#i don't remember if i put it in my letter box with all my other letters bc i used to take it out to reread it again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thefanficmonster · 1 year

Note

It is I!! With (yet again) another small Idea I JUST had

Imagine this: Corpse x Apartment neighbor reader, where one night Corpse just Scream to the top of his lugs and then the reader screams back just for fun and then they get to know each other that way

I found it kinda funny honestly but that's like a rough idea of what I just thought let me know if ya liked it, k?

-with love Miss Kia

PS: Remember to take care even if it's just sleeping a bit or a glass of water okay?🥰 Whatever you do is good enough for us

PS2: Please tag me with it done, if you do make it ☺️

Hi dear! I know it's been literal months since you sent in this request but I've finally gotten around to it and I hope the final product makes the wait worth it. Love you with all my heart, Vy 💕

Pairing: Corpse Husband x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety and Stress, Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: see request above

As you slump against the only standing piece of furniture in your otherwise barren living room, you can't help but sigh. Boxes surround you, silently judging you for leaving them in their status quo for yet another day. Postponing the inevitable unpacking awaiting you isn't much of a choice with your busy schedule but it is what it is and anything else would be making excuses. And there's nothing you hate more than making excuses.

You moved into this new apartment three days ago and yet you have only spent twelve hours in it total. Your stuff is still in boxes which you are quite frankly afraid to open, worried of all the broken crap you'll find because the movers you hired turned a blind eye to the large bold letters the word FRAGILE was written in.

Working two jobs is the only way you can pull through your final year of college but it's starting to feel like you're digging your mental health and sleep schedule a grave instead.

You wanna scream. Scream your fucking lungs out. But you can't with these shitty thin walls. You don't want your neighbors to think you're a nut-job. At least not already. Hell, they haven't even seen your face. You could be living next to Leonardo DiCaprio and have zero clue.

Ok, full disclosure, the building is filthy, so Leo is certainly not living next-door but a serial killer might be.

And speaking off....

Just as that ridiculous though passes your mind and causes you to chuckle, the aforementioned thin walls are straight up rattled by a guttural scream, the vibrations of which nearly bring the ceiling down on you.

You let several moments go by as the building settles in it's slot in the Earth following that vocal earthquake. You stare blankly at the wall behind which the scream emanated from, the wall separating you from your neighbor.

That serial killer thing seems to check out, you think to yourself as your loopy, exhausted brain hits the wrong instruction button, sending you in a fit of quiet giggles.

They can't think I'm a loose canon if they're just as bad, can they?

You decide they can't and go on and rip your friendly neighbor a new one. A scream much stronger, louder and longer that simultaneously establishes your dominance as well as deflates the tension that had built up in your chest.

It's the relief you've needed for a while now.

Similar silence follows your scream, leaving you to catch your breath, head tilted back with peace you haven't felt since you decided to move.

At least until there's a knock at your door.

"Hey, um, you good in there?"

The knock maybe put you on edge, but the voice is what seriously caught you off-guard. In all honesty, it intrigued you more than you'd like to admit. Not enough to get you to open the door, but enough to get you up from the couch and get you to approach the door at least a little.

"You're one to talk. You started the chain, pal." You retort without a second's hesitation which probably should have been considered, with the whole serial killer theory and all.

You hear the guy chuckle, "Desperate times call for desperate measures. It's not like I own a stress ball."

Another step brings you closer to the door, "I mean, they don't really do much. And therapy is expensive. Scaring your neighbors is free."

"I scared you?" He has the audacity to sound shocked, almost offended, "You scared me!"

"You bet your ass I did. Gotta let you know who the boss is around here." You sass right back, unable to prevent the bubbling laughter from escaping you.

It mirrors his, "Well, boss, wanna open this door? I feel a little looney and I probably look so too. Talking to a door and all."

His comments provokes a mumbled apology from you as you, against all the better judgement your 2-minutes-ago self possessed, go to open the door.

And my, oh my, did you win the neighbor lottery. You got a lethally cute one.

"Hi there, neighbor." You greet the taller figure crowned by a mop of messy dark curls. His dark eyes barely peer through the curtain.

But you still manage to make out his smile, even with the mask blocking it from direct view, "Hello to you too, neighbor."

"Y/N, nice to meet ya."

"Corpse, the pleasure's all mine."

His name wouldn't help his serial killer case if you weren't so focused on the few features of his you could see.

There's a brief beat of silence he puts an end to with a shy yet still witty comment, "I know you're supposed to bring baked goods to new neighbors but I can't cook for shit....I got beer though?"

A smile brightens up your face which clearly releases some tension from him, "Say no more, Corpse. You got my full attention. Even if you might be a serial killer."

His eyes blow wide, "What?"

So do yours, "What?"

Well, if that isn't the most rom-comy thing ever. Hallmark and audience approved.

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indouloureux · 2 years

Text

scratching : countertops¡ (stargirl interlude)

"I had a vision A vision of my nails in the kitchen Scratching counter tops, I was screaming My back arched like a cat, my position couldn't stop you were hitting it And I shouldn't cry, but I love it, Starboy..."

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

summary: peter's been your roommate for years, and you know that the rooms are filled with thrifted furniture and unsolved tension. when you find yourself eating pineapples beside him one night, you don't expect to be bent over the counter with his (sticky, dexterous) hands.

word count: 6,482

warnings: graphic writings of smut (MINORS DNI), mentions of blood, fluff, maybe a little angst (extended warnings below the cut)

a/n: hi. hope you all like this unholy smut. hope we're all forgiven. here's you being peter's pretzel with three holes lol

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧

extended warnings: face-fucking, oral (m and fem receiving), ass/anal play. degradation and praise kink. unprotected sex, (don't be silly, wrap your willy), creampie. toy usage (vibrator wand), rough sex, man handling, biting, body-guard/doggy position, cum-dumpster!reader, and poorly written smut :)

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

This was all Harry’s fault.

I hope Oscorp burns to the ground and you lose all your money so you’re forced to live with me, you bastard.

Rationally, Harry had offered to help Peter pay for the apartment (without malice; he knows Peter’s not that poor). But ever the independent, he refused. So he couldn’t possibly understand why he was so upset that his friend was leaving to get his own apartment that he found was better than the one they used to live in.

Guaranteed, it wasn’t the type Osborn had grown into – waking up right to ruckus outside the building, bird shit sometimes reeking from the fire escape, a slim shower rather than a tub – and Peter was forever thankful Harry never complained and had adjusted to the type of lifestyle Peter grew up into.

But he wanted to move out. Move into an apartment near Oscorp and campus. Because he’s not the one swinging there within three minutes.

(Peter had offered swinging together with Harry. He refused. Says he’s afraid of heights and makes him…question. Peter doesn’t know what he means. Unless-)

So now here he was, on the internet lately advertising on some dodgy website that he's seeking for a new roommate. He doesn’t mind, though. If he ends up with a murderer, they’ll most likely be in jail the second they step in.

But he’s set up some rules. Peter liked boundaries, and he most certainly liked people who knows how to properly clean the bathroom, remembers their keys, doesn’t bring random people in without permission, doesn’t put marijuana in brownies when baking, and doesn’t produce the nastiest smell around the apartment.

He hesitates on the brownies portion. While he certainly relishes eating chocolate-flavored cannabis, Harry is the only one he knows how to prepare the baked confection. So Peter wouldn’t mind if his new roommate knew how to make them, as well.

Behind him, Harry grunts as he places the last box on the coffee table. It’s labeled ‘The Den equipment’ in a deep red marker written on top of masking tape. He frowns because it’s not the cardboard type, but rather a black box with stripes of metal on its corners. It rattles when Harry places the box on the table, like something heavy fills the chest.

“What’s that?” Peter points at the black chest, his arm resting on the wooden back of his chair. His other hand taps on the keys of his keyboard, but never pressing out to type a letter. “That’s new.”

“It’s not,” Harry chuckles, running a hand through his thin hair. Peter thinks his hairline’s receding due to the lack of thickness in Harry’s hair, other than the fact that Norman Osborn’s on the verge of balding. “I’ve had this since freshman year.”

“High school?”

“College,” snorting, he unlatches the black chest, the soft clicking reverberating in Peter’s ears. “Can you imagine high school me with these things? I’d be an absolute klutz with these things.”

Peter pushes his chair out, sauntering his way towards his friend. He curiously peeks over Harry’s head, seeing folded silk at the upper left corner, followed by a cluster of pink, purple, and black items in weird shapes and curves that hits familiarity in the deep depths of his risqué mind.

That’s when he realizes that they’re “Vibrators,” Peter says out loud, blushing. Though, given the few women he's been with, he can ensure that he's no stranger to such titillating forms of intimacy. His expertise is kept entombed; locked away not out of shame, but the key’s saved for someone he desires to show the doors to.

“Not just vibrators,” Harry’s tongue makes an amused click, his finger tracing the lid. “I’ve got a whole lot of shit here. Bought it all when I turned twenty-one, remember?”

“I don’t think I do,”

“Of course you didn’t. We were drunk out of our minds,” he pats Peter’s back, looking up at him. His smile is proud, like he’s feeling triumphant about the fact he’s being all Christian Grey at the age of twenty-one. “Explored so much with this, I’m proud to say I orgasmed at the fuckin’ Bermuda Triangle.”

Peter shakes his head, a boyish laugh leaving him. “That’s a lie.”

“Obviously,” he turns to look back at the hedonistic pursuits that fills the chest. Harry’s hand digs deep between the vibrant toys, and Peter wonders how unsanitary that must be, regardless if Harry’s ever cleaned them. He pulls out something Peter’s familiar on:

The wand’s body was a rich shade of crimson, similar to the one on his suit. However, its bulbous head dons itself in black rather than blue that matches his renowned attire. The colors match, nonetheless, and he does see that the buttons are round in baby blue.

“Tell you what,” Harry places the wand in Peter’s palm, and god does he hope it’s cleaned. “Take this as an apology. For leaving you. And a gift, because you deserve it.”

With burning cheeks, Peter scratches the back of his ear with his vacant hand. “I always thought this stuff happens in older women’s birthdays.”

“Vibrators are for all!” He roars, pleased with his erotic manifesto.. “Nothing wrong with wanting something to make you squirt, am I right?”

“Now that I think about it, I think I’m pretty glad you’re moving out,”

“Now now, brother. It’s time you face independency,” Harry smacks the chest shut, securing the latch before carrying it in his enormous palm, followed by the quiet jingle of his keys from his pockets.. “I’ll miss you, my best friend.”

He walks Harry out with an arm around his friend’s shoulders, opening the door for him. Peter rolls his eyes at the dramatic pout he gives him. “You’re only ten minutes away.”

Peter hears a small ping in his laptop when Harry leaves. With his receding footsteps, Peter sits back at the chair in front of his old laptop, seeing a message had popped up out of the corner of the screen. The circular icon is accompanied with a red dot on the side, and a blurry picture of a girl with their dog.

Hi! Heard you were looking for a new flat mate?

⋆

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter can feel his heartbeat in every part of his body: his legs, his ears, his eyes, his hands, and his fucking dick. It's making him feel unsettled, perhaps moreso than Harry's expedition yesterday. Overstimulation is something he was never grateful for when he got bitten, and it had picked out the worst times to throw a tantrum.

You’re expected to be arriving in a few minutes, and he looks like a wreck. His jeans now have a damp spot on his thighs from constantly wiping his sweaty palms. Neophyte limbs forgetting their decorum, Peter walks around his apartment like a lost child, tugging on his unruly hair. His nerves are forming a connivance against its paladin, spasmodic nervousness ticking him off every minute that passes by.

Anamnesis, you weren’t the first to text Peter about the vacant room adjacent to his. Between your icon were two other guys – a man, seemingly in his 40’s with a beard like Seneca Crane’s with a fashion style like a hiker’s, and a guy his age with a badly bleached blonde hair and the mustiest mustache he’s ever seen. It was obvious his choice was you: not because of the ambiance he’s felt from the two other guys, or the fact that you’re a girl, but because…well…

He’s just about to find out.

Think of the stars. Count them in the darkness from the back of your eyes. There’s Alpha caeli, zeta arae, gamma camelopardalis –

The stars are far from their constellations. Peter panics at the fragmented dulcification, clenches and unclenches his trembling fists. Forsooth he blames the sudden overstimulation. And for the third time that week, he curses the radioactive spider.

Peter jumps when he hears the doorbell ring, louder than it should have. He shakes his head to push the erratic beating away from his eyes, walking careful steps to the door that further awaits being opened.

The door opens, and you look at him with an innocent smile.

Like a beautiful, tragic calamity, the star in his heart bursts into a supernova. Galactical seas of purple, blue, and yellow mercurially imbue him before it’s overtaken by the destructive inferno of the ultraviolet star. It swells his throbbing organ, embers withering off into the galaxy.

“Hi,” your voice blows the supernova away, and he returns back to earth where he’s physically in. Peter blinks, patting his hands on the back of his thighs before he remembers he looks like absolute shit. But you don’t seem to mind.

“Um.”

“I’m (y/n),” you don’t give him your hand to shake, but the nervous smile on your face indicates you’ve got the same sweaty hands as he does. “I’m here for-…for the interview?”

Peter nods, too rapid that he shakes his brain. He steps aside with a smile that mimics yours as you gladly step in after you wipe your shoes on the rug.

You take in the apartment well. It’s cleaned – the lack of dust shows he might have cleaned before you arrived. The three-seater couch fits well in the living room, the TV large enough to not strain your eyes. The décor contrasts well to the alabaster walls, and the fact that Peter had decorated this himself seemed surprising because you should definitely see his room back at Aunt May’s.

The whole apartment smells nice. Like freshly baked cookies that makes your mouth water. You don’t realize Peter’s still got his eyes on you until you sit down on the chair placed randomly in front of the couch.

“So,” he speaks out, a waver in his voice as he sits on the couch. He forgets to tell you he’s supposed to be the one on the chair, but all his thoughts dissipate into a blubbering mess. You don’t mind the chair, anyway. “Why are you looking for an apartment?”

That was not the first question.

You answer him, either way. “I wanted to move out of the dorm I stay in at campus,” he can hear the sound your nail makes when you chip them. “I guess, out of some sudden urge to move deeper into independence?”

“Okay,” he drags out his ‘y’, remembering the next question. “How are you with bathrooms?”

It’s obvious his question confuses you, because it confuses him too. “Hm?”

“I’ve never done a good job cleaning the bathroom. So I was wondering if you’re…any good…at cleaning them?” he feels stupid, like he’d asked a sexist question. Peter’s unsure if he did, because your expression is unreadable.

(“Is this guy serious?”)

“I do good, I guess. I’ve never been a fan of dirty bathrooms so I’m very fastidious when it comes to cleaning them.”

He nods. “And smoking?”

“I smoke.” You smile a little. “A lot. Like, my friends had to make an intervention for me with a big poster that had two versions of lungs, the other was what my lungs were going to look like if I didn’t stop smoking. I- sorry. I talk too much.”

“’s all right,” he chuckles. “I smoke a lot too.”

Your shirt exemplifies the contours of your breasts while emphasizing their size. He attempts to pull his gaze away, but instead finds himself tracking his gaze down to the button of your jeans to your thighs, calves swinging and almost brushing his. Peter swallows deeply.

“Do you, uh, not mind living with a guy?”

Incredulous, you let out an angelic laugh. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Look…Peter-” you remember his name from the ad; remember how you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. “- I don’t mind if you take home girls, or guys. I just need a place to stay. I can’t promise I’ll pick up dirty laundry all the time, and I can’t cook for shit nor can I make this place squeaky clean. But I can give you a hell of a good time—God, that sounded prostitute-y.”

Your nervousness sedates him tremendously, and he laughs heartily at your ramble. Peter shakes his head, sitting back to sink into the couch with crossed arms and an endearing smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Not prostitute-y, just...a twinge of an innuendo,” he reassures. “Well. I’ve got a few flaws myself. Like, I can’t explain why I have sudden bruises in my face.”

“What? Are you like, in a mob or something?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not,” Peter blushes when you laugh. “I can’t promise you I’ll be clean. This apartment you’re seeing? This is only to persuade you. And you don’t need to worry, I know how to cook, and I don’t bring home random people at night.”

“Just random people’s blood?”

A violent question that he founds oh-so-funny. “Yes. Not dead people’s blood. So you don’t have to worry about that.” Peter watches you sink onto the wooden chair. You pick at the lpse thread of your jeans, twirling it around your fingers before you pull it off.

“As long as I don’t hear loud moaning, I’m fine.”

Your smile is teasing, curved like the Eastern Veil Nebula that’s vibrant and pretty. Dimples apodictic like Peter’s deep laugh that bequeaths you happily silly.

Peter’s unbridled with scrawny handsomeness. His half-lidded gaze has your cheeks burning like the sun, hot enough to render you queasy and yet again nervous. But when he wipes his hands on his thighs and stands up with his hand raised for you to shake, your nervousness ebbs away.

“Feel free to move in whenever you like.”

⋆

899 days pass.

This was all Harry’s fault.

Peter stands outside your open, desolated bedroom. Your bed is made, the LED's on your vanity are switched off, and your make-up is adroitly piled on the edge. It's sanguinely clean, in contrast to his bedroom, which has his filthy clothing placed on top of a chair that has yet to be cleaned.

He likes that even if you’re gone, your room still smells like you – tobacco, vanilla, and the faint scent of wet leaves from the plants by your window. Peter did you a favor and watered them, after being dry for almost three days because you were in too deep into your school works.

He takes one final glance, particularly at the frame mounted beside the window: it was you and Peter at some Halloween party around a year ago. And while you were clad in a skin-tight black outfit with cat ears, he came as Spider-Man (oh, the irony). He donned a store-bought suit, but had pondered wearing his authentic suit since everyone would be too drunk to notice.

With Harry at the far left in a police costume and a fake mustache (and his chest sweaty and exposed), Peter has his arm around your shoulders, hugging you tightly to his chest with his mask in his hand, smiling drunkenly. You held a cup in your hand, nails long and lithe, head on his shoulder with a scrunched nose and an inebriated, slanted grin.

Pallid at the longing for you, he finally descends your bedroom and closes the door behind him. Peter sighs, scratching the spot behind his ear, half-expecting for his phone to ping at any sign of you.

He's bored out of his mind and decides to have a look about. The flat has altered; it no longer exhibits Harry's bachelor nature, but rather an amalgamation of things you both adore that fit together like a constellation, with furnishings thrifted and adapted to meet the selected ethos.

It's pretty and optimistic, much like you. Peter enjoys being immersed by you, yet he still can't get enough and craves more.

Living with you was easier. You never brought home people, and if you were with one, you’d be gone ‘till the next day, respecting Peter. He’d do the same, however his dates had become a once in a blue moon; something felt missing and it just wasn’t it.

He likes how caring and pristine you are, how you’re comfortable with being a mess around him. And he likes how he feels around you, too. Peter doesn’t need to worry about going home late at night because, tl;dr, you already knew, and you didn’t mind patching him up ever-so often with all your dexterity.

You don’t mind his nightly throes, you don’t mind his blood between your fingers that he washes away, you don’t mind his cheeky smile, or his flirty jokes, or his past, or who he is.

And Peter likes that.

(He also likes the fact that you’re so fucking hot he feels like he’s floating happily in space when you wear those tight mid-riffs and above the knee skirts. Even when your shirt is stained with your agitated tears and your loose sweatpants.)

Startling him, his phone pings loudly in his pockets. Peter groans when he reaches for it, fingers still trembling from the tremendous ache he still feels from the previous night. Clumsily, he pulls his battered phone out, seeing a text from you.

(y/n): coming home in ten xx

Peter smiles in excitement, maybe even almost jumping in his place like a giddy little child. He takes on the liberty to fix the place a bit, and patiently waits for you on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on his phone.

You arrive in less than 10 minutes. The rush in your footfall, which he could hear from distance, gave the impression that you were eager to see him, and your quick heartbeat indicated your excitement. You open the door with a tired smile, your outfit a little askew and your purse half-zipped.

Then he remembers you just came from a date and he probably wasn’t the reason behind your smile.

“Hey doll,” your heartbeat quickens at the sobriquet. “How was your date?”

Peter ignores the ache in his heart that his words gave; tries to hide the jealousy his question bore as you answer him. “Fucking sucked. He’s like Harry, but with little to no respect.”

“Harry’s not that bad,” he chuckles, standing up abruptly. His wounds open a little, and Peter tries to hide the discomfort through his smile, not wanting to worry you.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. He just really sucked,” you throw your purse on the couch with a sigh. “Bet you heard how fast my footsteps were, though. Couldn’t wait to get home.”

Smiling, he teases you. “I’m flattered, (y/n).”

“Yeah yeah,” you smack his chest lightly with the back of your hand. He follows you to the kitchen, watching you remove your shoes as you walk through, throwing it aside and decided to clean it later, maybe the next day.

The floor is cold beneath your bare feet, sending shivers up your spine. Your dress shines beneath the dim luminescence of the kitchen light, a star desolated in the middle of the galaxy that Peter’s got his eye on. The white glow of the refrigerator light reflects on your face, bending over to take out a bowl of pineapples.

Even still, Peter follows you as you take a seat on the countertop, swinging your feet as you take the cling wrap off the glass bowl and take the fruit between your fingers, taking a bite.

Peter takes one too, standing in front of you with his back resting against the wall adjacent to you. “Tell me about the date,”

You look at Peter. There’s a side of you that hopes he can show just how jealous he is through his curious gaze, and the other aching for you to just call him out. “Like I said, it was bad,” you shrug, chewing on the fruit. “First, he was ten minutes late.”

He makes a hiss out of judgement. “One point taken.”

“Then he wore the most absurd thing ever. Well, not absurd, but he made me look like I was too overdressed. He wore short khakis, Peter,” your eyes widen. “Short khakis. And, I don’t know, a nyan cat shirt.”

“A nyan cat?”

Peter reaches out for another pineapple, and you hand him the bowl. “A fucking nyan cat. Who wears that to a date?”

He chuckles at your agitation despite the fact that he shouldn't. When Peter says he's thrilled about how poorly your date went, it sounds awful. He doesn't love the sadness, but he does appreciate the fact that you're still open.

He hopes you know what he means.

“I’m sorry your date went bad, (y/n),” his heel kicks him off the wall, his vacant hand reaching out to rub the tense muscle on your right shoulder. Peter smiles when he sees you visibly relax beneath his touch.

“No you’re not,” you smirk, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re not sorry.”

“You’re right,” he pulls his hand back. “I’m not.”

A meteor of unforeseen confidence, Peter steps closer and stands between your legs. Your dress rides up, set halfway on your thigh. He still chews on his pineapple, his eyes on yours as you gradually peel your eyes open.

Irises like Ara, his knees weaken at your unsanctified eyes. You know the place is filled with thrifted furniture and unresolved, salacious tension that fills your head with ribald imaginations you think will Peter never let you go for. It’s wrong to imagine him take you anywhere in your shared apartment, bending you over and take you from behind, spitting out such unholy things that get you wetter and sweeter at each dulcet word he releases in your ear.

“Why’d you go on that date, anyway?” he murmurs, lips wet from his tongue that licks the delectable taste of pineapple.

You pop the last piece in your mouth. “Thought I could find a good fuck,” Peter’s unsurprised by your bawdy confession, getting used to conversations like these. “It’s been a month and I need to release my stress.”

The bowl is behind you. Peter reaches for the dish, his chest meeting yours and his nose just by your eyes. You smell him – cigarettes, faint blood, cinnamon; it brings a hot pool between your legs, and you clench your thighs together.

You shouldn’t be that horny. It’s just cinnamon. And cigarettes. And blood.

He pulls back with a pineapple between his lips. Peter bites, chews and swallows, and says, “Couldn’t you have approached me?”

Well, cat’s out of the bag. No take backs.

Peter perceives you fluster beneath his gaze from the Freudian slip, an abdication between bravado and modesty. Your body tries to acclimate at his raunchy reply, uncertain of how to react. When you opt to unwind and shrug, drawing closer, the tension crescendos into a pinnacle.

“Wouldn’t have been appropriate,”

“How so?”

“Well, we’re flat mates,” you take a bite. “We live together. We’re practically like siblings.”

He deflates, a wave of un-comfort and humor. “Please don’t say that. It’s gross.”

“I’m sorry,” you chuckle, placing a hand on his bicep. You feel his scar through the thin fabric of his shirt, puzzling in just right on your palm. “I’m saying, flat mates don’t fuck.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Says who?”

“The principles of sex and love,”

“And who made that?”

“I did,” you smile up at him, cheeky. “I made it ever since I hooked up with my roommate back at campus.”

“Is that why you moved out?”

Hesitance halters your words, but you give in a second later. “Yes. Because I wanted to be with her and she didn’t. And I made it awkward and I couldn’t handle it so I moved out.”

Your finger traces the crevices of his biceps, dipping in the curves of his scars of heroism. Peter’s eyes never leave your curious face. “Do these principles count to a guy?”

A shrug. “I don’t know,” you murmur.

The boy is enamored by the taunting, tempting glance you give him. You're a sui generis edgier force in your own right. A burgeoning stargirl in the creation. A woman who is eclectically spurred by autonomy and utilizes confidence as your new power. You're valiant, and your origins are vast.

“You want to try it out?”

You take a bite of your pineapple, and release the sweet fruit with the gentle sound of your suckle. Peter's sense of sight dials up even higher, watching the visual that makes him lick his lips unconsciously.

(And to you, the sight of the thick muscle escaping his unholy mouth sends heat to the altar between your legs, kneeling before you with a mouth that begs atonement; a mouth that aches to taste you.)

Peter wipes the juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb, then raises it to his mouth and sucks the exquisite ambrosia from his skin, and he swears he can taste you. You all but moan, biting your lip. “You fucking drive me insane," he murmurs as he traces your wet lips with his thumb. Your mouth ajar, following his movements before he presses his thumb onto the pad of your tongue.

You suddenly forget the stupid principle in your head, too driven by the arousal that agitates your skin. Peter pushes his thumb deeper until you gag around him, and he pulls his thumb out when you look up at him lustfully.

Leaning in to graze your lips on the lobe of his right ear, you card your fingers through his thick hair, tugging slightly. You smirk when he moans quietly. “Fuck me good then maybe I’ll change my mind.”

The mood switches. Like the warm light turns scarlet red, darkening the dusk in your physiques, Peter plants a hard kiss on your lips. The flavor of pineapple exchanged through heavy breaths and explored tongues, probing his muscle in your mouth. His hands wander up to hold you small face in his large palms, yours pulling on his neck.

His lips are soft in juxtaposition to his rough handling, pulling you closer to his chest. Peter’s hands pull on the zipper at the back of your dress, almost ripping it off out of eagerness. You gasp when he does so, calloused skin caressing your soft back.

“Taste so fucking good,” he growls against your lips. “Had to wait two years for this. Why’d you make me wait, princess?”

Your clothed crotch grinds on the prominent bulge aching to pop out, smirking when he moans again. “Mm, but you liked it, right? Thought you liked waiting? The tension?”

“Fucking tease,” he chuckles, biting your bottom lip. “You feel that baby? Feel how hard you made me? Got me feelin’ like a fuckin’ virgin; like I’ve got a goddamn rock inside my sweats. I’m aching for you."

Hungry hands palm him, pumping him through his sweatpanrs. “I can fucking feel it,” you purr. You feel it go slightly damp, and when he feels it, too, Peter tugs your hand away. His other hand pulls on your hair, a moan escaping your lips when he does so. “Looks like you’re not the only one who’s wet.”

Peter’s eyes darken, his supernova turns into a black hole of lust and starvation. His hands roughly palm your right breast, rolling his thumb over your hardened nipple through your dress. Finally, he pulls the strap down your shoulder, leaning in to bite on your collarbone.

“You want a taste?” he taunts you as you pull on the strings of his sweats. “Get on your knees, then.”

It’s amusing how quick you obliged, letting your dress fall down to the ground. Peter’s eyes land on your exposed chest, lips wanting to wrap themselves on your pebbled buds, but unable to because you sink to the ground, your knees holding you up.

Peter pulls his sweats down, followed by his shirt, smelling the arousal that ruins your underwear. You gasp quietly at the lack of briefs he’s wearing, cock springing up to slap on his stomach.

He is achingly hard, with the tip swell and red, leaking of pre cum. You lick your lips, nails scraping against his thighs before you boldly lick a stripe from his shaft to the tip, sucking on the head.

Effervescently, Peter lets out a sound between a groan and a whimper, the sound ricocheting between the kitchen walls and the marble countertop. You sink your mouth deeper, tongue beneath his cock and his tip hitting the back of your throat when your nose hits his pelvis.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re taking me so good.”

His girth is almost unbearable in your mouth when you drag up, enclosing your cheeks around his cock before you sink down in a swift motion. You gag around him, tears swelling your eyes.

Peter thinks the mascara down your cheeks is a masterpiece, beautiful like Andromeda in the sky. You look up at him, eyes wide, wild, sultry yet innocent at the same time. Like the fucking tease you were, your lips wrap around his tip before sinking down halfway, pumping the bottom with your right hand, the left fondling with his balls beneath.

You pull out, pumping him still. “Want to fuck my face, Pete?”

He groans, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail. You don’t need his confirmation, because soon his hips are thrusting in your mouth, rougher than you expected but you don’t care. Peter’s cock disappears in your mouth, whimpering when you gag around him.

“That’s it,” a hearty groan. “Fuck. Bet you love this, don’t you? On your knees?” you hum around his shaft, pulling out to kitten-lick his tip before sinking back in. Both his hands are on the back of your head, fucking your face like he’s always wanted to do. Your mouth is full of him, your scent is full of him, and your eyesight is full of him; nonetheless you don’t complain, because being on your knees for him gets you cock drunk enough.

He goes deeper, his cock almost right at your throat. You breathe through your nose, exhaling heavily. “That’s it. Take it like a good fucking girl. Ah – fuck.”

Merciless. His muscles retract at every thrust, and your eyes water at every gag. Peter cries out when your hands squeeze a little around his cock, feeling him get closer on edge at every push. You squeeze at his balls before you twist your hands around his shaft, following his thrusts.

You moan around him, vibrating his dick that draws out a loud groan from the man above you. You can feel his bulging veins against your tongue, saliva and arousal dripping down your chin to your exposed breasts.

Finally, he cums harder than he ever has before, voice loud and vocally thankful of your service. With a loud, scandalous groan, he releases his seed into the back of your throat. The luscious rye gets you inebriated on the delectable wine that tastes of sweet and salty.

Peter pulls you up to your feet, gathering up the spit you made and pushing it back into your mouth with his thumb, popping it out with a smile. “Fucking amazing, doll. Did so good for me.”

He kisses you like it’s the last time, your hands scraping on his chest, feeling the sweat stick to your palm. Peter moves down to bite your neck, doesn’t stop until he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. He lifts you up until you sit on the counter, bare ass meeting the cold marble.

“Think you can return the favor?” you pant, tugging on the roots of his hair. “My mind’s still isn’t changed, Pete.”

Peter kisses his way down – leaving generous sucks to your breasts and pleasurable bites on your pebbled buds, licking down to your pelvis that he bites petulantly. His fingers trail up to your calves until they trace the lace of your underwear, hooking them around his fingers before ever so slowly pulling them down to your ankles.

You’re leaking onto the countertop, and he wastes no time in pushing you backwards so that he’s got a better view of your exposed cunt. Peter grows hard again, looking up at your begging eyes before he gives you what you want.

From your ass to your clit, his tongue journeys up to your bud, sucking at the engorged clit before he laps up your sweetness through your folds, going down to teasingly prod his tongue at your puckered hole before going up to your clit again.

“Shit, Peter,” you throw your head back, hands on his brown locks. Honey-brown eyes meet yours between your legs, and you can feel his smirk against you when you moan loudly as his fingers sink inside you, clenching around his limbs. “Fuck,”

“That’s it,” he feels the spongey spot inside you, finding out it’s your g-spot when you cry out loud, biting your lip out of embarrassment. “Take it baby.” His other hand goes up to pull your bottom lip off your teeth, tugging it down. "What? Don't go shy on me now. You don't think I hear you? You're pretty loud, especially when you use your toy. Rubbing that thing up your greedy fucking pussy. God, you don't even know how hard I get when I hear you moan my name."

You chuckle at his confession. “These walls aren’t paper thin, Peter. If you think you heard those by accident, you’re so fucking wrong.”

He continues to suck on your clit, continues to fuck you with his fingers, continues teasing both your clenching holes. Because Peter enjoys watching your cunt spasm at his touch. He lets his tongue fuck you, moaning when you clench tightly around his thick muscle.

“I’m close,” you breathe out. “I’m so fucking wet Peter. I’m already close.”

Capriciously, Peter stops. You whimper as he stands up, and he’s unpleased by your reaction as a frown settles between his eyebrows. He slaps the tip of his cock on your clit. “Why’re you whining, (y/n). Greedy girl. Wait here for a bit, will you?”

He’s quick to his feet when he disappears into the bedroom. Waiting for at least ten seconds, he reappears with his webshooter on his left hand, and a toy in his right– scarlet head, black body, blue buttons. The wand makes your mouth water, and he places it beside you as Peter gives you a hungry kiss.

In a swift motion, he turns you around. Peter places the wand in front of where your clit is, webs the toy on the countertop before he bends you over, the head hitting your clit as he calculated. You moan at his handling, his hand on the back of your neck.

“You still on the pill?” Peter whispers in her ear. “You feel too fucking good for me to just wear a condom, doll.”

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes closing when his nose rubs on your cheek. Peter holds his cock in his hand, penetrating your hole with his tip before finally pushing in.

Divine. Like angels had come down and taken you with them, but your soul falls down into the deep depths of hell from the unholy act of his bare cock pushing in your tight walls. His hands grasp tightly at your waist, moaning loudly together the neighbors would file a complaint the next day.

It's not his powers healing him - it's you. It's your touch that mends his soul with the mere act of immorality. Your runes mending his skin as it burns itself on his pearlescent body. “So tight, baby,” he breathes out. “So amazing. Feel so amazing. Gonna let me fuck you hard like the whore you are?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Give it to me.”

Ever the obedient, Peter slams himself onto you. His other hand turns the vibrator on, and you practically scream with the intense pleasure. Peter fucks you into oblivion, slamming at a pace unrecoverable.

A feeling that takes him to Caelum; your eyes as round and beautiful as Callisto, bright like the moon. His skin on yours is euphorically amorous; mind nebulous. “You’re such a good cocksleeve, doll. So fucking amazing. My whore, getting what she wants, making me prove her stupid principles wrong.”

You meretriciously reach behind you to grasp at his forearm, hand choking you from behind. His cock opens you up, stretches you out as Peter continues to pound from behind you. You feel his cold spit dribble down your neglected hole, his thumb tracing before pushing it inside your ass.

It’s painful but bearable, because you like the pain that he gives you. Greedily taking all that he gives as his cock goes deep that his tip bulges out your pelvis. The vibrator never hinders down, abusing your swollen clit while his thumb fucks your ass. And you’re scratching: countertops. Your back arched like a cat as his position lets him keep on hitting it, crying because you love him the feeling of his cock too much.

Peter lets go of your neck, hands caressing your back in an act of care. It’s what alleviates the heavy feeling of abhorrent fornication. His scandalous words are gloriously poisonous, but with mithridatism in your veins, you handle the sweet hemlock. Then he pulls your back to his chest leaving the vibrator buzzing and coated with your arousal, bodies paralleled as he fucks you into another universe by a force unfathomably powerful.

But he pulls the vibrator off the counter, despite the sticky webbing. With his balls slamming on yours from behind, with his thumb leaving your hole, he puts the vibrator against your clit, overstimulating you more.

“That’s it,” he moans when he hits your spot, squeezing him. “I’m close. You close baby?”

Lost of words, you nod. He slams with a couple of more thrusts, before he shoots his warm cum inside you. You follow obediently, cumming on his cock. He doesn’t pull out yet, slowly fucking you still.

Peter is as magnificent as the veil nebula in the constellation Cygnus. You soar in cosmos, admiring Peter's blue and purple glories being as the remnant of the beautiful catastrophe of a supernova. You admire the glacial haze, too infatuated with his splendor.

⋆

Peter wipes the drag on the mess between your legs, apologizing when he touches your stinging cunt from the stimulation. He plants a small kiss on your naked collarbone, then a sweet kiss on your tired, puffy lips.

“Are your principles changed?” he murmurs against your lips, looking at you. Peter thinks you’re the most beautiful star in all galaxies, beaming boldly beneath him.

You giggle, finger tracing his jawline. “I guess.”

You hide your face in his chest, Peter plants a soft kiss on your forehead. The fucking wore him out, resting his head on top of yours. And you’re still naked on the countertop.

This was definitely all Harry’s fault.

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

#tasm #tasm smut #tasm peter parker imagine #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm fanfiction #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x you #the amazing spiderman #the amazing spiderman 2 #tasm!peter parker smut #peter parker smut #andrew garfield fic #peter parker fic #indouloureux's writing

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sweetiesicheng · 2 months

Text

dk - time capsule

word count : 926

it’s seokminnie’s day too!!

"y/n? what are you doing here?"

you stood up straight and turned around to see dokyeom, one of your classmates. it looked like he had just left school and was cutting through a field that connected to your elementary school.

"oh, hi. i'm digging up something," you answered him.

"...i gathered up that much information considering you're holding a shovel..."

you rolled your eyes at him and lightly threw the shovel down onto the grass next to you. you brushed your hands from some dirt that had gotten into them.

"i don't know if you remember, but when we were in second grade, we made a time capsule as a class. the teacher emailed me today and said that she wanted everyone to get together if possible, but she wanted someone to dig it up. so i volunteered out of the people she emailed about it," you explained to him.

"wait, oh! i remember!" he suddenly exclaimed. "when's everyone meeting up?" he asked you.

"someone else is planning on sending a group text, so i'm not sure yet," you answered.

"do you need help digging?" he asked you before looking at his watch, "i'm done with rehearsal for the day."

"if you would be so kind because my back is already killing me."

—

dokyeom had started digging for said time capsule while you sat on the grass next to him.

"i don't even remember what i put in it. do you?" dokyeom asked you while throwing some dirt into another pile with the shovel.

"our teacher said all of us put letters in it and an item. she said she put photos of us in there too, but i don't remember what item i put in it," you answered, "if i had to guess, maybe something from my desk."

"we were so little back then. this will be fun opening it up," dokyeom said with a smile.

"yea, it will," you replied. "thanks for—"

dokyeom hit something that sounds like metal.

"is that it?" you asked, standing up and looking into the hole.

dokyeom crouched down and brushed some dirt with his hand. a metal box started to become visual.

dokyeom looked up at you with a grin, "jackpot."

—

over a week had passed since the time capsule was dug up. you were meeting everyone at a park and got off at a bus stop. you headed into the park through one of the entrances and looked around to see if you could find the picnic table that your old teacher said to meet at.

"y/n! over here!"

someone called for you and you noticed someone waving at you. as you got closer, you recognized a few people. some of them you went to school with while others you hadn't seen since elementary school.

"you got tall," you heard someone say.

"and you didn't hit a growth spurt?"

"y/n, you got so much prettier," one of your classmates said to you.

"no way. i still look the same for the most part," you replied.

"oh come on. she got scouted a few months ago for a modeling agency," one of your classmates said to your classmates you were sitting with. "and guess what? she declined the offer."

"and now i won't have to give up eating," you replied before looking over at another table. other classmates were looking at the time capsule.

"when are we going to open it?" one of the guys asked.

"is everyone that could make it here?" your teacher asked all of you.

"we're still missing a few," someone mentioned.

"alright, let's give it a few minutes," your teacher said.

"hey, let's get some drinks," one of the guys suggested.

"oh, i want to come," someone else said while standing up.

—

after a bit, everyone who could make it to the park arrived. your teacher, now retired, recalled some memories with all of you, and your classmates started to remember bits and pieces from when you were altogether in the classroom.

"alright, let's get this opened," one of the guys said. he opened the box, and inside were a bunch of items.

"hey! my baseball!"

"oh my gosh, i forgot this was in there."

"hey, y/n, isn't this yours?" dokyeom asked you, holding a keychain with the sanrio star twins on it.

"yea, it is!" you instantly smiled as dokyeom handed you the keychain. "how'd you know?" you asked him.

"you still have sanrio keychains on your backpack," dokyeom replied, "i remember seeing them the other day."

“everyone, pass these out. it’s the letters you wrote when you were younger,” your teacher said as she grabbed some envelopes out of a plastic bag.

“hey, my handwriting sucked.”

“did you write your name backwards?”

“don’t ask…”

once you got your letter, you walked away while opening the envelope. you recognized the stationary as your own from back in the day and pulled out the letter.

as you read it, someone stood by you, peeking over to read your letter.

“you wanted to be an astronaut?” dokyeom asked you. you looked at him.

“i mean, can you blame me? it sounds like so much fun,” you said to him. “and what did you want to become, dokyeom?” you asked.

he smiled and unfolded his letter to show you. he pointed his finger to a certain sentence, “a singer,” he said with a chuckle. “looks like one of us accomplished our goals.”

you rolled your eyes at him, “hey, give me some time, alright?” you replied.

“yea, you’re gonna need it.”

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sgiandubh · 2 months

Note

Anon rebelde.

Si vas a delatar a alguien, o si vas a informar o discutir lo que escribe, lee tu mismo la publicación correspondiente

Tal vez alguien le tendría que decir a la señora de las iniciales en mayúsculas,SDLIM para abreviar, que se aplique el cuento porque su comprensión lectora deja mucho que desear y también que tenga cuidado con todos esos blogs fantasmas que tanto la aplauden, tal vez tenga entre ellos un caballo de Troya. El que avisa no es traidor, es avisador y por cierto, hacen muy buena pareja la caja roja de Nestlé y la negra de aviación 😉

Dear (returning) Anon Rebelde,

Su última comunicación ha molestado a mucha gente de enfrente, que aparentemente se quejaba de que nuestro diálogo era imposible de seguir. Sin embargo, estoy segura de que nuestras maravillosas hermanas shipper no tienen problemas para entender el tráfico de esta escena, lo cual, según me han dicho, también es muy apreciado. Para todos los demás usaré pictogramas:

(I am translating the above paragraph I wrote myself in Spanish as a courtesy to this valued guest, just so you know - across the street. This is also NOT something you ought to have a say in, on MY page) Your last submission has annoyed many people across the street, who apparently complained about our dialogue being impossible to follow. However, I am sure our wonderful shipper sisters have no trouble understanding the traffic of this stage, which I am also told is very much appreciated.

For all the others, I will use pictograms 🙄:

👮‍♀️Translation of Anon Rebelde's question follows. Fasten your seatbelts ❗

'If you are going to tattle on someone, or if you are going to report or discuss what they write, read the relevant post for yourself' Maybe someone should tell Block Letters Lady, BLL for short, to also practice what she preaches, because her reading comprehension leaves a lot to be desired, and also to be careful with all those sock accounts that applaud her so much, maybe there's a Trojan horse among them. Not a traitor, speaking: just a warner. And by the way, the red Nestlé box and the black aviation box make a very good couple 😉

👮‍♀️Translation of Anon Rebelde's submission has now ended. You may safely proceed to the next level ❗

I am aware of the Baby Jesus' Belly Button Feast in there, too. That is strictly their problem, Anon Rebelde, but it's still hilarious to watch them pretend to be friends with each other, etc. I think all of this is very childish, but again, querida - we do things a bit differently, in here, and that is something that is not going to change. The red box was probably not Nestlé, but if you find it more fun, so be it.

And you are right, Red Box and Black Box like each other a lot, since Day 1, when Black Box welcomed Red Box like long lost family and immediately trusted her. Something Red Box was not expecting, so she was very moved & happy about it. Black Box + Red Box = Friends♾️, who root hard for each other, help each other and share a lot of things in DMs, too 😱.

(Remember: if you are not Julius Caesar or Marilyn Monroe, illeism is such a chichi rhetorical trick. And even if you are Julius Caesar - De Bello Gallico is such an obnoxious thing to translate, you wouldn't believe it.)

People are both a blessing and a curse, in this Strange Wasteland. I have met some of the kindest souls and some of the strangest twisted minds ever, in here. It really is mindboggling, yet by far the best side of this experience.

As for the Trojan Horse, well.... I don't get what you mean, but I trust their spies will.

May I risk a Miss Cleo prediction and foresee another salvo of Anons who'd throw the door open, enter in a frenzy, step on Bebe's tail, put their feet on the table and show me how pressure is properly done?

Let them.

I'd rather have you, Anon Rebelde. Doors can be slammed, too.

#anon #fandom #shitshow

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brunchable · 2 years

Text

One Dance (Last Part) || Doctor Strange x Fem!reader.

Word count: 7.6K WARNINGS: None? A/N: To all the people who's read part 1 and 2, thank you so much. I enjoyed reading your comments, I really appreciate the each and everyone of you. I really had a hard time writing this one. I tend to ovethink the character's emotions, making sure it's accurate and realistic, I lost a bit of sleep on this one. So many ideas just came in my head, which might resort to me writing one-shots.

PART I // PART II ***Strictly do not: claim, repost, copy, translate my stories anywhere else*** @poor-unfortunate-soul-85 @elicheel @vintageroses10 @sillyfreakfanparty @sherlux @padmesgreene @brucewaynescock @peachyrogerss @wow-life-love4 @geeky-politics-46 @hueanhdang @graniairish

"Um, excuse me? I'm looking for (Y/N, L/N)?" A young part-timer in a baseball cap asked the receptionist, a medium-sized assorted flower box in hand. It was filled with preserved white hydrangeas, lavender baby's breath and pastel pink roses. The other nurses and doctors turned their heads to look for you, it was probably the hundredth time someone's sent you flower boxes and other people are starting to get curious about the secret admirer behind it.

"Again? Give that to me. She's doing open heart surgery right now, I'll pass it on to her after." Juliet, your best friend and the cardiac ward's nurse unit manager, reached for the box, being careful with it.

"Oh uh, and this too." The kid sets an envelope sealed with wax and slides it across towards your friend then left without saying another word.

Juliet's brows arched, feeling that that was weird. She took the envelope as well and went to the women's changing room where your locker is and left it on top of yours.

•••

You stood beside Dr. Blake, one of the main consultants in cardiology. You were performing this surgery under his supervision and he wasn't surprised when you needed no prompting about the delicate procedure of the coronary bypass.

The first three months were tough but after your emotions had settled, you wasted no time sticking your nose into research and books that you've put those feelings under the carpet, making yourself believe that you're finally free from the grief of losing your relationship with Stephen. And because you focused on your work, you’ve excelled in your profession at an alarming rate, very noticeable amongst your peers.

"(Y/N)!" Dr. Blake found you and ran to catch up, you turned around to see the man jogging towards you. You began walking again after he caught up, "So, do I have an answer yet?" He asked.

You raised your brows, looking up at the taller figure beside you, unsure of what he meant by that, "Answer to what exactly?"

"The New Year's Eve ball at The Peninsula Hotel?" He reminded you with a sheepish smile. Don was roughly the same age as you, a brilliant doctor like Strange was but minus the ego and arrogance.

Your eyes lit up as soon as you remembered, "Oh right! I'm sorry I completely forgot about that… I don't know, Don." You gave him an apologetic smile, "I agreed to work on one of the intern's research papers–"

Don clicked his tongue and stood in front of you, "(Y/N), it's only for one night, it won't hurt to come. Plus, I reckon your intern will go out partying and you'll be at home doing their work? Sounds unfair to me." He squints his eyes, tapping his chin playfully.

'Could Dr. Blake please come to Cath four please. Dr. Blake please come to Cath four.' The PA announced through the speakers.

"Think about it, you have one day left." He began to walk backwards pointing at you before running away to where he was needed.

You sighed and headed towards the women's locker. You fished your phone out of your pockets to find a text from Juliet, it said: 'Hey Miss Popular, I left yet another beautiful box of flowers over your locker, and a letter. If you're in the mood to spill some tea then I'm in my office. xo.'

You hurriedly enter the locker room to find the flowers there, as well as the letter. Whoever was sending you those were really persistent, you opened the letter carefully, not wanting to ruin the beautiful seal, you pulled the letter out and there was a message in the middle of the textured paper.

'At new year's eve, meet me at the rooftop of the Peninsula, 11.30pm sharp. No excuses.'

You chuckled to yourself, knowing full well about the identity of this person.

•••

You slapped the letter down on Juliet's desk before sitting down, looking at you surprised, "It's Dr. Blake."

Juliet's eyes flickered between you and the letter, eyes widening and snatching the letter to read it, "Meet me at the rooftop of the Peninsula, 11.30pm sharp. No excuses." Juliet gasped in excitement, "Oh my god! But how do you know?"

"He's been pestering me to be his date at the new year's eve party, even just a few minutes ago. Ugh." You combed your hair back with your hands before burying your face in the crook of your elbow, shaking your head at Juliet who had her lips pressed as if trying to prevent a squeal.

"(Y/N), you can’t stand him up, not when he made all of this effort. It boggles my mind how blind you are to his signs." She leaned back and crossed her arms.

"He's been giving me hints? I honestly can't tell, he's so nice to everyone. I can't tell the difference." You shrugged.

"Ugh… Jesus help me. Okay, first of all, his body completely turns to face yours when talking, two, he always drops what he's doing every time you need help and three, whenever you approach him and his friends, they leave, it's like they're giving you some alone time." Juliet said, almost growling, trying to get it through your dense head.

"And you know all of this because?"

"I'm very observant, love, there’s not a thing I don't know about what's going on in my ward." Juliet leaned in, narrowing her eyes at you, "So are you going?"

"Okay fine, only if you are!" You took the letter back and Juliet pulled a smile of success.

"Me? Miss out on one of the biggest parties in New York? Are you really my best friend (Y/N)?" Juliet blew a raspberry and waved her hands dismissively.

•••

The elevator doors slid open into the basement parking lot, the place was full since it's now the morning of the thirtieth. You just couldn't wait to go home and sleep, you've had two long operations and your body is knackered. You carried the flower box with one arm as you approached your car. Turning your head cautiously because of the random noises that echoed in the quiet space. You picked up your pace and unlocked your SUV, carefully placing the flowers on the backseat of your car.

You turned towards the driver's seat, then noticed a piece of paper that was pinned under the wipers of your car:

Of all the things I can do on this earth, I just want to build a bridge from my heart to yours.

You read the note, looking around suspiciously before crumpling the paper and shoving it in your pocket. A lot of weird things have been happening to you lately, this one included. It feels like everytime you say you needed or wished for something, it coincidentally happens.

One time you were studying in the library, and quietly told yourself that you needed coffee when out of nowhere, a group of volunteers started giving free coffee for everyone. 'Take it easy.' Was written on the cup, as if reminding you to take a break from being stuck in a book.

The next one was when your car broke down and you had no choice but to catch the train instead. Something urgent came up at work and they needed you asap, you were running to catch the train, its doors almost closing when suddenly the electricity malfunctioned for a few seconds causing the train doors to reopen, giving you time to hop on, preventing you from being late.

The most memorable one was probably when you were out on a jog, feeling at your lowest after failing to save a patient, blaming yourself even if it wasn’t your fault. You were catching your breath, on the verge of a breakdown when a stranger came up to you and gave you a single flower, which was coincidentally your favourite one. She gave you a piece of advice, "Some things are out of your control." She said, giving you a comforting pat on the shoulder before walking away. A beautiful emperor butterfly landing on your flower shortly after.

You sat in your car in deep thought about the weird coincidences, "I just need sleep." You pinched the bridge of your nose, "This is nothing." You started the ignition and drove slowly out of the car park. The radio transitioned from white noise to clear audio as you exit the parking lot. Your phone failed to connect to your car again, leaving you no choice but to listen to what the radio has to offer.

'Cause after all this time, I'm still into you. I should be over all the butterfl–' You flicked the button on the wheel to change the station, you avoided listening to love songs because everytime, your mind lands back to Stephen and for the last eight months of putting your feelings aside and distracting yourself with work, you weren’t really a thousand percent over him– even though that's what you've been telling you friends.

'But if I let you go, I will never know what my life would be holding you close to me–' Flick.

'So tell me what I'm to do whenever, I'm missin' you? Tell me, do you love me? I, I–' Flick.

'Maybe it's intuition, but some things you just don't question, like in your eyes, I see my future in an instant–' Flick.

'So why does your pride make you run and hide? Are you that afraid of me? But I know it's a lie, what you keep inside, this is not how you want it to be.' You glared at the radio and slammed the off button, giving you serene silence. You released a heavy breath as you delicately stopped your car at the red light, feeling annoyed that the universe might be teasing you.

A convertible pulled up beside you, a middle aged man singing his heart away as music blasted from his speakers,"Although we've come… to the end of the road, still I can't let go, It's unnatural, you belong to me, I belong to you!"

"Ugh." You rolled your eyes and banged your head on the steering wheel.

•••

You tossed and turned in your bed, trying to find a comfortable position, but still you couldn’t fall asleep. You turned to your side again, opening your eyes this time. In the corner of your room, you noticed the box full of Stephen’s belongings that you didn’t have the guts to return, scared that you might come back to square one if you see him up close.

You remembered standing at the landing of The Sanctum for who knows how long, carrying a box full of Stephen’s belongings. You could hear and feel your heart pounding in your chest and felt nauseous, trying to find the courage to walk up and knock at the door, but instead you left carrying the things back with you and now you’re wondering why you didn’t just leave it. Maybe because at that time, you wanted him to have a reason to come back to see you and fight for you, take you back. You had it all planned out in your head.

You came to a conclusion that he was probably mad at you that he didn’t find the need to take his things back, but you kept it anyway just in case and now here you are, eight months post parting ways and it’s still here. No calls, texts, no signs of taking it back. You thought to yourself that it was probably time, time to close the door and open a new one. Your new year’s resolution will be to throw his things away and truly free yourself.

Your hands slid under your pillow and grabbed your phone to text Don.

To: Dr. Blake Hey, just letting you know, I’d like to attend the new year’s party with you.

It hasn’t been a minute since you sent the text, and you already got a reply from the man.

From: Dr. Blake Really?! Oh I mean, awesome. I’ll pick you up at 8pm. Wait. Why aren’t you sleeping after a night shift? Don’t reply and go to bed.

You giggled at his texts and left him on seen. You swiped back, scrolled all the way down your messages to find yours and Stephens, your thumb hovered over his name and deleted your messages and before you knew it, you fell into the rabbit hole of deleting everything that had Stephen in it.

•••

Stephen stood in front of the mirror, tying his tie without the use of magic this time, hair neatly styled with his signature grey streaks pulled to the side. It was New Year’s Eve, he and Wong had been invited by the Mayor to attend this year’s party after defeating Gargantos six months ago and America, being his sneaky side-kick, found that you were in the guest list.

Tonight is also the night that Stephen would walk himself back into your life, formally. It’s been him all along behind the scenes, making sure you had a great day. At night when you don't have a car to use, and you walk home alone in the dark, he stays close by to make sure you get home safe. He secretly buys you coffee when you’re at your favourite cafe trying to catch up on sleep during your break time. He was behind those reminders to take it easy on yourself whenever you studied, because he knew how taxing your profession can be. All of the things he took away from you such as security, making you feel special, wanted, he wanted to give back.

The day where you were contemplating whether to give his belongings back, he actually saw you from the window. He watched as you got folded by your uncertainty and walked away with the box still in your arms. He could’ve called you, yes, but he also wanted to give himself some time and make sure that his feelings for you were genuine. Hurting you twice was the last thing he wanted to do. If he was going to walk right back into your life, he wanted to offer himself to you fully, that is… if you still wanted him back.

Suddenly he heard a soft knock on the door, “Hi Stephen, it’s me.” America’s little voice said from the other side.

“Come in.” Stephen replied and turned around just as America entered his room, “How do I look?”

“You look really great! It’s weird seeing you and Wong all dressed up,” She laughed sheepishly and gave the man two thumbs up, “How are you feeling?”

Stephen paused to think of an answer, “Terrified.” He said nonchalantly. Outwardly, he showed confidence, unfazed by anything that may come his way but inside he felt like his own chest was going to collapse on him.

“You don’t look like it.” America furrowed her brows, “Anyway, I just came to tell you to break some legs!”

Stephen snorted while adjusting the cuffs of his sleeve, “Do you mean, break a leg?”

“You know what I mean!” America left his room complaining about the weird metaphor, her voice getting smaller as she got farther away, “Honestly, I don’t understand why you’d wish someone would break their legs… what if they actually break their legs?” Stephen shook his head and laughed at the kid whom he’s grown very fond of over the last few months.

•••

Back in your apartment, you also stood in front of your vanity in a black velvety manhattan slip dress that hugged your curves so beautifully. Your hair done up in a bun with curled loose hair falling at the side of your face. You decided to go for a natural make-up look to accentuate your red lips that matched well with your all black outfit.

Your doorbell rang and you walked towards your security cam, seeing Don on the other side. You opened up the door, plastering a smile on your lips as you greeted him with a cheek to cheek kiss, “Hi! Oh my god wow, don’t you look handsome.” You grinned and stepped aside to let him in, “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” His eyes running over your figure from head to toe, “And you look good in that dress.” He complimented you as he walked towards your couch, observing his surroundings since it was his first time being there.

You ran in your bedroom to grab your purse, phone and wool coat, “Let’s go!”

You didn’t expect the car ride to be so awfully awkward. He would start a conversation and it would end abruptly, then you would start one and that ended abruptly as well. The music didn’t even help ease the awkwardness, you could tell he was feeling the same since his forefinger was tapping the steering wheel. Fortunately it didn’t take long until you arrived at the Hotel, Don asked you to stay put as he went around the car to open the door for you, offering his hand which you gladly took while he helped you to step out of his car.

He handed over his car keys to the valet and approached the staff accepting invitations from guests, “Invitations please.” She politely asked.

Don pulled his invitation from the inner pocket of his blazer, while you took your out of your purse, “Dr. Blake and Dr. (L/N)! Welcome, please head towards the elevator, the party is on the 25th floor. Enjoy your night.” She returned the invitations to the both of you.

Don offered you his arm before walking in, “Shall we?”

“We shall.” You laughed softly, and locked your arm around his, as you headed together for the elevator “So, What’s going to be your New Year’s resolution?” You whispered in the elevator filled with other guests.

“Hm, I think I’d like to focus on other things that aren't related to work.” He whispered back, slightly leaning his head towards you with a small smile on his lips. The elevator arrived at the floor, the music from the band could be heard from the hallway playing classical music. Don allowed you to step out first before you linked arms with him again, “What about you (Y/N)? What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You took a deep breath as you began to speak, “I thought about finally opening a new chapter in my life.” You pulled a half-smile and dropped your gaze.

You walked through the tall entrance leading to the ballroom, the lights were warm and dimmed, purposely giving a romantic ambiance. You scanned the vast room from the top of the staircase and saw people mingling, some dancing to the music. Your eyes caught the familiar face of your friends sitting at a round table, your eyes lighting up when you saw Juliet waving at you enthusiastically.

You looked exceptionally beautiful tonight and turned a few heads as you walked past other guests. When you reached the table where the others were, Don pulled a chair out for you, thanking him as you took a seat, “Good evening guys.”

“Wow (Y/N), wow. You look so stunning I might cry.” Juliet wiped a fake tear.

“Oh speak for yourself Juliet, you look like a model.” You returned the compliment.

There were a few important people in the room and Don excused himself, “I’m just going to say hi to the hospital’s director, I’ll be back.” He squeezed your shoulder before approaching the circle of men chatting with each other.

“Sure.” You gave him a tight-lipped smile before turning your attention back to Juliet. The girls waited for the man to be far enough that he won’t hear your conversation.

“Sooo, are you going to tell us about the car ride on the way here?” Bea wiggled her brows at you teasingly.

“Please, don’t get me started. It was really awkward.” You hid your face in your hand, “We only had small talk, and that’s it.”

“That’s normal, I mean it’s your first time seeing each other outside of work and in a confined space.” Juliet warmly reassured you, glancing at your date from time to time, just like the other girls.

“Oh my god, look, he won’t stop looking in your direction, I say he’s smitten,” Rosie softly tapped the back of your hand. You lifted your gaze and met Don’s eyes, he smiled at you from where he is and you returned one to him.

“I can’t take this romance, I’m going to need a mega pint of wine.” Juliet jokingly cringed at the exchange of looks that was happening before her.

“Get up and socialise then, you aren’t in your office Juliet, you can’t sit here all night.” You teased her back, the others laughing with you after teasing her to get out of her seat and approach a girl that matches her type.

“Holy shit. No way.” Bea almost dropped her jaw, you followed the direction she was looking at and found Stephen walking in and standing handsomely in his well-pressed suit and tie. He scanned the room while readjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. The world felt almost as if it went into slow motion the moment your eyes locked into his blue ones from afar, your smile twitched as you felt the centre of your chest ache. The nerve of him turning up like this after eight months and looking fine as hell. When a female approaches Stephen, you quickly look away and start another conversation with the ladies, forcing yourself to smile and look unbothered.

•••

Stephen entered the ballroom with Wong following not too long behind him. His eyes surveyed the room, looking for you until he found what he was looking for. His eyes dilated at the sight of you, amongst other beautiful women in the room, you shined the brightest. He almost felt annoyed when someone took his attention away from you.

He caught you stealing glances at him as we walked down the stairs, chatting with another woman. The urge to walk over to you and drag you away to somewhere private was so strong, but he needed to find the right timing for that.

Once the majority of the guests had arrived, the programme began and dinner was being served, you were left with Don beside you as the girls left for their designated seats with their own dates. There were speeches and funny stories from the mayor and sponsors, “In this New Year coming, let’s live life to the fullest.” The Mayor ended his speech and raised his glass of champagne, “Cheers.”

“Cheers!” The crowd, including you replied, glasses clinking with one another. You cautiously looked around, it's as if your eyes moved on their own looking for Strange whether you liked it or not. And then there he was, seated at the front, drinking a glass of martini still looking at you with those annoying blue eyes.

The music began again, Don turned to you with a shy smile, “Care for a dance?”

“It’ll be a pleasure.” You gave him a sultry smile, taking his hand as he guided you towards the centre of the dance floor. You expected to dance under the slow music with your date however, the DJ changed the music into a party song as the band took a break.

“Alright, I’m ‘bout to fall asleep, let’s get some real partying started.” He shouted, hyping the crowd and began to play Low by Flo Rida. Don slowly turned his head towards you, clearly he didn’t expect this to happen either.

Don pulled a silly yet serious look on his face as he began dancing, using hip hop moves only an amateur would know how to do. He was clearly trying to make you laugh after picking up the drop in your mood, “Boots with the fur.” He sang and you threw your head back in laughter, covering your mouth with your hands as he made up silly dance moves in front of you.

•••

Stephen and Wong sat closer at the front where the special guests were. He wasn’t able to keep a conversation the whole night with other people since he was too busy keeping his eyes on you, waiting for the opportunity to catch your gaze once more, but as the night progressed, it never happened. He couldn’t even count how many dances he’s respectfully declined.

Stephen saw you on the dance floor, slow dancing with your date to ‘Lady in Red’, laughing along with whatever joke your date was telling you, “She looks so happy.” Wong, who was also watching, commented.

Stephen released an exasperated sigh, before taking a sip of his whiskey, his fiery eyes made it clear that he was jealous, “Yeah, she does.” He’s almost having second thoughts about approaching you.

Wong gave a look of concern towards his friend who was now in deep thought, “I’ve seen that look before. You’re contemplating.”

Stephen clenched his jaw and sighed once more, “I don’t think I can keep the promise I made to the other (Y/N).” He admitted, anxiously twirling his drink.

“I’ve been observing you the whole night Strange, there wasn’t a second where you took your attention away from her. Clearly you’ve found your happiness right there, are you just gonna let some other man take her away?” Wong asked, his tone serious yet soft, he didn’t want Strange to feel like he’s being lectured.

“And what if her happiness is the cost of mine? I don’t want to take that away from her.” Strange frustratedly replied.

Wong scoffed, “Then do the best you can to make her happy, show her that you’re worth her time. You can’t do that by sitting here and feeling sorry for yourself.” Stephen stopped swirling his drink and looked at Wong who shrugged at him, “Am I right or am I right?” Wong added.

Stephen drank the rest of his whiskey and stood up, straightening his jacket and walked towards you and Don with purpose. You saw Stephen heading for you and panic flashed all throughout your body. Stephen lightly tapped Don’s shoulder, causing the man to break away from you and face Stephen.

“Hi, Doctor Stephen Strange.” He introduced himself to Don and offered the other a handshake. Don’s eyes widened in surprise and took the man’s hand, firmly shaking it.

“Oh my goodness, It’s a pleasure to meet you Doctor Strange. Let me just say I love your work. I’m Donovan Blake.” Don smiled at Strange, clearly ecstatic to meet your ex.

Stephen glanced at you, “Thank you Doctor. How are you (Y/N)?” He asked you so casually that you felt the urge to slap him across the face.

“I’ve been well, thanks. And you Doctor?” You asked him back with a dead-pan expression. Don’s head turned between you and Stephen who was having a staring contest, noticing that there was tension present between the both of you.

“You two know each other?” Don asked innocently, looking at you this time.

“Yeah, old friends.” You quickly answered before something else comes out from Stephen's mouth. You could feel Stephen forming a smirk at how fast you were shutting him down.

“Mhm. Old friends.” Stephen agreed firmly, his eyes leaving you for Don, “I was actually about to ask if I could steal your date for one dance.”

Don opened his mouth to say ‘Of course’ but you cut him off, “I would rather have a drink-” You faked a smile towards Stephen, tugging your date on the sleeve to leave when you noticed Don giving you a confused look, “I mean, I don’t want Don to feel-”

“(Y/N), it’s okay. I don’t mind.” Don chuckled, “I’ll see you at eleven-thirty.” He lifted your hand towards his lips and gave the back of your hand a soft kiss in front of Stephen, who looked away and waited for him to leave.

At the same time, the song you were dancing to with Don finished and the band played a new song, “Alright folks, for those of you who want to fall in love tonight, this song’s for you. This is called, ‘Until I Found You.’”

Georgia, wrap me up in all your, I want you in my arms, oh let me hold you~

“Can I just say, that dress you’re wearing is stunning on you.” Stephen took delicate steps closer towards you, his warm hands splaying across the skin of your bare back, whisking you towards him, closing the gap between your bodies.

I’ll never let you go again, like I did~

You quietly gasped, a heady flush spreading all over your body. Your arms reluctantly wrap around his neck, stubbornly avoiding to look at the face you've yearned to admire for a long time. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “Thank you… you don’t look bad yourself.”

Oh I used to say~

You hear Stephen chuckle, his cheek pressed at the side of your head, “I see that you’re still trying to humble me?” His deep, lovely voice sent a thrill down your spine.

I would never fall in love again until I found her.

“Is it working?” You scoffed and asked in a quiet voice, trying your best not to sound nervous.

“Not really.” Stephen replied, “Because I think I'm making you feel nervous.” The air was cold and yet you felt heat exploding from the pit of your stomach rising to your face as you felt his solid gaze towards you.

I said, "I would never fall unless it's you I fall into"

He guided you into a spin and when your body crashed back to him, he held you tighter than the last. A combination of his alluring scent, the weight of his gaze, and the nonexistent distance between you is so overwhelming that it almost makes you dizzy.

I was lost within the darkness, but then I found her, I found you~

You took a deep breath after what seemed like forever, giving yourself to gather your emotions before you answer him, you tilted your head up and you lifted your eyes to meet his and battled them, “I’m not nervous.” You denied, forgetting that he was so much taller compared to you.

Stephen studies your face, lips twitching and whispers, “I am,” He drops his gaze to your mouth leaning in close enough so when he spoke, his breath would caress your lips. Jesus Christ.

You snapped your head away from him, feeling self-conscious that your friends might see how close he got; your breath getting caught in your throat, feeling ashamed that they might judge you for dancing with your ex-boyfriend.

Your heart was racing when you felt his lips almost touching yours, “Are you messing with me right now?” You were doing everything in your power to look at him unimpressed, but the fact that you felt intoxicated by him, leaving you craving for more, was leaving you feeling miserable.

“Why would I do that?” He asked, “Do you really think I’m only dancing with you for my own entertainment?” He gently put his hand down your arm, and you felt goosebumps forming on your arms, as well as shivers rushing up your spine. Eventually, he ended up taking your hand, putting it over his heart, which was rapidly beating in the presence of you.

You searched for Don who was casually chatting with other guests, feeling relieved that he was occupied. You were spun around, leaving you with no choice but to concentrate on him and his words, "Don't look at him, look at me." He coax gently, his voice dangerously huskier than before, "Do you still think I'm messing with you?" He pressed your hands harder over his heart.

Lord have mercy on my soul. You felt the rhythm of his heart against your palm, almost beating in synchronicity with yours, “I can’t- You can’t do this to me. This is unfair, Stephen.” You unravel your arms around his neck, you softly push him away while shaking your head.

His hands fell from your back, your skin missing its warmth in an instant while your mind fell into a spiral of confusion with your emotions as you weaved through the sea of people, leaving him alone on the dance floor.

You rushed to the ladies' bathroom where Juliet followed soon after, "(Y/N), are you okay?" She frantically asked as she barged in, catching you attempting to calm yourself.

Your eyes burned with vexation, "I hate him– I hate how he makes me feel this way, I hate the way he looks at me, I hate how my body reacts when he touches me, it's like all my senses are betraying me and he knows it!"

Juliet could only watch you empathetically, she approaches you by hugging your side, "You never stopped loving him, didn't you?" She popped the huge question.

You nodded as much as you hated to admit, "Gosh, I feel like a hypocrite. I left him because he couldn't get over his ex and here I am on the same boat as him. Can't get over my own ex." You laughed, in ridicule at your situation.

"You're not a hypocrite, need I remind you that you're not stepping on anyone else's feelings? Because you're not, you're just confused," She lightly shook you, "Do you want him back?" Your friend asked yet another huge question, a question you haven't prepared an answer for.

You threw your head back, preventing your angry tears from falling, "My new year's resolution was to completely let go, but then he decides to show his stupid face in that annoying suit. Why am I getting the urge to slap him across the face?"

Juliet gave a look, finding your anger quite cute, "Because you think he's hot," You glared at Juliet, "and I think he is as well, but I've never seen you get so worked up over another man. You can't deny that you're still into him. Just face it and talk to Stephen and if he says he's still hung up on his ex then tell him, bye bitch, I got plenty of people lined up for me."

•••

You found Don waiting for you at the empty rooftop bar, though the fairy lights all around were on, there was nobody there but the two of you. Don was sitting at one of the sun beds, you smiled at him as you quietly approached and sat beside him, leaving your wool coat beside you.

"So, half an hour until the New Year, how are you feeling?" He broke the silence.

"Nervous but I'm looking forward to what it has in-store for me," You paused, "So why are we really here Don?" You asked, not wanting to beat around the bush anymore.

He chuckled, "Wow straight to the point— Well, I just wanted to tell you that I've had such a pleasure working with you these past three months. You're an amazing Doctor and you continue to surprise us with your passion and talent and because of that, I might’ve caught some feelings for you along the way." He worked so hard to find the right words and not stutter as you listened to him intently.

"So this is what it's all about, all the flowers and chocolates–" You chuckled but Don gave you a confused look.

"What flowers?"

"The flower boxes? You've sent like heaps of them, with notes of encouragement?" You repeat yourself.

Don shook his head, "I didn't send you any flowers ye—" His phone rang in his pockets, "Sorry, I got to take this, it's the hospital." Don stood up to take the call.

"Yeah, sure." You replied in a low voice, trying to put things together, you played with your fingers as you got lost in your thoughts. Don glanced at you several times and took a few minutes on the phone before coming back with a disappointed look on his face.

“(Y/N), I have to go. There’s been an out of hospital cardiac arrest, can we do a rain check?” He asked, reaching for his jacket that hung on a chair and apologised. "I'm so sorry.”

“It’s alright, I understand, go.” You held his hand and reassured him with a kind smile. Getting a little embarrassed, he replied with an apologetic smile. Your sigh was accompanied by the sting of cold air touching your skin as you sat in silence. As you stepped out of your chair, you found yourself looking at the spectacular view of the city from the balcony railing, everyone was awake, waiting for the new year to arrive. Your sentiments were enhanced by the view, the weather and the reset of the earth's orbit around the sun. Your mind’s feeling nostalgic about the good things that happened to you and you begin to feel grateful for meeting amazing people, including Stephen.

“I hope he’s got one hell of an excuse.” Suddenly, Stephen interrupted your train of thought, making you jump lightly and turn around, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” As Stephen continued to walk, he paused for a moment, hands in his pockets, and then he continued back to you.

“He does actually, out of hospital cardiac arrest.” You answered without looking at him and went on admiring the city while he was admiring you.

Stephen nodded, now looking at the sparkling horizon as well. Even though there was no awkwardness between you, the silence between you felt heavy, especially since both of you still have some things on your minds.

“(Y/N),” “Stephen,” All of a sudden, both of you spoke at the same time, causing you both to laugh casually, Stephen insisting that you go first.

“It was all you wasn’t it?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” The man asked with his eyebrows raised.

“The chocolates, the flowers, the notes. All the weird coincidental things that've been happening in the last few months. That was all you, wasn’t it?” You elaborated just like he asked and he nodded.

“Yes, that was all me– well this kid actually helped me– but I’m trying to make up for the things I wasn’t able to do when we were with each other,” he confessed, casting a quick glance at your face.

“Why? I didn’t ask for any-”

“Exactly, you didn’t ask but you deserve everything, little things or big, you deserve all the good- great things.” Although his voice was calm, there was a sense of passion in his delivery.

“I went to your place once to return your belongings,”

“I know.”

“I stood there for a while trying to find the courage to knock but I couldn’t,”

“I know.”

“So, I took them back with me, secretly hoping that you would at least send me a text or give me a call, maybe even show up at my door asking me to give it back to you, I kept it as an excuse for you to come back to me but you never did,” Your voice gave out as if you’re holding your tears back, because now you knew that he saw you but didn’t do anything about it, “And now you show up out of nowhere.”

Stephen dropped his gaze as you explained the reason behind your visit. Hearing the sound of your voice breaking and trying to keep a brave face was like a bullet to the chest, “The reason why I didn’t do anything was because I needed to clear my head. You of all people knew how messed up I was, you asked me to find my happiness, so I followed what you asked of me that night.”

There was a good reason why you kept your mouth shut; you did ask him to find out what makes him truly happy and that is what he did.

With his fingers running along the edges of your cheeks, he cups your face with his hands, his eyes glistening “I'm a huge asshole for hurting you the way I did, you; a beautiful, smart, kind… breathtaking woman, don’t deserve someone like me but If I could repeat it again, I would do the same thing and watch you walk away. Because I would rather have you feel upset than me trying to fix things at the wrong time and hurt you even more in the process.”

After placing your hands over his, you closed your eyes for a moment, savouring the sensation of his hand resting on your cheek, “So did you find it? Your happiness?” Your eyes fluttering open, you look up into his once again, unable to look away as you gaze into the depths of his eyes.

“Yes, I did find my happiness-” Stephen drew closer to you, he looked at you intently, tucking strands of your hair away from your face, your pensive gaze transforming into a smile as you let him know that you are genuinely happy for him. Something about his gaze has never been captured by you before. The longer you stand under it, the weaker your knees feel.

Stephen wipes a tear from your eyes as you whisper, "I'm really happy that you found what makes you happy, Stephen.”

“I’m looking at her right now.” He proclaimed in his deep voice that could melt ice bergs. Your eyes slightly widen in surprise, the knot in the pit of your stomach tightens as Stephen inches closer. Finding it difficult to meet your eyes as your lips constantly entice his attention, every second spent without tasting your lips was killing him.

"(Y/N)?" Juliet called your name and you pushed yourself free from Stephen's grasp. After seeing Stephen there and not Don, Juliet narrowed her eyes slightly. She also felt like she interrupted something, "Are you… coming back for the countdown?"

You look at Stephen who looks dismayed as he turns his back towards your friend, his expressions begging you to stay.

You cleared your throat,"Yeah, I'll be right there." You turned your attention back to Strange who stood still, rooted in his position, "I'm going to go back, it was nice seeing you, Stephen." You bit your lip, but Stephen said nothing, which prompted you to begin walking back and following Juliet.

It was a sharp sound of Stephen's rapid footsteps gaining momentum behind you which caught your attention, and you felt his calloused hand snagging your wrist, the next thing you know you're being gently pinned against the wall, "Stephen!" You blurted out of surprise.

It was like the whole world melted away as Stephen sealed your lips with his, the countdown, the fireworks all turned into nothing but background noise, the atmosphere became ethereal, heavy, and beautiful. Having tasted the taste of soft lips, his kisses began to become urgent; hot and consuming. It seemed like you were losing your grip on reality when he gently slid his arms across the back of your waist securely as your knees collapsed, closing the space between your bodies. His other hand supported the back of your head. It was just as passionate for you to reciprocate his kiss, your fingers digging into his broad shoulders with just as much passion. When Stephen reached the limit of his lungs, he was forced to pull away from you after missing the feel of your lips .

He kept that close distance, his nose lightly grazing your cheek, his breath heavy, "Come back to me. Tell me I'm not too late, please tell me you're not in love with someone else. I don’t want to fall in love unless it's with you, you're the one I want to share my life with. If you give me another chance I'll prove to you how much I love you, my words aren't going to get me anywhere so please, let me show you." Stephen pleaded and took your hands, squeezing it for dear life, scared that you would walk away, “I’m yours.”

You felt speechless, after all you've been through you're finally hearing what the words you want to hear from him. You've never seen him act this way, his whole demeanour screams that he was scared to lose you, again, "Are you really the same man who threw my feelings out the window? Because if this is a dream, then I don't want to wake up. I'll give you this as your one last chance, Stephen, it's a new year, we can start over." You whispered with a quivering smile, standing on your toes to leave a kiss on his cheek. After hearing the three simple words you said, Stephen slowly sighed with relief, and he embraced you with a smile that grew wider.

The two of you turned around and watched the fireworks lit up and brought colour to the night sky, "Now I have to think of a new, new year's resolution."

After removing his jacket, Stephen threw it over your shoulder and asked, "Why? What was it?"

"I was going to throw your things out in the trash." You casually admitted and the look on his face made your laugh, "What? It's taking up too much space. My mom thought I joined a cult."

Steve laughed sarcastically and squeezed your shoulders, "Wait till you tell her that a cult master is in love with you."

When you look up at him, you tilt your head teasingly, "Did you just say you're in love with me?"

"Oh shit, did I? Must've slipped." He hissed softly, "Can I take it back?"

"Sorry, no refunds."

Stephen asked for reassurance, "Are you in love with me too?" You managed to keep an innocent face, keeping your heart to yourself as you took Stephen's hand in yours.

The cold wind whipped against your arms and you brushed it off. "Oh, it's so cold, let's go in." You went to get your wool coat which you had left on the beds, Stephen eyeing you as you walked by him, still waiting for an answer.

"(Y/N)?" Stephen followed you inside like a puppy, "You're in love with me right?"

#stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #marvel x you #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x you #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x you #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr strange x you #doctor strange fanfiction

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runa-falls · 5 months

Note

⭐️ (director's choice bc im behind on my reading but want the tea)

he smells like flowers (steven grant x reader)

i like to think of this work as my love letter to steven because every time i re-read it, it flings me back into my obsession with him. i feel like i was in a trance when i wrote this bc i don't remember putting out these thoughts lol.

here are some excerpts that i'd like to expand on:

even after a week long mission, he still smells like that mellow mix of tender flower petals and syrupy nectar. ambrosia that glides thick on your tongue and begs you to swallow him down.

i don't know how describe it but i feel like his scent is not a smell, but a feeling. like pure ecstasy, it makes you curl up in a little ball and once you have a taste, you'll never get enough of it. it's a magnet that pulls you closer -- one that you could resist, but never want to.

these two sentences are absolutely extra asf bc all i was really trying to say is that i want steven to fuck my throat + cuddle me :)

he has a habit of chewing on his bottom lip when he's nervous, excited, or generally overstimulated, sucking it raw until you tug it out from under his teeth and help him lick the wounds. sometimes you think he does it on purpose -- wanting to feeling you grace his lips with yours -- other times you worry that if you weren't there he'd do some real damage to himself without even knowing it.

kissing doesn't always have to be sexual. in this instance, kissing is caring, showing someone that you'll be there to comfort and reassure them when times become too much.

i have a habit of biting my lips when i'm anxious so i kinda forced that compulsion onto steven bc i've never had someone care enough to notice. i figured that if i could take care of him in that world, i could do the same for myself here.

the sleeves of his clothes are tugged and stretched out because he likes the feeling of having something to hold on to, it grounds him. it comforts him when you aren't around.

like many others, steven and his oversized clothes had immediately enamored me. there's something about a man purposefully trying to make himself seem smaller that makes me feral.

i made steven a bit clingy in this fic, where he always wants the reader near and touching him. i love writing steven as touch-starved because i think he definitely deserves to be touched in a loving way. he should be craving my love and leaning into my touch, not flinching away from it!

i also understanding having that one comfort-person. even in a room full of friends, there's always that one person that makes me feel undoubtedly safe. so that's why i added this part!

you groan against his slick heated skin -- he tastes like a box of heart shaped chocolates: saccharine, rich, and indulgent. you've never had a sweet-tooth, but steven is a dessert you could eat any day.

if you didn't catch it, this was a reference to steven + his box of chocolates after being stood up at a restaurant. poor romantic steven :( of course, steven doesn't actually taste like chocolate (or does he?), but he's such a sweetie that he might as well be a chocolate rabbit <3

^^i love doing this director's comments asks bc it helps me reflect on my work!

director's cut

#director's cut asks #jhonsi :0 #steven grant #steven grant x reader

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hum-suffer · 7 months

Text

The brothers Black

It's late. He should go to sleep. He has Harry to look after now, he should set a better example.

The said teen is sitting on the floor beside him, and for a moment Sirius is caught in the nostalgia of just how much Harry reminds him of himself.

It's a bad thing, really. He wasn't the best guy around. Hell, Sirius thinks he was probably a menace to even think about. Harry, Harry is better. Sirius remembers picking up the newborn Harry Potter in his hands and hugging him. Sirius remembers closing his eyes and apologising to the ghost of a dead Regulus because Sirius had never hugged his baby brother as much as he deserved.

Sirius puts off his cigarette and runs a hand down his face. Fuck.

Reggie.

Beside him, Harry looks at him with worried eyes. "We don't have to continue, Sirius," he says, perceptive boy. "I can leave—"

"Not necessary, kid," he says, pulling out the last of photos from the shoe box. Harry shuffles closer, almost cuddling him. Sirius quietly points out the people he never got to see grow older. Marlene, her puns and her affinity for everything yellow. Pandora, her heart and her necessity to constantly have chocolates on her person. Dorcas, her loud army boots and bright sundresses.

The last photo in his hand doesn't belong in the shoebox.

It's Reggie and him, Sirius has his brother in his arms and his lips pressed to Reggie's head, eyes closed tight. But it's Sirius, he knows this moment.

Three weeks before Sirius started Hogwarts, Reggie was sure that Hogwarts would steal his brother from him.

(Didn't it?)

Poor boy had been promising to be the best brother in the world, begging Sirius to keep loving him.

Sirius doesn't know when tears blurred his eyes but the ache in his chest comes back full force at his brother's innocent face, still red because of crying and eyes scrunched up close behind Sirius' hand. Sirius was supposed to protect him. Keep his eyes closed, never show him the blood and death that was carved into their fate.

"Regulus." Harry breathes beside Sirius and even the boy sounds pained. He leans further into Sirius and Sirius. Sirius is a greedy man. He takes the opportunity with desperation and puts his arm around Harry's shoulder, pulls him in.

(Everyone he touches will turn out dead. But Harry can't be dead, no, that's his boy, that's his child, he can't, no, not his boy—)

As they've done with every other picture, Sirius turned the photo behind to read who clicked it and when, even if he remembers the dates like they're tattooed on his spine.

But the back of the photo isn't only that. It reads,

Dearest Siri,

I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. For the first time in my life, words fail me. I've failed everything you've ever tried to teach me— all in for a blind wish that was always impossible.

I've heard your silence, I've heard your screams and it seems that it's all I can remember. I am your shadow, no matter how much mother and father try to force the fact to be false. I want your presence, brother. I do not know how to exist without you. It is the only demand I can still make from fate— for even fate will have to pry you from my dead hands.

You are my brother. You are an ache in my chest and nowadays, I only ever breathe to feel this ache. The letters you've written to me are in my room, you will know where. The letters I've never sent you will be there. Burn them, Siri. I am going down a path of betrayal— towards you, towards our name, towards James, towards the Dark Lord as well. Of all the betrayals I've committed, my biggest regret will be not seeing you before I walk towards death.

Remember me, Siri. Let me stay alive with you. Let me take a part of you as I die.

Yours,

RA Reggie.

Clicked by Andromeda, 18/8/71

Panic burns through Sirius and he's heaving— choking on his tears and sobs and gasps.

His brother. His baby brother. He clutches the photo tighter and cradles it to his heart and wails. Regulus.

The ache in his chest blooms anew and Sirius wants to claw at his chest and find that piece of Regulus that's always lived beside Sirius' heart. Brother. My brother. My only brother. My little brother.

Regulus. Regulus. Reggie. Reggie. Reggie. Baby. Reg. Ree. Reg. Reggie.

Sirius slams his fist on the floor and he welcomes the pain that comes with it, his sobs almost cover the thuds his fist is making and he doesn't want to live. His brother. An open wound in his chest, his brother. Sirius wants to burn himself alive, like Reggie wanted to burn those letters.

"My brother." He wails, not sure if anyone will understand what he's saying but he doesn't expect them to, no one will ever understand just what his brother is, was.

There's a hand on his shoulder and Sirius heaves again. He has failed everyone he cared for, and he failed his blood the most. His boy, his brave Reggie.

Harry doesn't speak but keeps his hold on Sirius' elbow and Sirius wishes he would choke him or plunge his hand in Sirius' chest and drag his heart out— Reggie died with a wish to see Sirius, his poor brother, his baby, his Reggie— he doesn't want to live knowing how Reggie suffered and sobbed.

Because even if his brother is dead, Sirius is alive and thus, so is Reggie. Sirius can feel the sobs that must have wrecked Reggie, he can hear all the whimpers Reggie had to subside because he couldn't wake Mother and he can feel all the bile in his throat that his brother must have thrown up during one of his panic episodes.

And now, Harry rises up on his knees and holds Sirius— as Sirius was holding Reggie in that photo. As Harry's hand covers his eyes, Sirius feels the darkness that must have been the last thing Reggie saw.

#the black brothers #the brothers black #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #sirius and regulus #sirius and james #james and regulus #james x regulus #harry potter #harry potter ootp #good godfather sirius black #Regulus black angst #desiblr #suffer ye suhana nahi #i cried

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lady-rose-moon · 9 months

Text

Timeless || Loki x Reader ||

A/N: okay wow I am on a roll with these song fics! maybe I shall just post these from now on because this was so fun to write and so was Never Grow Up!

Summary: walking down the street, you feel a strange urge to into a shop and the outcome is beautiful.

↣ MASTERLIST

youtube

You were walking down the street one day when something in your mind told you to stop walking and when you looked to your side, you saw an antique store. It had been there since you could remember but today something in you told you that you needed to go inside. Following your gut was always something that you’d do so you pushed the door and entered the shop.

On the counter, there was a cardboard box with no cashier in sight. Curious, you stepped up to the box and chanced a look inside. The sign informed you that the photos were twenty five cents each and you hummed at the deal, taking a look at a few.

Down the block, there's an antique shop

And something in my head said, "Stop, " so I walked in

On the counter was a cardboard box

And the sign said, "Photos: twenty-five cents each"

The first photo you saw was of a couple from the 1930’s. The bride looked so beautiful in her white gown, her smile reaching her ears as she stared into the camera on the arm of her husband. They seemed so in love. The next photo you fished out was a photo of two people on their front porch and you studied their faces, seeing that they were young they could bejust out of school. Young love, you thought to yourself with a smile. They really seemed close, perhaps their love lasted all that time.

But something changed as you stared at the photos, the faces shifting into your face and the face of your husband; Loki.

Immediately you took out your phone and dialled his number, sighing in relief when he answered almost immediately. “Darling?” he spoke down the line, his accent lighting a fire in you, “are you alright?”

“It’s hard to explain,” you whispered softly, your eyes transfixed on the photos in your hands, “there are these photos and I just… I see us… perhaps these were a message that we would have found each other in another life and you would’ve still seen me as you saw me now.”

You heard Loki release a soft chuckle and your cheeks turned pink before you heard him whisper, “I don’t doubt it, my darling.”

Black and white, saw a '30s bride

And school lovers laughin' on the porch of their first house

The kinda love that you only find once in a lifetime

The kind you don't put down

And that's when I called you and it's so hard to explain

But in those photos, I saw us instead

And, somehow, I know that you and I would've found each other

In another life, you still would've turned my head

Your magic flared to life around you, creating an illusion of the street around you filled with soldiers dressed in war uniforms with Loki in front of you. Your heart pulsed at the sight of him as he bowed to you and kissed your hand, softly whispering to you, “wait for me.”

“Always,” you breathed softly, smiling as that mischievous smirk played at his lips before his name was called and he rushed forward, sealing your lips in a kiss.

“I will come home to you,” Loki whispered hoarsely, his eyes roving into yours, displaying his passion for you, “I will fight until I am sent home if I must. Wait for me.”

“Always,” you repeated softly.

even if we'd met

On a crowded street in 1944

And you were headed off to fight in the war

You still would've been mine

We would have been timeless

Your magic changed the scene to you standing in a classic American house from the ‘40’s, your dress ending just at your knees with your hair pinched up like a classic housewife. Just then, someone knocked at the door and you hurried over, pulling open the door to see the mailwoman standing outside with letters in her hands.

“Mornin’ Mrs Laufeyson!” she greeted with a smile, handing the letters to you, tipping her hat, “war’s almost over as I hear it!”

“Let’s hope so, Mrs Michaels!” you replied before closing the door and hurrying upstairs, throwing yourself on your bed to read the letters from Loki at war. Those letters rang with his sincere words, of how much he missed you and desired you in his arms. After the work in the house was done, you’d fall asleep praying to whatever gods existed that Loki would return safely to you.

I would've read your love letters every single night

And prayed to God you'd be comin' home all right

And you would've been fine

We would have been timeless

The magic shifted again to Loki holding you in his arms, dancing slowly to a silent tune in the living room of that classic house with his hands on your swollen stomach. The love in his eyes overwhelmed you as you turned and that’s when the magic shifted to Asgard and him dancing around the ballroom with you under the eyes of thousands, even though you were the only one that mattered to him. Timeless, like immortality. Even in this other world, without magic where Loki was human, he would’ve been yours.

'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this

So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine

We would've been timeless

The illusion died away and you looked back down at the photos, seeing a couple that seemed to be in their teenage years considering the prom dress the girl was wearing and the tux that the boy was wearing. They were holding hands and when you noted that the date was 1958, you smiled to yourself, remembering that that was the year you were introduced to Loki as his betrothed.

I had to smile when it caught my eye

There was one of a teenage couple in the driveway

Holdin' hands on the way to a dance

And the date on the back said 1958

Which brought me back to the first time I saw you

The day you were introduced to Loki, his eyes bore into you and you felt uneasy and time seemed to stop as he examined you with a pursed lip. He walked up to you and you thought that he was going to kill you but instead, he restarted time by taking your hand and kissing it gently with a whisper of, “I am honoured to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Stuck in that memory, you looked around at other things in the antique shop that might be similar to your life with Loki, inspecting all the trinkets that so many people had left behind, ignorant of how a length of time can form memories that are valuable until you stumbled across a cobwebbed book.

Opening the pages, you found it was a romance book, written about two people that were right for each other but just living in the wrong time. Yet still, they fell in love similar to your love with Loki. You weren’t meant to love Loki, just to be his bride and provide children for him when he wanted them.

Time stood still like somethin' in this old shop

I thought about it as I started lookin' 'round

At these precious things that time forgot

That's when I came upon a book covered in cobwebs

Story of a romance torn apart by fate

Hundreds of years ago, they fell in love, like we did

As you read how it ended, you frowned and decided that you would choose her fate too if it meant that you were not given to anyone other than Loki. You would rather die than suffer that fate.

Your magic began again, shifting around you to place you in the ball where the main woman had met her secret lover, dancing under the eyes of hundreds with him despite the whispers and disapproval. Just to watch those raven curls fall perfectly around his shoulders as he guided you across the ballroom floor and sealed the night with a kiss.

And I'd die for you in the same way if I first saw your face

In the 1500s off in a foreign land

And I was forced to marry another man

You still would've been mine

We would have been timeless

The illusion shifted again to Loki standing in front of you, your hands full of love letters and the thunderous sound of armour clanging up to your bedroom door. You took Loki’s hand and jumped from your window into the bushes below, running into the night and away from your other betrothed to be with the one you were destined to be with.

Under the gaze of the full moon, far away from the old palace, he would seal your lips in a kiss and you’d once again feel that sense of belonging with him.

I would've read your love letters every single night

And run away and left it all behind

You still would've been mine

We would've been timeless

Living in a cabin in the woods with your lover after running away, sewing for the child growing in your womb, you smiled over at Loki who was tending to the fire and he smiled back, his nose black with soot.

You saw the illusion fade and knew that was another timeline where you and he would’ve made things work.

'Cause I believe that we were supposed to find this

So, even in a different life, you still would've been mine

We would've been timeless

The magic shifts again to show you a time in the very far future where you and Loki are aged gods, unable to do the things that you are currently able to and yet you still see him help you from your chair to share an intimate dance with you, your head on his shoulder as he guided you through the dance. You saw that despite the elder age, your souls would never change and you’d always be the right one for each other.

In a crowded room a few short years ago

And sometimes there's no proof, you just know

You're always gonna be mine

We're gonna be

Time shifts backwards to when you seem to be what Midgardians would look like in their early 50s and yet you laughed with Loki - who was now slightly greying, dancing merrily to music as you enjoyed the day on Asgard. You pulled a cardboard box from the shelf and opened it up, you and Loki gazing into the box at the photos you’ve taken through the centuries. Of the wedding, of the children, of everything else.

You watch as Loki’s eyes study the photos before he whispers, “Wow we really were timeless.”

I'm gonna love you when our hair is turnin' gray

We'll have a cardboard box of photos of the life we've made

And you'll say, "Oh my, we really were timeless"

You got home that night after your journey to find Loki waiting in his tux, holding a hand out to you. Your heart raced as he transformed your outfit into a dress fitting that of a princess before he took you outside and danced with you beneath the stars, music playing around you as you smiled at him and danced.

Loki grinned down at you, sweeping you through sensual, romantic or funny dance moves, all to see you laugh and spin in his arms before he surged forward and sealed your lips in a kiss before singing to you, “We're gonna be timeless, timeless, You still would've been mine, We would've been, Even if we'd met on a crowded street in 1944, You still would've been mine, We would've been timeless.”

You smiled at him and kissed him passionately under the moonlight.

Years later, walking down the street, Haven feels the urge to stop in front of an old antique shop. Trusting her gut, she opens the door and steps inside.

Down the block, there's an antique shop

And somethin' in my head said, "Stop, " so I walked in

~~~~

@lokisgoodgirl @lokisninerealms @evelyn-kingsley @slpnbty2001 @jennyggggrrr @hahaha12123445 @ozymdias @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @lovingchoices14 @xorpsbane @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbs @nerdy-fangirl-65 @lonadane @silverfire475 @chantsdemarins @iamsherlocked1479 @kittiowolf210 @just-someone11 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @loki-laufeyson-1054 @fictive-sl0th @coldnique @anukulee @eleniblue

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston #loki fluff #loki x reader fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #hot loki #mcu loki #jotun loki x reader #reblog please #tom hiddleston character x reader #loki songfic #Youtube

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culticloset · 9 months

Text

Staff-Only Site Details

This is different from stuff I usually post because it's mostly art and stuff but I wanted to point out something that I noticed on the staff-only site.

Me and @robotic-bakery are also working on a compilation of all the transcripts.

So we've all seen this picture, and my first impression of it is that there was black paint all over the place. But then I noticed something in one of the emails.

It says "Please take care of it while it is in your possession, but under no circumstances should it be touched with your bare hands. Please wear gloves. If a substance begins to grow on anything delivered, please place it back in the box it was shipped in and return it to us at your leisure. If you or anyone in your team experience nausea, dizziness, or fatigue, please dont be alarmed."

So this mystery substance has been growing on all the stuff that has been sent, which brings me to the next question- what is it? From the symptoms the email said, it seems to act like black mold.

You can see the substance on the glove from where they touched it. That's that's on the walls, on the ceiling. Not paint. Its the substance from the things on display.

Someone- probably the person we hear from on the site- has been touching and spreading it all over. And from what we can tell, it clearly isn't good for you and it will make you sick. And not only that, but there is a whole lot of it.

So just what is this? And why is it growing on the displays that were sent to them?

Edit: I forgot to put this in but in one of the emails, there's a line written in invisible ink that says something alone the lines of "everything is digusting to touch". The email that I mentioned earlier said not to touch the substance with their bare hands. Is it possible that they took the glove off and touched it with their bare hand?

Another thing worth nothing and it's kinda hard to read is that who ever wrote this is actually the only person who remembers the show, not the whole group. So why is that? And who is the sender? Because they clearly know the show as well. Is it someone who used to work on it? And who is the question answerer?

I suspect this might be the first letter that the person was talking about on the site. I don't really have much evidence for this other than suspicion. After brighting it up from my friend, @robotic-bakery, we learned some details. The letter is anonymous, and it's informing the reader of a welcome home book they found. They exit with a simple "xoxo" which feels almost teasing. What if this was the first letter? The mystery that started it all? The reader recieves this anonymous letter about this children's book. It's called "Welcome Home". It features a character called Wally. The show doesnt seem to be known about at this point. They suggest that there's something more there. They're going to send more letters. And they do. It ends mysteriously, with an xoxo. And maybe hearing about the book unlocked the reader's memory.

I'm really interested to hear other people's thoughts on this.

#welcome home #welcome home update #welcome home theory #wally darling

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johannestevans · 7 months

Text

the thing about unfucking a chaotic space is that it's like. do we actually thrive in mess? no, not really. it's not that you HAVE to have utterly clean spaces devoid of clutter, but the more clutter there is, the harder it is to find things when you need them

because once you've looked over everything once, your brain just flattens basically all that information into a static image because it's like "looked for patterns, didn't see any :)" and even though your keys are RIGHT THERE, it already looked, didn't see them sorry :)

so you need to have somewhere where keys live. you want that somewhere to be visible! so a pocket is bad, because you can't see it, and also, which pocket? which coat? what if i change my coat and forget to move my keys, then i'll go out and forget my keys

you can't put them in a drawer because like.

a) they'll be in a drawer, out of sight, and you'll have to remember which drawer

b) because you can't see them on your way out, you'll forget them! you need to be able to see them to know!

okay, so how about a bowl or plate, or a tin, or something like that? now, that bowl could be in the living room or bedroom, but that's bad - if you have to go through other rooms, you might forget about your keys coming in or going out

especially if you're already in a hurry or in a rush (which, let's face it, you often Will Be), like, you absolutely NEED those keys to be next to the door - in the hall or the first room or whatever, because otherwise you'll have to go through the whole house to find them

but. a bowl or a plate? right next to the front door?

you'll put everything in there. letters. junk mail. bits of crap out of your pockets. paperclips, marbles, receipts, candies, loose change. because it's a great place to put things and it's THERE

so imo like. keys as much as possible belong on a hook by the front door, and you get yourself in the habit of as much as possible putting keys on the hook - esp getting it so habitual that if anyone walks past in the house and SEES keys left on the side, they'll put them there

it's great to ALSO have a tin or bowl or smth to also keep all that random crap in, but like. keys want to be separate because they're the most important thing - especially if there's several people w diff keys living in the same house and they want to be separate but together

it might be that you prefer a plate for keys or you do like a pocket or whatever but like. the point of this post isn't the keys themselves, it's the process of getting to keys on a hook.

when you have difficulty maintaining order in your spaces, whether it's because of neurodivergence or exhaustion or depression or whatever else, establishing order and then maintaining it IS A NEW SKILL.

getting containers is just. the start of it.

you can buy 20 boxes to put things in, but what happens if you don't remember to put things in them? what if you don't remember which box goes where, and you keep swapping them around? what happens if you just don't have the muscle memory to do it?

you come home, you focus on the task at hand - you toss the unnecessary stuff aside. you don't need that shopping bag right now, so you drop it on the floor or put it on the arm of the sofa, or you drop it into the nearest box.

and then suddenly, three weeks later, there's fucking shopping bags everywhere, because you keep forgetting to take old ones out with you so you keep getting given new ones, and you don't have a box for them, and they're all over, and it's insurmountable

creating and deciding a dedicated space for x thing is one aspect of it. getting a container for x thing is a step further. but what about trouble shooting that container? what are the problems or flaws with it? what makes that container harder to use, or more inappropriate?

for example, if it's a medium-sized box, where does it live? if it lives up on a high shelf but you need to constantly use it, well, that's terrible. it's never gonna go back up on that shelf, and now it's in the way all the time, which sucks, but it's either here or there

and an outsider might come to your house and go. well. why don't you move this OTHER medium-sized box, which contains paperwork you rarely need, to this high shelf, and put this one, which you regularly use, here right under your bed?

except that a lot of people wouldn't comment on your space like that, because it can feel rude or judgemental, and also, YOU might feel called out or insecure or humiliated by that, and they don't want to make you feel that way

bc the worst is for someone to just come in and go "Oh, it's messy :/" but that's not helpful. you can see the mess, of course you can. but can you see the end and the beginning? can you figure out where to start? how to make it better?

and then, can you troubleshoot the system you've made to fix it? or will you institute a system from scratch, fuck it up a bit, and then panic or get frustrated and give up, maybe even hate yourself a bit, but just live with the mess?

seeing the mess is a skill; seeing how to tidy the mess - how to section it up, how to tidy, how to clean - are separate skills; getting containers to put them away is a skill; getting the RIGHT containers is a skill; letting yourself go "oh, i need smth different" is too

for example, for a lot of people with ADHD like mine, baskets are great. they let you see what you have - unlike a drawer - but they still contain your stuff!

except that i have asthma, and i already struggle to get dusting done - i find it hard to do, and also i FORGET

so baskets? oh, god. for me, it's like, great, i've organised all this stuff and i can see it in one place and it's not on the floor or on surfaces or scattered around the house, and also, it's coated in poison for my allergies and my ailing lungs. lifehack!

i have the same problem with open boxes - for stuff in boxes, what's best for me is boxes with lids, especially clear boxes where i can see most of what's in them from the outside

but yeah it's just. it's letting yourself change it and tweak it. it's letting yourself change and adjust GRADUALLY, and train yourself into new habits, and try as much as you can to keep them, and make it as easy as possible FOR YOU to keep them.

#musings

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hermywolf · 1 month

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mi gente, mi fútbol de pep guardiola - FIGO

translation of the figo chapter from pep's book (from april 2001) for my most beloved @daegorth

the translations i've seen flow a lot better than this one but to get better sentence structure some parts are omitted, so just in case someone wanted a more literal, 'word for word' translation of this absolutely insane homosexual love letter, here you go

Chapter 18 - FIGO Colorful days, tainted white

It's 5am. I call for sleep… and it won't come. It just won't. It won't answer. The night of March the 3rd is becoming the morning of the 4th. My number. I just came back from Madrid, from the Barnabéu, where I have lived one of those nights that give meaning to the entirety of a deportive career. I send a thank you, although I don't know exactly to whom, for having dedicated me to this job, and, above all, for having given me the oportunity of enjoying games like this one. Games that we used to live together and that we now live separately. Games where you used to play as number 7 when you now play with the 10. Colorful days you've tainted white.

Yesterday, Luis, when we flew to Madrid, you weren't next to me. This time, Luis Enrique was my companion on the front row of the plane. If it had been you, you would have ordered your usual Sprite, always very cold, and you would have spent the whole flight going through fashion magazines. The Asturian, on the other hand, asked for a tomato juice while he finishes reading 'Labyrinth of Olives', of Eduardo Mendoza. You see, Luis, the new level we're reaching here. You can't say it's not high.

I get to Madrid, I get to the hotel and I'm alone. You, however, have probably already replaced me with another, who, as I used to once, will watch impassibly your usual routine during training camp. You'll grab the phone and you'll keep on calling your portuguese friends and your friends from here so you can talk about everything, except football. And once it's late, when dawn comes, you'll turn off your bedsite lamp and you'll say goodbye to the day with the same sentence you use every night during training camp;

"Alright, I'm going to call for sleep."

And your sleep, I'm sure, will come as fast as you can face defenders, get rid of them and run for the goal. As brave now as you used to be. As brave now as you were that day in Vigo where, playing Portugual against Spain, I saw you for the first time. And on that galician day I saw you do what I've seen you do so many times since then. I discovered the ease with which you put the weight of the team on your shoulders. And, with this charge on your shoulders, you dragged them along as you would later drag us, so many times, so we can win a game today, and another tomorrow. And so on until we reach the titles we reach. And now as I remember you this way, I see you, I just saw you, dragging others. And it hurts me, but… It is what it is.

Anyway, as Ángel Mur says, we like that you come into our locker room at the end of the games. You did it again today like you did the day you came back to the Camp Nou and what happened happened. Ángel likes that very much. He always says he doesn't understand the players who were once with us and who, when we just played against their new team, don't come by the Barça locker room to chat a bit. So we can know about how he's doing, and he can know about us. And we don't care if it's in our stadium or his. What matters is seeing each other. Talking to each other.

Many of those who played with us ended up walking past the door of the Barça locker room, but not you. You came in. Sweaty, tired because you ran so much, but ready to say hi to everybody. The president Gaspart gave you his hand and you shook it. Him, and the Closa directives, and Barnabéu, and probably somebody else too. You said hello the the Mister, to Ángel, to Ibarz, to Chema, to Jaume and, without any exceptions, to every single one of the players. Later, you and I sat down on one of those tin boxes that always travel with us and we talked some time about your new home. About your wife, Hélène, and about Daniela, my goddaughter.

I remember the day you asked me to be your daughter's godfather. I told you; "think about this well, Luis. I'm sure there's someone closer to you than I am, who deserves this and wants this." But you'd thought it thouroughly already. You chose me, and, I want this to be clear, you filled me with honor, pride, gratefulness and responsability because, for example, Luis, where can I buy Easter eggs for my goddaughter in Madrid?

1/2 (more in reblog bc character limit)

#futbol #pep guardiola #luis figo #hermy posts

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goldeneyedgirl · 4 months

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TwiFicmas23 Day 10: Hybrid AU

Good evening! I had my first drink in a hot minute tonight and it has hit me like a battering ram, so we're doing this fast because I am definitely feeling the effects.

Tonight's is some old Hybrid; it'll be pretty obvious why this ended up being archived (and I honestly don't know if this counts as Hybrid or Hybrid baby-verse).

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

tw: mention of miscarriage

After the Cullens left, I was kind of at a loss. I know they hoped Bella and I would stick together, but that didn’t happen.

Simon and Dad were sympathetic and let me mope around the house a bit. But I was exhausted. I was sleeping sixteen hours a day when I had the opportunity and still felt like I had pulled an all-nighter. My schoolwork was fairly average but enough that no one called Dad. I managed to scrape enough energy together to help plan Cynthia’s fifteenth birthday party, and then Thanksgiving.

It was Christmas Day when I figured out what was wrong with me. I was exhausted all the time, and eating ridiculous amounts of food but still looked like a prisoner of war. I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, getting on the scales to find out that I’d lost another two pounds. Simon would notice soon, and I had no idea what to tell him.

And then I spied Cynthia’s box of tampons on the shelf, and I had to brace myself on the counter for a moment. My period was a rare and unwelcome visitor, and hardly a trustworthy indicator of anything but... it made sense.

“Oh, Alice, honey, this arrived for you a couple of days ago,” Simon said, plucking a small box from under the tree. It was still in its mailing box, with my name and address typed on the label but no return address or indication of who it was from.

Inside was a small black jewelry box, and for a second, I thought perhaps Jasper had sent me something. I hoped he’d sent me something. Even just a letter would have fixed everything.

I ripped into it, and the contents spilled into my lap, and it took me a moment to understand what I was looking at. It was a silver sun charm on a black ribbon, with smaller stars dotted along the band, though one was missing.

It had been my mother’s. I remembered her wearing it; she'd never taken it off. I could see the stain of blood on the ribbon, the frayed edge where the knife bit into her, and for a moment, the room swam.

“Who is it from?” Dad asked curiously.

I put the necklace down with shaking hands, trying hard to act normal, and plucked the card up. It was black too, with a white crest – the shield, candle, and compass of the Benoits, the Latin motto running along the bottom – Ex Deus Veritas. Truth in God, coined by the Order.

On the back of the card, the message was short.

Our best wishes of the season to you and your family, Mary-Alice.

Meaning: we know where you and your family are.

The bag I packed was like so many others. Basic, warm clothing; my first aid kit, a new phone I had bought in Port Angeles, money. I had ordered a ton of gift cards over the internet, since they weren’t traceable. Nothing sentimental was meant to come with me, but in the end, I saved a photograph of Jasper and I to my new phone.

And then I left Forks.

it sounds all fun and luxurious to say I ran off to Hawaii.

The truth was, Mexico would have been way better but with the vampire and Order problem down there, I chose the one place in America you are least likely to get cornered by a vampire: Hawaii.

Specifically Paukaa, which was home to less than 600 people. I was nothing more than another post-high school traveler who decided to stay. I rented a tiny one-room place from a family and got a job at a café. It was quiet and safe and I settled into a mind-numbing existence.

I hadn’t contacted anyone back in Forks or even checked my email. As far as everyone was concerned, Mary-Alice Brandon had disappeared for the last time – I half-hoped they’d declare me dead.

I was Mary Hale here.

It was a little embarrassing, yes, taking Jasper’s fake surname, but it kept me hidden because I doubted anyone would think to run a search on that name. And none of the Cullens called me ‘Mary’ anyway.

It had been a few months. The hardest. When the test came back positive, I had tried to find the Denali clan in Alaska, to pass on a message to the Cullens. To find help.

I got close - so close. I made it to Anchorage after almost two weeks of traveling; I didn't have a lot of money, I didn't want my fake I.D. questioned too much, and I was terrified I was being followed and kept double-backing and waiting to throw any stalkers off my trail. I was pretty sick by then, but I was certain I would make it. Hell, I'd broken into the Cullens' before I'd left and found a map in Carlisle's study that had helped me narrow down the Denali home a lot.

Then I woke up in the Anchorage ER with the news I’d collapsed on the street and miscarried.

I didn’t know what to do with that information.

I probably should have gone home to Forks and my Dad and pretended it had never happened. Or actually tracked down the Denali clan and demanded they get me in contact with the Cullens anyway. But the Benoits knew where my family was, and I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to see anyone I knew before ever again. I didn’t want to look them in the eyes and have to explain everything. I didn’t want to be Alice Brandon anymore.

So I didn’t. As soon as they released me from the hospital, I bought the first plane ticket to Hawaii. Actually, it was the next scheduled flight. They could have flown me to the moon, and I didn’t care.

That had been in January. It was now August, and it seemed surreal to me now. It felt like a movie I’d watched. Sad, but distant. It was easier to pretend it had happened to someone else, and just focus on each day. I had enough problems to deal with - I still hadn't managed to gain back any weight, probably because I was a shitty cook living on a diet of orange juice and minute-ramen; I barely made enough to cover my cost of living and had no particular way of getting a better job; and I barely slept, plagued with nightmares.

And now I was dreaming again, the truth had slammed into my head. Bella was in so much danger. Victoria was coming for her with a newborn army, and the Cullens were long gone.

I couldn't stay away and let Bella die - let that newborn army descend upon Forks without warning.

If nothing else, I had to protect Bella. And my family. Worst-case scenario, I could trade myself for the safety of others. I could try and take Victoria, though she would most likely win, especially when I was so weak and out of shape. Death sounded very peaceful.

Maybe I’d see my baby there. And Mom.

I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home. I told the café I had a ‘sick family member’, and I didn’t know if I’d be back. I gave the same story to the family I rented my place from. And then I packed up, bought the cheapest airline ticket I could get, and went home again.

When I slept on the plane, I realized the Cullens had come back to Forks. Bella was better protected than I anticipated, but they still didn’t know what was coming for them. Not to mention the danger that Simon, Dad, and Cynthia were in.

I didn’t look like much. My hair was shorter than I had ever worn it, and I was the thinnest I had ever been - that was including the years I spent in the hospital and on the street. Dark circles had set up residence underneath my eyes. I was wearing the only pair of jeans that I fitted me, and they were wearing thin. My sweater had shrunk, leaving a bare panel of skin between my waistband and the frayed hemline. And my sneakers were held together with hope and super glue.

Rather than go home and deal with Simon and Dad, I went straight to the Cullens.

It was Esme who opened the door, blinked and gasped, pulling me into a hug I couldn’t return.

“Oh, Alice, where have you been?” Esme pulled away, smoothing my hair back from my face. “We’ve all be so worried! Come in, Jasper is going to be over the moon to see you.”

I managed a quivering smile as Esme drew me into the house, into the living room where everyone was gathered, everyone’s eyes on me.

“Alice…” Jasper went from standing in the corner to at my side, pulling me into his arms, my body stiff as I reluctantly curled against him, breathing in his scent of forest and books and something indistinguishably him. “Darlin’, where have you been?”

I just shook my head. If I spoke, I’d start crying and I’d never stop. When Jasper pulled away, he must have seen that in my face and reached up to cradle my cheek. “Are you alright?” he murmured and I let out a shuddering breath.

“You’re in danger,” I managed, pulling away from Jasper reluctantly. “Victoria is returning, she’s in the area and she has her eye on Bella. And the Benoits are coming – to destroy you, the Quiluetes, and my family.”

An hour later, Esme had put a plate of food in front of me, looking worried. I was eating, my stomach twisting at the invasion of food that wasn't bought at a convenience store.

The pasta was good, but I couldn’t enjoy it.

Dad and Simon had been so grateful that I was home, there were no questions or accusations. Just more food, a shower, and bed. Simon had checked on me half a dozen times, looking so worried.

I slept badly, shallowly, my dreams twisted around the baby, the hospital. Terror and pain that I didn’t know were memories or imagined suffering. I dreamt of blood and misery, and woke up screaming twice – the first time, I wasn’t even awake when Dad came in to try and sooth me; I woke up with him half-rocking me, smoothing my hair back and trying to calm my sobs and screams.

“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” he murmured.

“I wish I had died,” I sobbed, half-asleep.

“Oh, honey, don’t ever say that,” Dad said.

He managed to get me back to sleep, my hair sticking to my clammy face, before I woke up screaming again, and Simon managed to get me to take something, leaving me in a soupy state that at least kept me quiet so everyone else could sleep.

I didn’t stir again til nearly dawn, my dreams blood-splattered and full of desperation. The drugs left me boneless and vulnerable, and when I finally opened my eyes, I couldn’t scream or call for help or do anything but lie there, staring at the ceiling. My hand lay on the pillow beside me, but I stared at it as if it wasn’t even mine.

I ended up dozing a little; clearly enough that my visions kicked in – I could see Carlisle, Esme, and Jasper arriving at the house, Dad and Simon looking grim. Well, Dad looked miserable and old. Simon had this professional nurse ‘this is bad’ face on.

“How is she?” Carlisle asked, after they were invited in.

“Broken,” Dad murmured, looking worn out and distressed.

“Screaming night terrors,” Simon clarified, putting his arms around my father’s shoulders. “I ended up giving her some Valium – we’d get her back to sleep, and minutes later, the screaming would start again.”

“You drugged her?” Jasper demanded, a dangerous look in his eyes.

“We didn’t have a choice. It was Valium or I called 911,” Simon said gently. “I couldn’t treat someone for trauma in my own house at midnight. Hell, I couldn’t treat someone for trauma without a doctor present. The Valium prescription was one of Alice’s when she arrived. And she needed sleep.”

“She kept telling us she wished she had died,” Dad added. “Over and over again. It’s all she would say.”

Esme and Carlisle looked shaken, but Jasper had just shut down entirely.

I managed to drag myself out of bed, and into the shower, but eschewed clothing for a clean pair of pajama bottoms and tee, running my fingers through my hair. It needed to be washed.

My chest felt tight as I sat down in front of the food Simon had made for me. Simon was still cooking, with Dad, Carlisle, Esme, and Jasper gathered around the island with me.

I felt hollow and exhausted as I considered the plate of fruit and yogurt, along with two slices of toast. I managed a small bite and felt the cool cloud of Jasper’s gift seeping into myself, not bothering to resist.

“Where have you been, Alice?” Dad asked gently.

I flinched, and then rearranged my expression again, poking some melon with my fork. “Away,” I said softly. “Somewhere safe.”

“You weren’t safe here?” Simon asked.

I brought another bite of food to my mouth to avoid answering the question; I didn’t want to say it, but they were all watching me.

“Not anymore. Not after Christmas,” I mumbled into my fruit.

Finally, I gave up. I got up and left the table, padding up to my bedroom, where my backpack was. The folded piece of paper was filthy and crumpled, but still legible, thankfully.

No one was expecting me to return to the kitchen, clearly. I slid the folded paper across to Simon and Carlisle.

Jasper would be disgusted with me. That I’d only gotten sick because he’d left me and I had been trying to find them when they didn’t want to be found. I always knew I was twisted up and ruined inside, thanks to Mommy Dearest, but this was the proof. I had had an opportunity to give Jasper the one impossible thing, and I had fucking failed.

I missed him, I needed him. He was my other half, the lost fragment. And in two short steps, I was curled in his rather startled arms, my face half-buried in his shirt.

It took Simon and Carlisle only a moment to decipher the medical shorthand, and Simon looked up at me in horror. Carlisle just looked so sad. I let out a shuddering breath, breathing in Jasper’s scent, and waited.

“Oh, kiddo,” Simon said, looking heartbroken. “Alice, why didn’t you tell us?”

“What?” Dad said, squinting at the paper.

“Alice, have you seen a doctor since?” Carlisle asked kindly. I shook my head.

“Okay, you need to be checked out, as soon as possible,” he said.

I didn’t have any energy left, and went back upstairs. It felt like cheating, to have Carlisle and Simon to tell everyone, to do my dirty work. But the idea of voicing those thoughts, those words, made my stomach twist tightly.

My bed was cool and smelt like home. It was good to be here, to be back. That was what I was telling myself.

#alice cullen #jasper hale #jalice #ficmas #ficmas23 #my fic: hybrid #my fic: hybrid baby-verse #no more drinking before ficmas posts - my newest rule #angst

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