by his side during a handful of missions, he had developed a fascination and fondness with you back when you worked as his healer during some low-level raids. he recalls developing the biggest crush on you, yet never once did he try to act on his feelings for you.

his own lack of confidence made him avoid ever speaking to you, forcing the usual, pre-awakened jinwoo to simply admire you from afar. only with his reawakened self (made stronger and more desirable due to the system) was what pushes jinwoo’s confidence in the right direction as he immediately sought your presence and asked you out.

from your shocked expression, it was clear that you didn’t recognize him (making jinwoo feel grateful for that fact) as you happily accepted his invite to dinner. it took all of the willpower jinwoo had to stop himself from grinning like a fool during the entire date, playing the role of the perfect gentleman that solely sought to woo you with his charms-

and after that first date, the rest was history.

jinwoo uses his feelings of love and adoration for you to hide his own anxieties and push back his true self to the furthest corners of his mind. never once did he want you to realize who he truly was, for he was certain that if you ever knew the truth of his identity-

then you would reject him.

not only was he keeping up his persona as being the world’s strongest for the mere public eye, but for you as well.

regardless of how hard it was to not tell you of his anxieties and how they manifested into panic attacks that would last for hours upon end-

he would not burden the one he loved the most with such meddlesome emotions.

ah… but… jinwoo should have realized that it was far too dangerous to keep his every emotion locked within the depths of his heart.

jinwoo was always too weak to shoulder the burden on his own-

he should have seen his breaking point coming from a mile away.

on this particularly night, jinwoo opens his eyes with a gasp. a sharp pain felt against his chest awakens him with a start, his mind replaying the memory of the double dungeons plaguing his mind. jinwoo swore he could still feel the large claymore piercing through his chest and cutting through his heart like butter. a sob threatens to wrack through his body, but he manages to bite down on his hand, choking back the sound as he watches your peaceful form still in a deep sleep.

jinwoo practically crawls out of bed, making a run for the restroom as he dry heaved into the toilet, tasting the bitterness of the bile settled in his throat. tears fell down his eyes while his whole body trembles in response, the vertigo, nausea, and pounding headache mixing together into an almost deadly cocktail that nearly destroys him.

you’re pathetic.

can you truly be the s-rank hunter that the world looks up to?

nothing about you has changed!

even if you level up, you’re still weakweakweakweak-

“jinwoo.”

like a beam of light, his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your kind voice calling out to him. you press a kiss against his broad back and gently help him back up to his feet.

still in a bit of a haze, he watches you flush the toilet before returning to his side, your expression never once filled with disgust or shame for him. he softly calls out your name, but could do little than follow you back into the room.

you gently coax him into getting back into bed, spreading out the covers for him. as if his body was running on autopilot, he gets into bed without a single sound of protest. only when he was laid comfortably back against the plush pillows did you tuck him in.

“i’ll get you an ice cold glass of water, so you just wait for me, okay?”

“okay…” jinwoo whispers back to you, eyes filled with his unspoken words of love and devotion to you. you smile and press one more kiss against his forehead before heading out into the kitchen.

you were gone for a mere second when jinwoo became restless. the hunter’s legs itched with the desire to follow you; to somehow latch on to your comforting presence as he felt his heart began to race in a bit of a panicked manner. before he could even jump out of bed to join you, you returned to him with a tall glass of water.

you help him sit up and place the cold glass against his parted lips, watching as he eagerly drank the refreshing beverage with a loving smile. jinwoo ends up draining the glass within seconds, making you giggle as you place the emptied glass on the nightstand before returning to your side of the bed.

instead of going back to sleep like jinwoo expected you to, you end up scooting your body closer to him, wrapping your arms around his larger frame. with a hum of his name, you place jinwoo’s face directly against your chest all while drawing comforting circles against his back.

“you don’t have to tell me everything if you’re not ready… i just needed to come clean to you so that you won’t suffer in silence anymore.”

“hm…? sarang, what do you mean?”

you remain quiet for a few beats, pressing a kiss against his hair before admitting to him. “i remember you, back when you were still the weakest in the world.”

your confession makes jinwoo stiffen in response, but you immediately calmed him down by pressing yet another lingering kiss against his forehead.

“this doesn’t change my feelings for you… in fact, i felt a bit hurt that you would hide such a thing from me.”

jinwoo felt the tears dot his vision, shakily telling you, “i-i’m sorry, so so sorry…!”

you shake your head and gently place a kiss against his cheek, “no no no, don’t apologize. it’s just… i’m so upset that i never called you out on this sooner. i made you feel like you couldn’t tell me anything; i made you feel like i could only love you only if you maintained a certain personality with conditions you believed i had for you.”

he was taken aback by the sincerity of your words, finally meeting your gaze with an expression of hope. your eyes were shining with unshed tears as you rested your head against his, “i’m sorry. i didn’t wish to come off that way. i was just hoping to get closer to you; close enough so that you could trust me and tell me yourself-“

jinwoo couldn’t stand the thought of you taking the blame for his own insecurities, making him shake his head as he leaned in to press a kiss against your lips. “oh no, my love… you are my heart and soul; you had nothing to do with this. it was my own insecurities and decision that lead me to… to keeping everything bottled up.”

you give him a tearful smile, giving him another kiss before murmuring against his lips, “but it was my fault for waiting for so long… and i never wish for you to face your demons all by yourself ever again.”

jinwoo’s breath hitches in response to your words, and he allows you to carefully lay him back in bed with you. your hands were pressed against his chest in a comforting manner, and you lean in to press a kiss against his beating heart before cuddling closer to him with your arms wrapped around his back.

silence was felt permeating at the air for several seconds before jinwoo finally spoke in hushed tones. “i feel like i haven’t changed at all.”

you keep quiet, simply tightening your arms around him, silently beckoning him to continue.

“even with my newly obtained strength… i know i’m not the strongest… and that terrifies me… you don’t know how afraid i am of losing those that mean the most to me… of losing my mom and little sister- of losing you.”

jinwoo lets out a shaky breath, somehow feeling his heart become the tiniest bit lighter once he let out all his anxious thoughts to you. “but… admitting this fear to you right here and right now, i realize that i am now filled with a newfound determination to become stronger. i… despite how anxious i still feel… just… just feeling your warmth surrounding me makes me feel like i can do anything. that despite how i’m still the same sung jinwoo on the inside-

that doesn’t mean i can’t become stronger to continue to protect those that matter the most to me.”

you give him a loving smile, pressing another kiss against his forehead. “and you can count on me to be with you every step of the way.”

jinwoo was finally able to laugh again, feeling his dark thoughts disappear into thin air, meeting your gaze as he leans up to properly kiss you. knowing that he felt much better now, you ease jinwoo back into bed, giggling when you heard him let out a yawn before hiding his face within your chest.

“goodnight, my beloved jinwoo.”

“goodnight… to you, the absolute love of my life.”

feeling a newfound strength beginning to grow from within him, jinwoo was finally able to fall into a peaceful slumber void of any nightmares and dark memories…

a.n. - the webcomic doesn’t do a good job showing the lingering anxieties jinwoo must still have, and i wanted to explore that side of him and write a comfort fic for him 🥹 he needs someone like the reader to keep him grounded; to keep as a reminder that he is always loved and doesn’t have to shoulder the burden on his own.

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[elia-the-bibliophile]

Stomach Bug (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Fluff Word count: 1,4k

Max hardly ever gets sick, but when he does, he turns into a complete drama king.

Y/N stepped into the apartment, immediately enveloped by an unsettling darkness. The silence was even more disturbing; the usual hum and glow from Max's sim racing setup were conspicuously absent. Her fingers fumbled for the light switch, fear gripped her heart. When she finally found it, the overhead lights flickered on, casting harsh shadows around the vacant living room.

“Max?” she called out, voice tinged with worry. She received no response, only the quiet pressing back at her. Panic bubbled up, and she hurried through the apartment, her mind racing with possibilities.

In the hallway leading to their bedroom, she tripped over something soft and warm. Looking down, she saw Jimmy and Sassy, their two cats, pacing restlessly. They meowed mournfully, their eyes reflecting the same concern she felt.

With a sense of dread, she pushed open the bedroom door. The room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly against the outside world. The only light came from a small bedside lamp casting a feeble glow over the disarrayed sheets.

On the bed, Max was curled up in a fetal position, his body trembling slightly. His face was buried in his arms, as if shielding himself. A pained groan escaped his lips.

“Max, oh my god, what's wrong?” she whispered, rushing to his side. She knelt on the floor, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was clammy and feverish.

Max flinched at her touch but didn't move away. “It's... it's the end,” he mumbled dramatically, his voice strained and barely audible. “I'm dying, schatje.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Dying? Max, what happened?” her tone firm but filled with concern. She brushed a few strands of hair that are sticking to his forehead, her fingers lingering to check his temperature. He was burning up.

“It's my stomach,” he groaned, shifting slightly to peer at her with one eye, the other still hidden in his arm. “And I have a fever. I'm pretty sure this is it. Tell the team... tell them I fought bravely.”

Y/N couldn't help but roll her eyes at his theatrics. “Max, honey, you have a stomach flu and a fever. You're not dying.”

“This is no ordinary flu,” he moaned, clutching his stomach. “I can feel my organs plotting against me. They're staging a coup!”

Despite her worry, a chuckle escaped her lips. “A coup, really? Let me get you some medicine and water. Have you taken anything yet?”

“No,” he replied, his voice pitiful. “I was too weak to move. I thought I should conserve my energy for my final moments.”

“Your final moments are a bit overdramatic,” she said, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I'll be right back.”

Oh, if only everyone could witness how ridiculously cute Max Verstappen looks when he's under the weather.

Jimmy and Sassy jumped onto the bed, curling up near Max's feet as if trying to offer their own comfort. Their presence seemed to soothe him slightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

Y/N returned with a glass of water and some medicine. “Here, take these,” she instructed, helping him sit up. He took the pills with exaggerated effort, making a face as he swallowed them.

“Ugh, even the medicine tastes like defeat,” he grumbled.

Y/N couldn't help but laugh. “The mighty Max Verstappen, laid low by a stomach bug. The world will mourn.”

He cracked a small, weak smile at her teasing. “Stop it, or I'll vomit just to spite you.”

“You're going to be fine,” she reassured him, peppering a few kisses on the side of his head.“Just rest and let the medicine do its job.”

Max sighed dramatically, closing his eyes. “If I don't make it... remember me as I was. Fast, fearless, and full of life.”

Y/N laughed softly while adjusting his pillow and blanket. “I'll remember you as you are: a dramatic, lovable idiot who will be just fine by morning.”

Max managed a weak smile. “I suppose that's acceptable.”

────────────────────────────────────

Y/N watched Max until his breathing slowed and he finally drifted off to sleep. His dramatic groans and exaggerated expressions faded into peaceful slumber, leaving a quiet calm in the room. She smiled softly before turning her attention to Jimmy and Sassy, who were still perched near Max's feet, their eyes wide and attentive.

“Alright, you two,” Y/N whispered, her tone mock-serious. “I need you to keep an eye on our drama king here while I go make dinner. Think you can handle it?”

Jimmy meowed as if to say, “We got this,” while Sassy flicked her tail, as if acknowledging the weighty responsibility.

Y/N chuckled. “Good. If he wakes up and starts acting like he's on his deathbed again, just give him the 'you're being ridiculous' look. You know the one.”

With one last affectionate glance at Max, she tiptoed out of the bedroom and headed to the kitchen.

As she chopped vegetables, she couldn't help but imagine Jimmy and Sassy as tiny, furry nurses. Jimmy, with a stern expression, patrolling the foot of the bed like a guardian, and Sassy, lounging elegantly, occasionally casting a disapproving glance at Max whenever he stirred or muttered in his sleep.

The thought made her giggle, and she shook her head. “What a day,” she murmured, stirring a pot of carrot soup on the stove.

As she continued cooking, Y/N kept an ear out for any signs of distress from the bedroom. The occasional muffled groan floated down the hallway.

Dinner was almost ready when she heard a particularly loud groan followed by a meow that sounded suspiciously like Jimmy trying to shush Max.

“Looks like my reinforcements are doing their job,” she said with a laugh, pouring the delicious smelling soup into bowls. She added some bread to a plate and carried the tray carefully back to the bedroom.

Entering quietly, she saw that Max was still asleep, albeit with a slightly dramatic frown on his face. Jimmy was curled up by his side, looking very pleased with himself, while Sassy had taken up residence on Max's pillow, one eye half-open in lazy vigilance.

“You two did great,” Y/N whispered, setting the tray down on the bedside table. "Now let's see if we can get him to eat something."

As she gently woke Max, he blinked groggily, his eyes focusing on her. “Schat... what time is it?”

“It's half past eight,” she replied softly.

Max groaned, his face scrunching up in dismay. “Oh no, I was supposed to play padel with Lando, Alex, and the others tonight. I forgot to cancel on them.”

Y/N smiled, shaking her head affectionately. “Don't worry about it. How about I call Lando for you and let him know you're out of commission for the night?”

Even in his sickness, Max managed to give her an incredulous look. “Why do you even bother asking? You can open my phone anytime. You're practically the other half of my brain.”

She laughed, reaching over to the nightstand to grab his phone. “I just like to be polite, you know? Didn't want to intrude on any top-secret racing strategies.”

Max chuckled weakly, then winced as his stomach reminded him of its displeasure. “Trust me, no strategies. Just lots and lots of cat memes.”

Unlocking his phone, Y/N scrolled through his contacts until she found Lando's number. She pressed the call button, holding the phone to her ear while keeping an eye on Max.

After a few rings, Lando's cheerful voice answered, “Max! Where are you, mate?”

“Hi, Lando, it's actually Y/N,” she said. “Max is feeling pretty terrible right now. Stomach flu and a fever.”

“Oh no, poor Max.” Lando replied, his tone immediately concerned. “Is he going to survive, or do we need to send an ambulance?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, groaned dramatically from the bed. “Tell him I'm fighting valiantly but I don't know if I'll make it.”

Y/N relayed the message, rolling her eyes playfully. “He says he's fighting valiantly but might not make it.”

Lando laughed. “Classic Max. Tell him to rest up and we'll catch him next time. And give him our best.”

“Will do, Lando. Thanks,” Y/N said, ending the call. She turned back to Max, who was watching her with a tired but grateful smile.

“You always know how to handle everything,” he said softly.

She smiled, setting his phone back on the nightstand and handing him the bowl of soup. “That's what I'm here for. Now, eat this. It's carrot soup, made with love.”

He took the bowl, looking at her with genuine affection. “Thanks, schatje. You're the best. This smells lovely.”

As he eats, Jimmy and Sassy moved in closer, as if to supervise the meal. Y/N sat beside him, ready to keep his spirits high.

[aeruia]

↻. GENSHIN IMPACT

↻. EYES ON ME .

in which [name] can't really handle eye contact very well, can they handle scara's gaze on them? ( they can't . /j )

pairing : scaramouche x reader

warning/s : lowercase intended, not good very cringey!

word count : 714

note : not really my best work but i'm doing this for the sake of keeping this blog alive and active, i have sm pending works istg i've been trying to finish them all at once 😭

you have a habit of staring everywhere except to whoever is talking to you. every time someone speaks with you, you're looking in the other direction and aside from that you will only look at them if necessary. several of your friends also noticed that if you're talking to others, your gaze seems to avert and look elsewhere.

they asked you about it and it appears that you're unable to hold eye contact for too long since you weren't used to making eye contact with other people and got used to working alone or with only a few people you had known like family.

by the time you have finished your work, you find yourself having a drink and a chit-chat with scara. it was only supposed to be a small chat with how your work and his work is but seems like scara has other plans. he made you his drinking buddy.

you weren't really a fan of drinking yet you accepted the offer since you don't wanna be rude and now, you're here drinking with none other than scara as you avoid looking at him as possible. everything around you now looks interesting to you. it now appears that each thing has a deep meaning that it should have. with your eyes glancing almost everywhere you still managed to catch everything he says word by word.

he notices that your eyes have been glancing everywhere but he never saw you glance at him even for a second. tilting his head to the side, his arms crossed near his chest.

“ are you listening? ” that didn't sound like a question to you yet it is a question. you're just interpreting it differently. “ huh? yes, of course. i'm listening. ” answering his question only looking at him for a few seconds and then smiled before looking away again.

the indigo haired man smiled. it wasn't visible but you can see it if you look closely. he stopped discussing things with you besides everything that was coming out from his mouth was complaining.

in exchange for the silence, his eyes linger on you, you can feel his eyes on you as if he was burning holes into your sitting figure in front of him. your [e/c] slowly side eye scara's own orbs. he was definitely just looking at you and by the looks of it he doesn't have any plans on looking away soon even if you aren't staring at him.

“ you genuinely can't keep an eye contact, huh? ” he questioned as if it wasn't obvious enough by how you tried to avoid his gaze. he knows that you aren't that used to looking at someone in the eye and also knowing that it's disrespectful to not look at the person who's talking to you.

you didn't even notice there was a lump forming at your throat if you haven't gulped. everything looks so interesting right now, you just want to run away from here and look for something that looks interesting and pretend to study it. “ i should really practice on holding eye contact.. ” you thought, you can even do it by looking at the person in front of you but that doesn't seems like a good idea.

the person in front of you is scaramouche. everything about him feels intimidating for you. building up the courage you finally give in and looked up at him. he was taken back when you looked back at him, his eyes widened for a second before he smiled smugly at you.

that lasted you well, not that long but you're proud of yourself for that. you hear him chuckle as he uncrosses his arms as he puts his hand on the table.

“ very well then, can't really keep your pretty eyes on me for so long? ” he teased with a saddened tone when he said the words so long as your cheeks heat up.

you didn't even answer it as you just left him alone there, not wanting to embarrass yourself any further as scara just watched you walked away.

he noticed the tip of your ears were red when you stand up and he couldn't help but smile by just how adorable you are.

maybe teasing you more often, will make him see your other side?

date posted 052024

[newluvrs]

PARTY 4 U [PT. 2]

Sungchan ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎  mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: SOMETHING ABOUT US - DAFT PUNK word count: 4.9k bb note: sorry to Karina I watched the supernova mv in the middle of writing this

Two months later and you’re still kicking yourself in the ass.  It’s killing you to have so much of him and none of him at all.  You try and be as positive as you can, at least cherishing that this is the most time you’ve ever spent together.  But it’s not helpful, if anything it just makes it so much worse.  And Sungchan is such a romantic lover amongst all of the filth that takes place between the two of you.  Kissing you always, keeping eye contact with you when he gets the chance, holding you close as he fucks you, going as far as to hold your hands as he’s deep inside of you.  Worst of all he’s got such an awful possessive streak, and it shows in the way he holds you, the way he feels the need to mark you where only he can see.  It rips your heart in two the way he asks you if you’re his.

“You’re mine, right?”  

His voice always shakes as he asks it, and you always assume its from the pleasure, neglecting to hear the vulnerability in the way he asks.  And his heart rips in two at the way you always respond.  

“Yes Sungchan, all yours.”  

How can something so good feel so fucking awful.  But you’re in too deep to stop it, and you’re too selfish to let it go; to let him go.  Your friends have long since noticed whats happening between the two of you.  Shotaro holding his tongue about how terrible an idea it is, but he thinks that that’s something for the two of you to learn on your own, hopefully with a positive outcome.  And so the weeks go by like that, the two of you over at each other’s places several times a week, hanging out with your friends in the time in between.

That’s where you find yourself now: your hips propped up on a pillow with Sungchan seated deep within you.  His face is hid in the crook of your neck with your nails digging into the skin of his back, overwhelmed by how good he’s making you feel.  Everytime he lets out a groan you can’t help but clench around him.  He just sound so fucking good, and it’s all because of you.  

In the 2 months since the two of you have started this arrangement, Sungchan has become extremely familiar with your body and its reactions.  He knows that if he plays with you enough during foreplay, that you’ll get absolutely soaked.  He knows that you love the sound of his voice, the timbre of it right next to your ear making you shiver.  He knows that your cheeks burn when you hear the wet push and pull of him inside you, making you want to hide your face.  He knows that you love positions where you can feel all of him.  And he uses all of this knowledge to his advantage. Every. Single. Time.  A tap on your cheek brings you back to reality.

“You still with me baby?” 

God, the fucking pet names.  All you can give him is a nod of your head, too fucked out to speak. 

“Too much?” 

He slows down his pace as he says this, lips ghosting over yours.  And it feels so fucking good you can’t even think, too focused on feeling everything he’s giving you.  Not capable of words but managing a whimper.  

“It’s okay baby you can take it.”  

He uses his large hands to pull your hips flush against his as he says it, somehow reaching deeper.  He smirks at the way you tip your head back, cocky because he knows he’s making you feel good.  It’s obvious from the way your body responds to his, clinging to him tighter.  Everything he says always sounds so sweet but his touch is so rough, pressing bruises into your hips the way he tries to keep you positioned for him.  Sungchan’s got a terrible habit of manhandling you but you’re not complaining.  Sometimes you intentionally try and slip out of a position just to hear the way he says “I got you baby” as he tightens his grip on you, keeping you in place.  

In a moment of clarity you push a hand between both of your bodies to rub at your clit.  Sungchan notices this, immediately pouting before pushing to replace your hand with his own.  

“Just lay there and let me take care of you, look so pretty like this.”  

When he starts to rub your clit you know you’re not gonna last very long.  Everything is just too much and he’s fucking you too good.  You open your eyes to look between the two of you, watching how he plays with your clit as he pushes in and out of you.  The sight is filthy and when you bring your gaze to his it overwhelms you the amount of feeling that’s behind it.  You can feel the familiar tightening in your lower tummy, not even needing to warn Sungchan because he can already tell.  

“Gonna cum?”  

You let out a small hum at the question, your voice failing you at the moment.  In between how good he making you feel coupled with the way he’s watching you, it doesn’t take much before you’re clinging to him tighter as you let out cries of his name as you cum around him.  He talks you through it everytime as he chases his own high.  

“Did so good, y/n.  It’s all for me, right?  Just for me?”

There’s the possessiveness again, you tell him yes everytime, not thinking about the meaning behind the words.  He lets out a groan when you agree, loving how pretty you look when you cum and all because of him.  When he hits his climax he drops his head into the crevice of your shoulder as he lets out a full body shiver.  His grip tightening on your hips as he pushes as deep as he can into you and when you whine from the overstimulation it drives him crazy.

“y’ take it so good for me baby.”  

You can barely hear what he’s saying, but you can feel the way his teeth sink into your shoulder right after he says it as he fucks you through his high, releasing into the condom.  

When you’re both finished, you lay there panting together much like the first time, both trying to catch your breath.  You’re always nervous that it’ll feel awkward, and as a result you’re never the first one to start moving, waiting instead for Sungchan.  Like clockwork he pulls himself up from you, leaving a quick kiss on the available skin in front of him before detaching himself from you.  You would love to say that you have long since stopped reading into the tenderness of the way he treats you after you sleep together, but you would be lying.  

As you lay there staring at the ceiling, you play back every kiss, every gentle touch, all of it.  You tear yourself to pieces every time in the brief moment it takes him to retrieve a washcloth from the bathroom.  Sungchan pretends not to notice the pensive look on your face when he returns he’s seen it before and he’s scared that if he speaks too soon it’ll shatter whatever it is the two of you have.  Instead he settles for gently running the towel over your skin, wishing he could leave kisses in it’s wake.  When he’s finished, he tears you from your thoughts by quietly reminding you to use the bathroom, always sure to look out for you.  The brief moments you find yourself alone as you pee are for preparing yourself to watch him leave.  This whole “nonchalant lover” is way too fucking hard, you feel like you’re going crazy.  You take a deep breath before exiting your bathroom, trying to soothe yourself.  

You offer him a shy smile when you emerge as he stands to pull his clothes back on, bashful now after the not-so-sacred events that just took place.  When he turns, you pretend like your eyes don’t linger on him a little too long, with a little too much feeling.  You try and burn the sight of your nail marks permeating the surface of his back into your memory.  You like the contrast of the red swells against the otherwise unblemished skin.  Your heart aches when you recall you have no reason to feel this way, no reason to be possessive.  You force yourself to look away before he can turn back around again, moving to pull on your own clothes.  You clear your throat, willing your feelings away as you break the silence of your mutual post-hookup cleanup.  

“My birthdays coming up..” 

You know he already knows this, matter of fact he’s usually the one to bring up it’s existence first before you get the chance, but this year you beat him to the punch.  When he doesn’t respond you turn to look at him, watching him search for something in his phone before he proudly presents you with the calendar reminder in his phone.  You can’t fight off the smile that comes to your face when you see it.  

“I’ve had it marked since freshman year.”  

You pray to god that the heat in your bedroom conceals the blush that rises to your cheeks.  He really is not making any of this easier on you.  

“Well, I’m just letting you know because Yunjin’s throwing me a party this year..”

You pause before you ask your next question, swallowing the lump in your throat,

“can you make it?”  

He walks over to you and presses a kiss to your forehead as he grabs his keys, ready to leave you.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”  

You smile as you follow him to pull on his shoes at the entrance to your apartment, your mind now thinking of the date 2 weeks into the future.  You already know what you’re gonna wish for on your birthday.  Him.  Deep within you, you harbor a secret hope of some grand confession, maybe a kissing in the rain moment.  You don’t even like PDA.  You just like the idea of him realizing his feelings for you.  As he opens the door to leave he turns around to look at you one more time, like he just remembered something.  

“Oh yeah and plus, I already bought your gift a month ago.”  

He says it casually, like it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to do that for someone.  And it kills you.  You know deep down that this can only end one of two ways, but for now that’s a worry for a future you.  

-

“Would you mind if I asked out Sungchan?”  

The feeling that runs through you is that akin to being dropped in ice water, the shock of the question making you freeze. 

“Unless you two have a thing then-“

“We don’t.”

Karina flinches at the abruptness of your response, your tone of voice being just a little too loud and harsh to be normal, especially in contrast to the quiet environment of the library.  You clear your throat in an effort to come across like you don’t care.

“We don’t.. have a thing that is.”  

You look down at the schoolwork that lies between the two of you, hoping that she gets distracted and doesn’t press any further.  Karina is sweet, she’s kind and beautiful, and if your memory serves you correctly you can recall a time that Sungchan was interested in her in your sophomore year.  It’s been a week since you’ve last seen him, and her question makes you very aware of that, and even more aware of how you haven’t heard from him.  Her voice is small when she speaks up again, a little shier now.  

“I just thought he seemed really sweet.” 

You feel guilty now, firstly for unintentionally yelling at this poor girl, and secondly it’s starting to dawn on you that there’s a chance you could be ruining potential matches for Sungchan.  There’s an internal struggle within you, because you know that technically you do have a thing with Sungchan, and it’s existence is your fault.  Simultaneously, you can’t help but feel like as his friend, he deserves something more.. even if he’s not finding it with you.  The hope that something would change between the two of you is starting to dwindle, and now you have pretty Karina here.  Someone who you know he was interested in in the past, someone who is now sitting here and telling you that she is very much interested in him.  

“What is it you like about him?”

You’re still looking down when you ask the question, flipping through pages of your notebook to feign nonchalance.  You risk a glance at her as you say it, and you see her deep in thought, a smile coming to her face.  You wonder if you look the same when you think about him.  

“Hm.. I like that he’s himself, in all situations.  I like that in the few times we have spoke he’s always made an effort to be a friend.  He’s just very.. generous.”  

It stings a little to hear him described through the rose-tinted glasses of someone else.  You feel so selfish right now because in-fact, you don’t want to let him go.  You don’t even want to entertain the possibility.  But Karina is so sweet and who are you to stop him from being happy?  Sungchan is widely desired and by many people, you can’t help but feel like if it isn’t Karina today then someone else will come around tomorrow, someone who isn’t as kind as she is.  

“I think you should speak to him.”

You watch the way her eyes light up as you say it, the joy clear on her face.

“Really?”  The hope in her voice stings.

“I mean it, I could see if he isn’t busy now?” 

You don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself but as she excitedly nods you’re pulling out your phone, telling him to come see you in the library.  Internally, you hope that he doesn’t show, but Sungchan always shows up when you ask him to, always the reliable one.  Before you know it, he’s walking up to your table that’s tucked away in between the shelves full of books.  He already has a smile on his face, one that falters a bit when he sees Karina but you just take it for nerves.  He pulls out a chair next to you, setting his things next to yours, greeting the both of you as he does so.  He retrieves a pastry from his bag and sets it in front of you, watching your expression.  You look from him, and then to Karina who’s watching the exchange in front of you.  

“I’m sorry Karina had I known you would be here I would have asked if you wanted anything.”  

He’s charming as ever as he says it, even when he’s apologetic.  You pick up on how he says he would have asked her, but he didn’t have to ask you because he already knows the sweet treats you favor.  She shakes her head as she announces that it’s okay, but you can’t help but feel like maybe she might misread things and so you push the pastry in front of her.  

“I’m actually not very hungry right now, Karina can have it.  Karina you like sweets right?”  

She smiles brightly at your offer, nodding her head as she starts to eat the treat.  You look at him and offer him a smile as a way to say “see?”, but when you look at him he just looks confused.  The air takes on an awkward tone, no one really speaking after the first exchange.  You speak up in an effort to shift the conversation.  

“I’m actually tutoring Karina in applied calculus right now.. we’re prepping for a final right now.”

“is that so? I didn’t know you tutored.”

Sungchan takes out his own things as he says it, looking at you interested as ever, encouraging you to go on.

“I’m not that great, but she’s a quick learner.”  

“We’re struggling with polynomials right now, but y/n is very patient.”  

You smile at her compliment, telling her a polite thank you.  

“Are you coming to y/n’s birthday party?”  

When he addresses her her face lights up, but she still tries to maintain a calm energy.  She nods her head instead of speaking, mouth presently occupied with eating the pastry, hoping that he understands her.  

“It’ll be great to have you there, y/n deserves a big celebration full of friends.”  

You roll your eyes at the compliment he throws you, catching the way Karina hangs onto how he says it’ll be great to have her there.  You feel Sungchan place his hand on your thigh from under the table, he gives it a gentle squeeze and your body is set alight.  As you observe her giddiness, the touch makes you feel guilty.  You start to think they’re not gonna be able to talk with you still in their presence, and an idea comes to mind.  Admittedly it doesn’t sit quite right with you, but to be truthful you don’t want to be near them if it means watching Karina flirt with Sungchan.  It hurts too bad to watch her and be reminded of yourself.  

“Actually, Sungchan you aced applied calc last semester right?”  

Absentmindedly he nods his head, hand still placed on your thigh, trailing up a little further.  You choke on a cough as you try and shake his hand off.  

“You remember polynomials?”  

He gives your thigh one last squeeze before pulling his hand away reluctantly, humming in agreement.  You hold your breath before you ask the next question, not sure what outcome you want the most, for him to agree or not.  

“Do you mind teaching Karina?  I just can’t explain it that great and I’m not feeling super well.”  

He brings the same hand that was previously on your leg up to your forehead, checking your temperature.  His concern makes your chest ache, especially since you know your lying.  

“Do you want me to take you home?”  

You watch Karina’s expression as he asks it and she’s looking away like she’s witnessing something she’s not supposed to and you panic, standing abruptly as you start packing your things.  

“I’ll be fine to make it home myself, but do you mind staying with Karina? She could really use the help.”  

You shoot her a reassuring smile, trying to convey to her that you’re trying to give them time alone.  Sungchan looks from you, to her, and then back to you with an expression you can’t read.  

“If you’re not feeling well then I can help her.”  

You nod your head, finishing packing your bag as you feel his hand lingering on your lower back.  You pull away from him and bid them both a quick goodbye as they both wish for you to feel better.  You don’t notice but Karina does, the way Sungchan’s eyes watch for you even after you’ve already left their sight, the hand that was touching you still flexing like he was reaching for something.

-

When you make it back home, you pace back and forth in your apartment, picking at your nails.  You want to run back, want to tell Karina that no she can’t ask him out because the two of you are together.  But he stayed there with her when you left the two of them.  Maybe he does like her, and maybe what you have is over.  Of course it’s just like you to dig your own grave. 

When the nerves and the overthinking don’t settle, you decide to jump in the shower.  It’s barely midway through the day and truly an odd time for a shower but you don’t know what else to do with yourself.  As you take off your clothes, you catch your reflection in the mirror and what you see hurts so bad.  Faded marks from Sungchan left where only you can see.  It’s been a week since you last saw him so they’re starting to wear off, and usually he’s always quick to renew them.  Your natural state has just been walking around like that, they remind you of tattoos but a little sweeter.  Except as you look at them now you’re reminded that tattoos are permanent, not like the fading blue hues staring back at you in the mirror.

You had asked Sungchan once about why he liked to hide them so much.  That night he lingered a little longer, when you came back from your ritualistic pee it shocked you to see him still sprawled out on your bed.  Instead of questioning it you joined him, moving slowly and gently like if you move too fast it’ll scare him away.  When you settled next to him, he wrapped his arms around you, moving so he rested his head against your chest.  His fingers lightly traced the marks he left, delicately so as not to hurt you.  The intimacy made you feel dizzy, heart beating quickly in your chest, he could no doubt hear it right now.  Testing your boundaries you bring your hand up to play with his hair, just trying to soothe where you had fucked it up.  You watch him as he stares at the marks on you, deep in thought.  

“Why do you always put them where only I can see?”

You didn’t mean anything behind the question, it was a genuine curiosity of yours.  You had your theories, shamefully the one that took precedence in your mind was maybe he had wanted to hide what it is that happened between you two.  A less harmful one being that maybe he just liked those parts of you the most, that maybe he didn’t put much thought into the placement.  His actual response made you feel a little too tender, the intimacy choking you.  

“Because they’re only meant for you.”  

That answer stings more when you consider how before you and Sungchan got involved in any of this you confided in him about your dislike for prying eyes in your relationships.  You felt like the connection you have with someone else is sacred, and it’s more special if only you see it.  Thinking back to it now as the water cascades down your body you wish there was a way for you to scrub clean all that you had done.  Maybe then it would be easier to forget, maybe then it would be less painful.

When you jump out of the shower you stare at your phone.  You’re not sure what you’re hoping for, all you know is that you wanted to hear from him, maybe it’s best that you didn’t.  As you move to the kitchen to start prepping for dinner in an effort to give yourself something to do, you notice that the weather is picking up, a light drizzle heard against the windows.  Mindlessy, you wash and cut vegetables, your mind still preoccupied with thoughts of Sungchan.  When there’s a knock on your door you’re a little startled, not expecting any company.  In your daze you don’t check the peephole, just throwing open the door and you’re met with Sungchan wet from the rain.  

“Sungchan?”

When the initial shock settles you step aside, opening the door further for him, he steps in and you move to grab a towel but as you turn to leave he grabs your wrist.  You look down at where he grabs your wrist, when you look back at him he lets your hand slip from his grasp.  He seems off, and you’re feeling awkward, not quite able to see his face with his expression concealed by the damp hair in his face.  To break the silence, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Why didn’t you just use the spare key if you were coming?”  You try and laugh off the tension, but it doesn’t sit right in the air.   

“Why did you tell Karina that we weren’t a thing?”

His question cuts through the dead air, and straight through you.  You’ve never seen him this way, brash and irritated, dare you say a little hurt.  Sungchan was always bright, never once did you see him display a negative emotion other than crying during films.  This version of him is unfamiliar to you.  

“Because we’re not.”

You look down at your feet as you say it, shifting your weight from one foot to the other nervously.  You’re very aware of your bare legs right now, your sleep shorts doing very little to cover you.  Normally you wouldn’t care but right now you feel so exposed.  You look back up at him and for the first time in this conversation, you finally see his face.  He’s frowning, looking at you in disbelief, like he can’t believe what it is he just heard. 

“You know what y/n, I don’t get you.”  

“I thought you liked her.”

He scoffs when you say it, laughing incredulously, tongue poking the inside of his cheek now.  

“Are you serious?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

You can’t help the harsh tone to your words because now you’re irritated.  You thought you were just doing him a favor.  A glare makes itself present on your face and you think to yourself how you’ve never talked to him this way.  He hesitates before he says the next part, looking down at his hands and then at you like he’s reaching for the right words.  He brings his hands to his face, rubbing at his temples frustratingly before blurting out his next words.

“Because I don’t know how else to get through to you that I like you. We sleep together, I see you several times a week, I drop everything when you need me, do you think that’s just a thing that normal friends do?”

You stare at him as the words settle in the air, he’s watching you with a frown on his face and you can read the genuine frustration laced in his words.  You stand there, shocked, like you didn’t hear the words he just said or are just plain out refusing to.  You shake your head, turning your back to him, lips pursing.

“Don’t say stuff you don’t mean.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.  What is it gonna take for you to believe me, what else do I have to do to show you.”

He walks in front of you as he says it, taking your hands in his own now, pleading with you.  You feel the coolness of his palms from the rain and you want to warm him up.  You want to invite him inside with you for the night where the both of you can just exist together.  But all of the feelings taking place between the two of you is just two much and you don’t know what to do or say to make you come down from them.  You pull your hands away from his and wrap your arms around yourself.  

“I can’t do this anymore.”

The words fall from your lips abruptly and quietly, spoken like a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

His voice is equally as quiet, but more hesitant now, all the fire gone.  Sungchan reaches out for you again and you pull away before he’s able to touch you. 

“I hate this so much, it’s too much. I hate all of it.”

It stings when you say it but you know it’s true, this whole agreement is eating you alive.  Every touch of his is all consuming and overwhelming and you can’t sit in the same space as him anymore without feeling like your drowning in your feelings for him.  When he speaks his voice breaks, sounding more hurt than angry.

“You’re the one who said ‘let’s keep it casual’.”

You don’t think enough about how you choose your next words, and the second they’re out you wish you could take them back.  

“Well, I never should have kissed you.  I never should have let myself believe that I could- that we could, ever have been together.”  

The silence that follows is painful as you take in your own words.  You hear Sungchan swallow thickly in the quiet space between the two of you as you finally look up at him.  

“Is that how you really feel?”

His eyes are red-rimmed and the words fall from him akin to that of a hurt little boy.  You wish you could reach out and hold him and tell him that you didn’t mean it.  To take his face in your hands and kiss his tears away.  But you fucked up, and you can’t come back.  You think back to how in a week you’ll be a full year older but you’re still making the same dumbass mistakes.  As he turns to open your door you realize how the two of you never even left your front entrance.

“Sungchan-“

The last thing you hear is the sound of your voice breaking as Sungchan gently closes the door behind him, not even slamming it which is arguably more painful.  Now encompassed in the silence of your apartment and looking at the wet shoe prints from where he just stood, you let out a sob, letting the consequences of your actions sink in.  

[sleepyangelkami]

could you do Carl reacting to you saying ur safe word?💕💕

SAFETY BLANKET c.grimes

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 1.5K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - during a time filled with vulnerability, everything becomes too much. luckily your safety blanket isn't going anywhere.

 ☆ WARNINGS - sexual themes, slight smut in beginning, use of safeword, crying, swearing, aged-up characters, use of good girl (not sexual), anxiety, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

there had to be something so seriously wrong with you.

that was the only viable answer you could give yourself for the uncomfortableness settled in your lower stomach that should have been filled with pleasure. a moment spent with your boyfriend that should have meant so much. and yet you'd never been so distant.

you didn't know what was wrong, truthfully.

one thing you'd known well was where carl stood. at least, you hoped his opinion hadn't changed since before. he always said that if there was something wrong, he'd stop. he didn't need a reason or answer, utter one simple word and it was over for the both of you. he'd maneuver you back to the bed and assure you that he wasn't angry, he'd never be angry. not with you, at least.

so why did you find yourself not wishing to utter such a simple word?

on the very tip of your tongue, reaching out, practically begging to be yelled. what was wrong? you didn't know. you didn't know. and frustration was building up in your throat, almost tears building in your eyes.

skin on fire, eyes burning. how could you feel so horrible and yet not muster the single word you needed to stop it all at once.

perhaps it was the worry that he wouldn't think of you as the 'good girl' he always did, always wishing to please him. and carl? well, he'd taken to your stiff posture at first but once you laid back, seemingly relaxed for him he took no notice of it.

how could he? none of this was his fault.

whether or not you didn't feel good, it had nothing to do with your boyfriend who lay atop of you, pressing his weight onto you. it was suffocating, but that didn't mean it was his fault. yet as the word reached your tongue, you worried if that was what he'd think.

everything was too much, you simply couldn't handle it anymore.

so instead of a long string of moans falling from your mouth, the so simple, so detrimental, word "strawberry." fell instead.

it was almost devastating how quickly he froze, how quickly your eyes began to burn insufferably.

you thought of a thousand words that could have left his lips. "shit." was the first he'd thought of. "i'm gonna... fuck― i'm gonna pull out of you now, okay?"

despite your teary eyes, you'd managed to nod your head almost frantically. the minute the word fell from your lips it was as if you wished for nothing more than the entirety of the moment to be over. you wanted to cry, swallow yourself whole beneath your own pretty pink bed sheets. instead, you lay beneath him with burning eyes in his own sweaty blue bed sheets.

the minute he backed away from you, giving you room, the tears started all over again. you hoisted yourself up so quickly, fishing around for your clothes while you sniffled, trying to suck up the cries that didn't wish to leave you.

he watched as you grasped his t-shirt, not your own, trying to flip it the back way around. he watched wondering if he could step in.

he was the very one who put the safeword in it's use, he gave it to you so that if there was ever a time you'd need it, you could use it. yet it'd never happened before, he was a little worried on making the wrong mistake for the second time that night, pushing you over your limits again.

he probably should have asked could he touch you, were you comfortable with his body so close to yours. but as you struggled to flip the t-shirt to the way it should be, he couldn't help but reach his soft fingertips out.

they touched yours quickly, causing startled, tear-filled eyes to snap up. "hey, hey, 's okay, baby." taking the t-shirt from your hands, gently setting it down on the bed. "'s okay, take your time."

a sudden realisation that you didn't have to cover yourself up so quickly, shun yourself away from him.

so instead of turning your face, refusing to look at the boy, you practically threw yourself into his arms.

without uttering a word, the boy took you. it was easy to hold you at a time like this, shaking while muffling your cries into the shirt on his shoulder. it was easy to provide comfort because it was all he wanted to do. it wasn't easy to watch you like this, hear your muffled cries.

guilt wracked at his bones. "you wanna tell me what happened?" knowing it was something he'd done. he'd made the effort to talk in a low voice, making sure he wouldn't startle you any more than he had already. "huh?" his nose nudged at your cheek, making your face finally leave sanctuary.

gazing straight forward, you could see his face, brows knit together and strewn up, a look of guilt plain and simple against his features. could you possibly feel more awful? "'m sorry." voice cracking as though you were but a mere child.

a different look fell across his face, almost one of agony.

the mere thought of you thinking it'd been your fault.

"hey, hey." fingers moving to grasp at your face, holding you so that you were looking at him. "don't apologise to me, pretty girl, this isn't your fault. 'm so proud of you."

brows knitting together, evident confusion washing over you as you tilted your head up to the boy. "you are?" surprise clean in your voice.

"'course i am, sweet girl." he settled you so that you could rest against his lap as comfortably as you could, despite the fact you were both still nude. "did what i told you to do, it felt wrong so you told me. would have been wrong if you didn't, yeah? 'was such a good girl."

with a sniffle, your eyes cast down to your hands, playing with your fingers as you tried to settle the anxiety in your chest. carl did that better than playing with your fingers ever did. "you're not mad?" voice low.

"no." his nose nudged against your cheek again, he sounded so sure of himself. "no, never mad."

voice cracking once more, ever so softly. "promise?"

his lips curled gently. "i promise." his fingers rubbed against your sides, soothing the slightly bruised skin from his fingers digging into them only moments before. "you need anything, sweetheart? some water? a bath?"

a mere shake of your head was enough. your cheek gently placed itself against his chest, listening to the patter of his heartbeat. it was the kind of thing you never wanted to stop listening to, as soothing as it could get. "jus' wanna be with you."

"'s what we'll do then, 'kay?" the boy wrapped you in a clean shirt, not the one you'd been fumbling with before. this one was white and smelled of linen, he then placed a clean pair of his boxers on you, dressing himself in almost the very same thing before tucking you into bed.

carl didn't need sex. sex was a plus when it came to you. but truthfully, he'd go his entire lifetime without it if it meant he could hold you like this every single night. your head against the crook of his neck, breathing through your mouth and not your clogged nose. your eyes red but softly fluttering as his fingers gathered strands of hair, gently playing with them.

the soft sound of your gentle laughter as the tv in front of you both played, some old dvd he'd found on a run that he just knew you'd like.

he couldn't help but stare, a breathtaking view so close to him. he must have been something as good as an angel in his past life to deserve this, he was sure of it. "'m so proud of you." he kept repeating the phrase, hoping one day you'd understand just how proud he was.

and as the light dimmed, tv gently playing at a low volume, you'd almost fallen asleep. almost without saying the most important words. "carl?" glancing his head down to you. "i love you."

smiling ever so softly. "i love you." pressing the gentlest kisses to your head. "now get some sleep."

you slept good that night, knowing you'd been so stupid to think carl would ever get angry with you, especially over something as simple as that. on the contrary, he'd been happy.

you didn't need a safe word, a simple "no." would have done it for you both. carl didn't care, as long as you had your safety blanket at the end of the night, wrapping around him as though he were the trunk of a tree.

he couldn't complain, he was holding practical gold in his hands.

if he really was, you could call him a hoarder. he wouldn't trade you out for anything else in the world.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[miradelletarot]

Gale Distraction Time:

I wonder how many times Gale is thrown off by Tav's very minor, normal yet caring, actions once things are said and done in their adventures. Or hell, things that could have happened in down time at camp that were too minute to really put a whole cutscenes towards. Things that seems so ordinary, but that Gale has done without for so long he doesn't even recognize.

Examples that come to my mind.

Throwing a blanket over him if he's reading and seems cold.

Handing him the next ingredient he needs while he's cooking.

Taking his hand to massage pressure points when he has a headache or muscles when he makes a straining noise.

A random hug from behind when he's struggling with some research at his desk.

Bringing him a drink or snack when he's been too immersed in a project to realize they're needed.

I could probably continue for a while, but point is, he has been on his own too long. Tara can only do so much. And even when he was with Mystra, you know it's not a relationship he was cared for in this manner. He'd do something for himself once it became necessary, but to have somebody think of it, and help or comfort? Just simple actions like this, I think, for him, would be foreign for some time.

Oh these are just lovely! Maybe I am biased, but I totally see Sagora doing all of this for Gale...especially as feelings develop during their adventure. Of course, I imagine any Tav would be this sweet to our favorite wizard. **this post inspired a little (sfw) treato so i hope you like it lol** _____________ You notice Gale was unusually absent from this evening's dinner around the campfire. It wasn't like him to call for supper then suddenly leave for his tent. You decide to give him some space for now, and eat your meal with the others, but the nagging in the back of your mind sours your appetite. You walk over to his tent and, upon hearing the shuffling of books within, you call out his name softly so as not to startle him. "Oh...Tav. Come in." His usually cheerful tone was strained, and weary. When you walk in you see that the book he was trying to read is splayed out on his lap, open to the page he left off on, and his head buried in his hands as he tries to massage his temples. He groans inwardly trying to will away whatever pain he's feeling. You kneel beside him, and gently place your hand on his thigh, gazing at him with worried eyes. "Here," you say softly, as you take one of his hands between both of yours. "Just relax." Your warm whisper hums in the space between you, and his head lulls back against the heap of pillows he's created for himself. You begin to knead the soft flesh between his thumb and pointer finger, massaging it slightly until you search for the pressure point. He inhales sharply, wincing at the jolt of pain that courses through his hand. It takes seconds for him to exhale, his shoulders dropping along with his escaping breath as the tension begins to melt. "Gods," he breathed. "I don't know what you're doing exactly...but it seems to be having a wonderous effect on this cursed headache." You smile as you slowly release his pressure point, and massage his hand. You gently set his hand down on his lap, and reach for the other, repeating your ministrations just as before. When you place his other hand in his lap, you shift to get a better angle, and begin to massage his temples, his scalp, even reaching for his hairbrush, and combing through his wavy locks in hopes that the repeated care will help soothe him further. It's only when you notice that not only are his eyes closed, his breathing has slipped into a soft, even rhythm. "Gale?" You whisper.

Silence. You smile softly at how beautiful he looks when he's asleep...at peace. It takes a great deal of effort to move through the tent without tripping on a book, or a stack of parchment he's left lying around, but you manage, and fetch a thin blanket that's sitting at the foot of his bedroll. Without even moving the book from his lap, you fan the blanket out with a soft flick, and float it down over the sleeping wizard. "Goodnight, Gale."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

A Quiet Love

Sorry for the lack of updates. Been very busy with schoolwork and fell sick today. Still, here's my latest need to cuddle with Astarion.

Oh I also went to Anime Impulse at Seattle and gosh that was fun. Bought an Astarion print and a standee to start my Astarion shrine in my cupboard, bought a wooden magnet carving of a rly cute egg sushi, bought some stuff for my friends back home too.

Summary: You have a nightmare and Astarion chases it away in his own way.

Ragged breaths tear through you as you run through the trees, clutching your bleeding side with one hand and wiping away your sweat with the other. You can hear the shouts of your pursuers, hear the thundering hooves of the horses some of them are riding, all of which spur your feet onwards in spite of the screams from your muscles.

Your head spins and you nearly fall over. You won’t last long in this chase, they will catch and torture you before executing you in front of the whole town, exactly as the oracle had predicted. Still, if that is your destiny, you’re not about to just roll over and let them have you. If they want you, they are going to have to work for it.

You stumble in a zigzag pattern, darting in and out of your pursuers’ sight and hear their hollers of frustration, causing you to grin. Your pursuers are terrible at their job if they can’t even catch a wounded target. You nearly laugh out loud, stopped only by the blood that bubbles up your throat when you try.

Even so, they inevitably catch up to you. With how your vision keeps giving way, there is no other outcome, but you continue to be defiant, resisting their capture even as the black spots worm their way in.

“Come on, scared of injured prey?” You cough, sending a bloody grin their way. Your pursuers move closer, encircling you but they maintain their distance, much to your amusement. You can feel your lifeblood leaving your body, you won’t last much longer and yet they’re still so afraid of you.

Your fingers curl, ready to fight as hard as you can before they take you when a fireball incinerates half the pursuers, leaving nothing but blackened ash. A war cry follows suit, revealing a tiefling with one horn and a githyanki warrior charging into the fray swinging their weapons which takes out most of the remaining pursuers.

Your gaze flicks about the battlefield, looking for a particular pale elf but you don’t see him amidst the chaos of it all. One of your remaining pursuers, however, spots you and moves in from behind, gladius primed to strike but a dagger plunges into his neck before he gets the chance.

“You really need to watch your back more, my love. I can’t watch it for you forever.”

Your eyes light up when you see who it is, the urge to run over and jump into his arms tugging at your heart but all you can manage is a hasty stumble in his direction, a silent yelp leaving your lips as gravity pulls your body downwards, straight at the ground.

“Falling for me again?” A pair of cold arms wrap themselves around you, stopping your descent. You heave a relieved sigh, closing your eyes as you lean into the cooling embrace of your vampire lover, feeling your body give out without an adrenaline high to sustain it anymore.

“I will always fall for you,” you murmur tiredly. You feel your body sag against his, feel his panic as he realises you’re bleeding out all over the ground. His voice rises a pitch, sharp fingernails digging ever so slightly into your flesh and you want to comfort him, reassure him that you’re not going anywhere but your muscles refuse to move and you can’t do anything about it.

“Darling, stay with me. As tasty as you look leaking blood, you’re leaking too much blood.” He holds you close, trying to staunch the bleeding with one hand while the other haphazardly rummages through the bag for a healing potion.

“Too…much…? I thought…you’d…appreciate it…” You’re getting dizzier and dizzier, with more of your vision fading to black. His red eyes pierce the veil that’s being drawn over your eyes, willing you to stay awake but the pull of the void is too strong, you can’t hold on anymore.

“Well, you see love…love? Love!”

And the world turns black.

You wake up with a start, chest heaving and sweat running down your back.

A nightmare. A rather vivid one at that.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing your thundering heart to calm down before it can wake the trancing vampire next to you but his movements suggest that he has already woken up.

“Nightmare?” He murmurs quietly, his tone a far cry from his usual way of speaking.

“Hrm,” you reply, blood pounding in your ears. The world refocuses, showing you the vampire who is gazing at you with such concern in his eyes, his eyebrows creased in worry.

“I’m alright, Star. Just need to…get a breath of fresh air,” you wave him off. “Sorry for interrupting your trance.”

“I was about to head off for a hunt.” He pauses for a moment. “Would you like to come along, my dear?”

“That…sounds nice.” You rub your eyes, feeling his hand brush against yours. Giving his hand a squeeze, you push yourself up, wiping the night’s terrors away and step out into the cool fresh air, taking a deep breath. You hear him stop just behind you, his shoulder brushing against yours and you take his hand once more.

“I just need you,” you whisper, the words meant only for his ears. He nods, pressing closer to you and swallows the honeyed words that almost fall from his lips out of habit. What you need now is him, not the words his tongue can form, not the services he can provide.

You just need him.

It’s not something anyone else can provide, it’s something unique to him and something he’s comfortable with providing. If all you want is for him to sit by your side, he will happily do just that.

Astarion lets you lead the way, sitting on the steps next to you with a clear view of the city. He wants to know what your nightmare was about so that he can reassure you better, but watching you take in the city’s night lights with quiet awe, he decides that dredging up the past can wait and patiently sits next to you, exactly like he promised. He takes your hand, relishing in the way your fingers automatically curl around his hand.

“I’m right here, my love.” he says for no other reason than he wants to say it. You nod, squeezing his hand before resting your head on his shoulder, letting out a deep breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper. The quiet night beckons the words from your lips, the words you have yet to say to him and mean it with all your heart. You feel him slip an arm around your waist, pulling you closer and feel his lips ghost over your hair.

“I love you.”