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bluemerakis · 4 months

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┌── ˚*❀*̥˚ ─── ˚*̥❀*˚ ──┐

✐ᝰ bluemerakis

┗━━• ❃ ° •° ❀ °• ° ❃ •━━┛

❝ paper trails ❞

⤷ Word count: 2.5k

Pookies it was my birthday yesterday, so in honour of that, I wanted to write a lil something something with coryo 🤭 not anything grand, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless

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WARNINGS:

Implied smut ig, teensy bit fluffy, just coryo being the cutest little gentleman ever (outside the bedroom)

SYNOPSIS:

There was nobody else that Coriolanus trusted more with his cherished garden of roses than you. You were the keeper of his flowers, tending to them with a delicacy that only you were capable of. He’d always admired that about you—how your green fingers always seemed to yield a larger bloom rate than his own ever did.

You’d always thought that you were nothing more than a district eleven nobody gardener to Coriolanus, but little did you know that he knew pretty much everything (however little) there was to know about your history, including your birthday. He gives you a gift of his own, an invitation he’s hoping you’ll accept so that he may celebrate your birthday with you—Coriolanus Snow style.

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Crouched low to the ground, you bit back a hiss of pain as a thorn pricked the tip of your index finger, withdrawing your hand to wipe away the welling drop of red at your fingertip. You fashioned more conscious caution as you returned your hand to the culprit rose and gingerly bent the stem towards you, your other hand gripping a pair of garden scissors. You nipped the stem below the dying rose head, the decayed, featherlight petals drifting to the ground to form a scattered painting of a crime scene.

Each time you were forced to cut away the wilted flowers, a piece of your heart ached. It was a necessary practice in order to keep the bush healthy and set it up for a successful next season, but it didn’t hurt any less to know that you’d once poured as much effort into preserving that very flower, and now you would lay it to rest simply because it had lost all grace and beauty—and hence value. Funny, really, how much that concept seemed to equate to the real world.

Overhead, the sun seared on, taking full responsibility for the beads of sweat that now dribbled down your temples. You dropped your scissors to the ground, it’s fall cushioned by the decayed bodies of your rose victims, and wiped your dirt-strewn hand across your forehead with a sigh. You took a moment to glance around the garden of the Snow estate, your chest prickling with a sense of pride at the perfect order you’d managed to bring it to.

Coriolanus Snow didn’t much trust anyone to tinker with his garden, it was one of his most prized possessions—a symbol of sorts that only he knew the meaning of. No matter, he’d taken you in from the districts and trusted you enough with the duty of being his gardener, and he was a very generous host in return. You stayed on the property—in this very garden, in fact, in your own little rustic cottage. He didn’t often make a stop there, mostly tending to his own business, but there were a few occasions where he did manage to pass-by and would check in with you.

The last thing you’d expected him to be was generous—and kind. It was practically an unspoken rule in the Capitol for the higher classes to spit on and degrade anybody from the districts, merely because your lesser existence was offensive to their way of living. You had to admit that you didn’t much hold any love for the Capitol citizens, either, but you thought that your dislike of them was far more justifiable and valid.

But there was an air around Coriolanus Snow, not exactly the most humble, but he was far from boasting his wealth and luxury of a lifestyle from the rooftops of Panem. It was almost as though he were too afraid to, as though this life would and could be robbed from him in an instant. It gave you the impression that he was not like most other Capitol-born citizens—perhaps he’d known what poverty was like, whether it was him or someone he knew that had endured it. Maybe that was why he’d taken pity on your life in the district and offered you this opportunity to come and live with him in return for your services.

There were many possibilities at play, but because Coriolanus Snow was such an enigma of a man, there wasn’t much hope of closure. As if the mere thought of him was a summons, you heard footsteps clatter down the bricked walkway winding through the gardens, turning your head just in time to glimpse that signature red ensemble of the man who’d been plaguing your thoughts for the last hour or so.

You instinctively rose to full height to offer him a modest bow of greeting upon his arrival. It was a gesture he’d insisted on neglecting for the first few days of your presence here, but he’d soon after given up on the matter when he realised that you would not listen. Now, going off of the sheer delight that seemed to glint in those deep blue eyes, you thought he rather enjoyed the importance that your greeting seemed to imply.

“Mr. Snow,” you offered a formal greeting, feeling suddenly conscious at how ragged and sweat-stained your gardening dress had become under this hot weather. Quite frankly, you hadn’t expected him to pay a visit today, given the scorching weather. You only wished that you could have presented yourself in a better manner.

Coriolanus stood towering before you, his chin tilted down to glance you over as he merely said, “Coriolanus, please.”

You were hesitant at his correction, before offering a slight nod of acknowledgment. “Coriolanus,” you repeated softly, feeling out each syllable of his name. It felt odd to use his first name outside of your thoughts, but even then, you almost always addressed him by full name.

You noticed the way Coriolanus’ eyes had lowered down your figure, and the self-consciousness only seemed to worsen at the idea that he may be judging your appearance. But you were taken aback as he leaned forward to take your hands into his, his thumbs ghosting over the back of your hands before he turned them over to survey your palms. The way he cupped your hands in his felt far too intimate, and you hoped by the grace of all the Gods that the dirt plastered to your face was mask enough to hide the colour inevitably warming the apples of your cheeks.

“Have you not been using those gardening gloves I gave you?” Coriolanus asked as he trailed his thumb over the cuts littered around your palm and across your fingers. He lifted his eyes to yours, they were shaped with genuine concern.

You were taken aback at how blatantly careless he was in his handling of you, and for a second you almost felt like an equal in status. Capitol-born rarely laid their hands on district occupants, as though they feared the poverty and dirt they carried were a plague to be avoided at all costs.

It took you a few seconds to find your tongue. “No, I haven’t,” you admitted, then quickly added, “not for lack of trying, though. I’ve never used gloves, even back in the districts—they make it difficult to grab ahold of the stems, and I find that my cut becomes rather clumsy with them on. I prefer the unveiled contact with my greenery.”

The white-haired man seemed to nod with understanding, a faint smile stretching his full and soft lips. “I guessed as much,” he responded. The confusion that swept across your face prompted him to explain. “I never developed a taste for gloves, either. When I inherited this estate, the garden was in a ghastly state. No matter how many gardeners I managed to enlist, none of them could bring my roses to justice. For a while, I did all of the work myself, and the garden thrived.” He paused with a sudden and wistful look. “But as it seems, my time wore thin with all my newly acquired responsibilities, so I turned to the districts in hopes of finding a suitable gardener to continue my work.” He paused as his eyes lowered down to your hands once more. “And then I found you.”

Your heart lurched at the way Coriolanus’ fingers began to caress the curves of your palms. You felt that somewhere along the line, you had missed the part of the story where the two of you had grown close enough for this sort of intimacy. But even then, you didn’t find yourself withdrawing from his touch. It felt oddly soothing, the way he dragged a constant, rhythmic pressure across your torn and aching skin.

“Why did you choose me?” You asked suddenly, causing Coriolanus to lift his head with that lopsided smile.

“I just knew you were right for me,” he responded levelly. “When I found your stall, I watched you for a while—the way you tended the flowers and assembled the bouquets for that Capitol celebration order. I thought the work looked familiar, I’ve seen it decorating most—if not all of the foyers of the upper-class Capitol buildings. The bouquets have always had a signature crown to them—one flower in the centre that sits a little taller than the rest of them, like a king that gazes down across his people. I saw you do the very same thing with all of your orders, and I knew then that you were the popular artist whose flowers haunt me wherever I walk.”

You let slip a giggle at his last words, not caring for etiquette at this point. You thought that you’d long since left formalities behind when Coriolanus had taken up your hands.

“I was unaware of just how much of a fan you were, Mr. Snow,” you teased, instantly catching your fault and correcting yourself. “Coriolanus.”

“Involuntarily,” he chuckled, his smile quieting as his eyes flickered across your face rather intensely. You would have cowered away from his stare, had it been casted under a different circumstance. “In any case, I knew I had to have you. Your talent and potential would have been laid to waste crafting posies and ensembles for sanctimonious Capitol parties. I doubt either one of them could properly recognise and appreciate the true effort imbued into their side-piece decorations.”

You pursed your lips at those last words, feeling rather propelled by a sense of pride at his praise and recognition of your hard work. “Putting aside the “sidepiece decorations”—could you, Coriolanus, properly appreciate my work?”

“If you have to ask that, I’m afraid I’ve been too subtle in my efforts,” he responded. Your lips quirked at that, only to gape in slight shock as Coriolanus lifted both of your hands to his lips, and in elegant sequence, placed a tender kiss onto your knuckles.

You swore that the very skin of your hands shrank away from the feel of his soft lips, an explosion of shivers sent along your rigid arms. “Coriolanus—” you started softly, but he cut you off.

“I chose you because of what your potential had to offer me,” he said, slowly releasing your hands to return back to your sides, and there they quivered as he went on. “But also because I knew what I could offer you. Nobody understands the scars of labour more than I do—don’t forget that I’ve been kneeling in your place, doing your job, long before I brought you here. Gardening, it isn’t just an industry—it’s an art, one that very few can appreciate, letalone master. But you—you’ve perfected it. I’ve never seen flowers so full and abundant in bloom.”

“You’re being too generous.”

“No,” he politely disagreed, a faint smile trailing after. “I’m simply giving credit where it’s due. Please, allow me to commemorate your hard work.” Your lips parted to question what he meant by those words, but you were silenced by the shuffling of his hands as he reached into his crimson blazer and pulled a white rose from concealment. “Take this.” He offered you the rose, and you gingerly accepted it.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that it wasn’t a real rose at all—not all of it, at least, but one whose petals were expertly shaped from paper. The stem of it was real, but the thorns had been carefully carved away, the leaves left behind already starting to wither at the edges.

“Coriolanus,” you breathed, tilting the paper rose in every direction to marvel at its beauty. “This is so beautiful. I never pegged you for an arts and crafts guy,” you added with a chuckle.

“Neither did I,” he admitted. “It was one of the ways Tigris and I used to pass time as kids.”

You glanced up in faint surprise at the mention of Tigris. When Coriolanus had risen to power and status, shorty after inheriting the Plinth fortune, it was very difficult for his history to remain private. Everybody—even the districts, knew that Tigris was his older cousin, and that their relationship following his newly acquired fortune had since been estranged. After all, it was difficult to conceal the fact that his cousin no longer partook in his life, staying separated in her living quarters as well as neglecting the courtesy of attending his events of honour to show support.

You wondered whether Coriolanus ever regretted growing so distant with Tigris, but as you silently gazed at him, his expression let on not even the slightest hint of his thoughts or feelings on the matter. He was fashioned from composure, the only way to truly get an answer would be to hear it straight from his lips. But you wouldn’t pick at that particular scab, not when you had hardly known each other for more than a month—or spoken for more than a few minutes.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” you told him, gently clasping the stem between your fingers. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it forever.”

“I’m afraid you won’t have the opportunity,” Coriolanus said. You furrowed your brows. He made a slight gesture of his chin toward the rose, his hands sliding into the pockets of his trousers. “I left some notes on the petals. Feel free to read it once I’ve taken my leave.”

Your tilted down to the rose, your eyes narrowing in an effort to spot said note on the paper petals. After twirling the rose around for quite a bit, you managed to find the neat scribble of his handwriting nestled into the middle ring of petals. Before you had the chance to read the first word, Coriolanus’ voice stirred your focus.

“I’ll be seeing you,” he said before offering a smile and turning to take his leave from the garden.

You lifted your head and watched him disappear around a winding corner. “Goodbye!” You called after him, not sure he’d heard you at all. You turned your attention back to the rose and manoeuvred your fingers between the various paper petals, managing to find the beginning of the note. You push down the first petal and began reading it’s contents:

Your breath hitched in your throat at that last sentence. Coriolanus Snow, you little flirt, you thought, but you couldn’t deny the flush of your cheeks as you entertained that possibility. You pushed the thought away as you continued reading:

You chuckled at that statement. You weren’t going to be the one to say it. You bent down the last petal, the writing a lot less than the last few notes.

You averted your attention to the pathway that Coriolanus had long since disappeared along, your heart brimming with a sudden warmth. Nobody, other than your now deceased family, knew of your birthday. It had never been anything special, only a grim tally of your miserable years in the district.

You wondered how he’d come to obtain this information, and you realised then just how true to his word he’d been—he very likely did know every single thing about you. But you hated being perceived, especially by somebody you knew nothing about. So you decided then and there that you would take up his offer on tonight’s dinner,

And then, you intended to find out his every secret.

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This was so fun and refreshing to write. I’ve got about 7 unfinished drafts sitting around that I’ve been working on now and again, but I’ve been itching to get something complete and posted—so although this is something small, at least it’s something lmao. Sorry to disappoint y’all smut lovers, but I’ve got to keep it clean now and again.

Anyways, I just turned 19 yesterday, which feels surreal because I’m literally just a 17 year old teenage girl. I don’t think I’ll ever feel grown up. Every birthday is a goddamn existential crisis 😭

I hope you enjoyed this, likes and reblogs are always appreciated. Mwah!

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comfortless · 5 months

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Outside they say you’re alright (chapter 1 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader 🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: animal death (bird), implied ghoap, minor character death (but not really, hold tight!), non-consensual cuddling. 🍃 NOTES: this is my first time writing in a long stretch, but after finishing Meeting the Other Crowd i had to write this lest i wound up chewing thru my own fist. later chapters may have additional warnings added. not proofread. wc: 7.9k

next ->

The season of turning leaves, of the harvest moon, of a waning veil; it feels as though the entire world calls for change. Packing to move feels less arduous when the very earth is moving along with you, shifting her shape to bring in the autumn, the winter. Autumn feels less intense in the city. Concrete and vehicles don’t naturally shed their skins, hibernate, bed down and cozy up by a warm hearth. There’s a significant lack of trees and wildlife, all uprooted and shed away to make room for more human comforts. It’s never felt like home to you.

It’s almost funny how in your desperation to be untethered from an unwelcoming, pristine and metallic skyline, you’ve managed to neatly pack away your entire life into a mere two bags. Everything that wasn’t utterly necessary or sentimental donated or tossed into the garbage behind your former apartment. You know it’s a silly thing to believe a new roof over your head in an unfamiliar town a few hours venture away will change your entire life, but just as the leaves turn you feel it’s your moment to follow suit.

Kate hadn’t made you pay anything in advance. No deposits, no frivolous faxing of paperwork, Kate had requested nothing but email correspondence, and perhaps that should have set off some instinctual alarm bell in your head. Yet, you had been in contact with this woman for weeks, and you hadn’t picked up on anything odd in the eloquent responses Kate had given. The woman answered all of your questions with ease, and even had the decency to ask if there was anything she could do to make the move more bearable.

You found Kate’s listing on craigslist of all places— a humble little ad showing off a barren room in a small cottage located in the middle of nowhere, some mountainside town down south that you had never heard the name of prior. It was impulse that led you to reach out, typing out a sloppily worded email in the midst of another sleepless night expressing your interest in the room and a few words about yourself. Kate didn’t waste any time with her response, declaring that she felt you would fit in well in the home and things progressed naturally. You had decided that you liked Kate already.

But nothing could have prepared you for actually meeting Kate Laswell.

As you park your little, beaten down sedan in the forested driveway, you takes a moment to calm your nerves. A six hour drive has left you feeling as though you’re in an entirely different world— around the midway point in your journey was the last time you had actually seen a town. There’s a sense of apprehension building, and yet it does little to fully snuff out the excitement.

The cottage laid out before you is off-white in color with a grayish-brown roof, blanketed by tendrils of hedera helix curling up each corner of the home and meeting in a cluster on the roof. The fence surrounding the property, wooden and worn seemed more decorative than any protection against anything getting in or out. ‘Quaint’ was the only word that seemed to come to mind as you step out of the vehicle and move to the trunk to collect your meager belongings.

And as the trunk of the vehicle slams shut, you’re met with the sight of a gentle-looking woman sprinting toward you from the cottage, a bright, welcoming smile on her face and an oversized yellow cardigan draped ‘round her shoulders. “So glad you made it,” Kate greets warmly. “Need help with your bags?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Didn’t bring much.” You reply, and for the first time in months, you feel your heart begin to settle in your chest. This was good. The stress of the city seemed to retract its claws from your shoulders the moment you take a good look at Kate and the cottage behind her. The woman is older, soft lines visible on her face. She was fragile looking like a twittering little bird, but there was something in her eyes that suggested she was much more than her stature. Maybe not a robin at all, but a red-tailed hawk instead. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and the clothing she wore looked comfortable, a loose fitting white blouse, jeans, and the cardigan you wonder if she may have even knitted herself.

“Well, come in then. We’ll get you settled and have tea, or whiskey if you would prefer it.” Kate says with a wink, taking you by the hand and pulling you up the gravel-laden trail towards the door. Sparrows are nesting in the trees above, clover, sourgrass and wildflowers springing up in a viridian and brown blanket beneath your feet, and the dirt feels far more forgiving against the soles of your boots than the pavement of the city ever did. This already feels like home. “Just tea would be fine.”

Kate shows you around the cottage with pride, and you find that it’s entirely deserved. The home is immaculately tidy, albeit a tad cluttered. The woman had all sorts of strange baubles and crafts lining walls and shelves, books of all nature (even an extensive romance section you had found yourself drawn to, Kate had laughed at the sight of your eyes lingering on the spines as you read the suggestive titles), her furniture was all clean and patterned. Your room nearly brings you to tears. It was still rather empty, just as the pictures in the listing had suggested, with only a bed, dresser and vanity furnishing it. However, in the windowsill sits a blue planter with your name delicately painted on the front of it.

“A lily,” Kate informs you, smiling soft as you gaze down at the little green bulb in the pot. You ghost your fingertips over the rim of it as you tilt your head to look back at Kate, both confusion and gratefulness painting your expression. Kate’s smile doesn’t waver as she steps to your side and gives your shoulder a comforting squeeze. Her kindness has already made you trusting, and it seems with every action she takes you feel more at peace, as though Kate were merely an estranged aunt rather than a complete stranger. “I thought a lily might suit you. It might still be early enough for her to bloom.” You whisper a thanks, returning her smile with one of your own. The thoughtfulness of such a simple gesture warms your heart in a way that you hadn’t felt in some time. You make a mental note to read up on plant care to ensure Kate’s gift doesn’t go neglected.

She waits to lead you into the kitchen and dining area until after you had put away your things and have properly seen your room. The rooms are just as well cared for as the rest of the cottage, every item in its proper place, the sink cleared and a knitted doily placed in the center of the range. The table is what catches your eye most of all though— a fat loaf of fresh baked bread placed carefully on a platter next to small serving dishes filled with honey and jam, a tea kettle and two floral painted mugs set neatly just beside the display. It looks more like a painting than any meal you’ve seen before, far too accustomed to quick snacks and dull fast food bags. In the city, working so much just to ensure that you still had your apartment to come back to, the time it would take to prepare something even as simple as this was never something you could expend.

“This looks… it’s lovely, Miss Laswell,” You breathe out shyly, taking a seat at the table, your fingers flexing slightly. This kind of welcoming felt so foreign, not that you minded it. Not at all.

“Please just call me Kate.” She says with a laugh, pouring out a generous mug of tea for you and sliding it across the table as she takes place on the opposite end. Her smile is infectious, warming your heart and causing the corners of your mouth to tug upward, too.

“Kate.” You say aloud, committing it to memory. You wanted to be respectful. This was her home, you were just a temporary guest after all. You accept the mug of tea with a thankful nod of acknowledgement before taking a small sip. Warm. Everything about Kate’s home and her demeanor is so warm. Even in the midst of autumn, there’s no chill here, only tenderness and warmth as though some invisible hearth roars in the corner of every room. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me.”

Kate hesitates for a moment, and had you blinked you would have missed the way her thin shoulders seemed to tense and the lines at the corners of her mouth visibly tightened. She parts her lips to speak, eying you carefully before… she merely reaches across the table to slice you off a plump helping of the bread, scooting the bowls of jam and honey in your direction.

You wonder if somehow your words had offended her, and you wished you could retract them, snatch the fluttering of your voice from thin air, but as quickly as that thought comes, Kate sighs.

“Well, I haven’t been entirely upfront with you, dear,” Kate begins in a soft voice, tilting her head as she sips her own tea. Your eyes widen in surprise at her words, uncertain as to what weight they carry. Your thoughts immediately veer in the worst direction— perhaps she wasn’t offering the room as long as the listing stated, and you had no where else to go. Perhaps someone else lived here too, someone dangerous.

“What do you mean?”

“The neighbors come around sometimes.” She says, and it almost pulls a giggle from you. Neighbors? You hadn’t seen any other homes on the way up here, and having lived in an apartment complex you were used to all manner of folks, from the loud, the strange, the elderly and standoffish. You give her a little shrug in response, unsure of what to say to such a silly thing.

“You’ve just got to understand how to deal with them if you see them,” Kate continues, her mouth pressed to a thin line as she regards you. There’s that sharp look in her eye that suggests she really isn’t kidding around, that there may even be a threat if you didn’t hold what she says next with the highest regard. You feel a swell of unease, but give the woman your rapt attention, not even bothering with the bread on your plate despite the way your stomach grumbles, quiet but demanding. “Don’t eat their food, never give them your name. Don’t thank them either, even if you break your ankle on a hike and one stops to help. No thanking them.”

You laugh. This had to be some silly joke, harmless hazing for the new roomie. Your mirthful giggles die in your throat when you meet Kate’s gaze again and her expression is entirely grave— gone was the soft smile and the twinkle in her eyes, and you’re quickly reminded as to why you thought of a hawk when you first saw that look in her eye.

“Kate… I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

She toys with the handle of her mug for a moment, watching as if to ensure your amusement has entirely died out before she graces you with another word. “Dear, I know I sound like I have bats in the belfry, but I need you to listen to me.” A heavy sigh leaves her lips after her words and her brow pinches as if she’s trying to consider the best possible way to explain this farfetched idea of her neighbors to you in a way that’s easy enough to digest without giving too much away. “Perhaps meeting one of them would be the best way to show you.” She mumbles as she sets her mug aside and stands from her chair. You remain dumbstruck in your seat, watching as she pulls her yellow cardigan tighter around herself before fumbling around in the kitchen to retrieve a small woven basket. Kate places two thick slices of bread inside and the little dish of honey too as you watch on.

“Sure.” You say with a quizzical tilt of your head. You didn’t want to insult your new roommate further, and she seemed deadly serious about this strange concept. Maybe it was best to appease her, and meeting other folks that lived out here didn’t seem like too arduous a task. Kate flashes you that smile again as you agree and offers the basket out to you. Your fingers curl around the stiff handle as you stand and bring it closer to your person.

“There’s a little walking trail out back that leads straight up the hill to the cemetery. Ghost should be there.”

“Ghost?” A ghost in the cemetery. How fitting.

Kate breathes a laugh and shakes her head. You’re pleased to see the tension has left her, she seemed at ease and just as sweet as she had when she rushed to greet you earlier. “Not really a ghost,” she explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. “You’ll see. He’s a bit… prickly at times, but he’s harmless enough. Just take him the bread and you’ll see.” Harmless, you want to tell her, is what most people should be expected to be without graceful description. ‘Are the others harmful, then?’, your mind supplies, as if trying to make you feel closer to a side character in some low budget horror film. Something was certainly off here, but you don’t find yourself questioning it further.

Kate leads you to the back door, unlatching a chain lock before unlocking the deadbolt and pushing the door open. The hinges whine as she directs you toward the trail with a pointed finger. And, with an encouraging pat on the shoulder, she pushes you out of the door. You can hear the tinkling of the chain and the thump of the deadbolt as she locks it behind her. You don’t know whether to side more with the anxiety building in your chest or the frustration burning at your stomach after finding yourself in this situation. So maybe Kate did have ‘bats in the belfry’ as she had called it. What woman would have invited a complete stranger to come live with her in the middle of no where, after all. But this was only your first day here, and you knew you had to make the most of it. Where else could you possibly go?

At least she was nice. The tea had been perfect, too. With a sigh, you decide to overlook her eccentricities for now as you start walking towards the trail. Your pace is brisk, orange and red fallen leaves crunching with each step as you meander up the thin, forested trail. The chill of an autumn breeze pushes through the trees with ease, shaking a flurry of dead leaves from dark branches to whirl around you, one landing gently on the shoulder of your coat. You pluck it off, twirling the stem between the fingers of your free hand as you walk.

The cemetery comes into view about half an hour later. The peaks of moss covered tombstones rise up over the hill, and you’re surprised to find that the old graveyard isn’t entirely overgrown. Some thorn bushes border the backside of the small clearing, trees towering so high to either side it almost roofs the area in entirely apart from a center circle where sunlight beams in. It’s quiet apart from the splintering of leaves beneath your soles and it dawns on you that you haven’t heard a sound not pulled from your own being since you started your short journey here.

You look around for this supposed ‘Ghost’ for a few moments, scanning both behind and above the tombstones. There’s nothing and no one to be seen, just a heavy silence and carpeting moss over stone that hasn’t been touched in what looked like centuries. You didn’t want to return too soon for fear of Kate not taking too kindly to it, you couldn’t run the risk of being cast out, even if the thought of her doing such a thing already felt uncharacteristic and outlandish.

So, you kneel in front of a larger headstone, fishing out a slice of bread from the basket and smoothing honey over it with the butter knife Kate had placed inside. The engraving was entirely illegible, worn away by the elements, and with so much moss encompassing it you doubt you could have read it anyway even if it hadn’t been so neglected. The bread, still warm and soft is nibbled at as you inspect some of the other graves, all in the same state of disrepair. A part of you wishes you had plucked some wildflowers on the walk, perhaps you could have given some restless spirit the satisfaction of not being forgotten.

A clipped ‘woof’ pries you from your thoughts, a deep and breathy sound that sends a chill down each bony knob of your spine as you whip around to face whatever had made the noise. You’re met with the view of a massive dog standing a mere three meters away. The animal’s fur was a coarse, wiry black, it’s eyes just as dark. It regards you with its ears flattened back against its skull, dark lips pulled back in a snarl, though it doesn’t growl. In fact, the creatures tail betrays this display of intimidation as it wags lazily behind it.

You break a corner of the bread off and extend your hand out to the dog, cooing softly to it and encouraging it to approach. The dog huffs, ears flicking forward. It watches you for several long moments before stiffly walking towards you, accepting the bread into its large mouth and swallowing it down without so much as a courtesy chew. Up close, you can’t discern what breed of dog this is at all. His ears were long and floppy, descending down past his maw, his hair looked stiff and rough almost like a wolfhound’s but it was much shaggier, longer.

“Good boy.” You chirp, reaching up to lightly ghost your fingers over the crown of the dog’s skull. The dog recoils with another huff, and for a moment you almost think you see his eyes narrow as if he were glaring at you— a silent ‘do not touch’. Your hand retreats and you mutter an apology out to the creature. The dog doesn’t move, standing still as a statue as it watches you fiddle with the handle of the basket and rise to your feet.

So, no Ghost, but you did meet a dog. That would have to do for now. You were exhausted from the drive, and more than anything you wanted to be in the warmth of a building, away from the volatile breeze and the eerie silence of the graveyard.

“Wait.” A voice rasps as you turn back to the trail. Everywhere and no where at once it comes and the feeling that arrives with it, so peaceful yet uncanny. Just like before, you don’t hear the dog approach, but you feel the cold of a wet nose press against your palm. His mouth opens, grazing your fingertips with his teeth as you whip your head around to look down at the creature, eyes wide and brows raised in shock. What?

You wrench your hand away from the dog, uncertainty sending a violent shiver down your spine. Surely the animal couldn’t’ve …

“F’me, wasn’t it?”

It’s not your mind playing tricks from the emptiness of the graveyard.

The dog spoke, rough and deep and accented.

The creature’s tail wags languidly behind him as he stares up at you expectantly, big paws placed firmly in a moss bed below with long, black claws curved into it.

“P-pardon?” You manage to breathe out, voice tight as your chest rises and falls rapidly with shallow, panicked breaths. This was impossible, you knew it. As a child you had spent countless hours trying to get your childhood pet to utter a single ‘I love you’ to no avail, and yet this dog before you seemed to find human speech as simple as inhaling or flicking his ears. The dog huffs, his dark eyes rolling, and you realize the animal does not simply speak, it finds you amusing too.

He noses at the basket, sniffling deeply at the food within before peering up at you in silent demand. You part your lips in a small ‘o’, lowering the basket to the mossy floor. The dog doesn’t spare you another glance as his tongue lolls out to lap at the dish of honey and draw the bread between rows of hungry teeth. He eats quickly and with all the grace of any normal canine, crumbs dotting the fur surrounding his mouth as he raises his head to regard you.

“You just… you spoke to me?” You question, your knees wobbling in surprise. Perhaps if he didn’t have the look of a cute dog, you would have been more fearful. “You talk?”

The dog tilts his head before sniffing at your boot for a moment only to raise his head back as he settles onto his haunches. The animals ears perk up, still flopping at the ends, almost covering his dark eyes.

“You smell like Kate.” He speaks, but his mouth doesn’t move. In fact, his entire body remains rigid and still, a graveyard statue blessed with the breath of life.

Something clicks as his words register. This isn’t just some extraordinary talking dog, this was the Ghost Kate had mentioned. Your eyes finally relax, there’s no more look of surprise, there’s no more unease. Having a talking dog for a neighbor seemed so much better than dealing with Mr. Thomson, stumbling back into the apartment complex after a long night drinking, singing his curses to the city, to the world itself.

Ghost was just fine.

Emboldened by this sudden realization, you reach out to the dog again. “Ghost,” you say with a hint of a smile. “You’re awful cute, aren’t you?” A giggle escapes you as you see he’s not moving away this time, but diligently sniffing at your hand. The dog pauses after a moment, flashing a hint of teeth at you. It’s not aggressive, you realize. Perhaps, he’s not the best with people.

“An’ you’re awful chummy, girl.” The dog snorts, turning his head away indignantly. So this one had a bit of an attitude, you let it roll off the shoulder. Surely he would warm up, talking or not, most stray dogs had a tendency to. You retract your hand and collect the empty basket and the dog gives you a slight nod in approval.

“I’ll walk ya back.”

— — —

The walk back to Kate’s cottage felt longer than the hike up to the graveyard. Ghost didn’t seem very keen on talking to you, despite his offer to escort you home. He padded in front of you with hurried steps, only circling back to nip at your heels every now and then if he felt you were trailing too far behind him. You didn’t yet know that there were other eyes in the forest observing the two of you. Each time a branch snapped behind or to either side of you, or when footsteps or laughter could be heard some distance away, Ghost would dart behind you to mouth at the leather of your boot with a low growl to keep you from looking at anything apart from the roof of the cottage as you approached.

After the third bite, with the cottage in full view you finally stop in your tracks, reaching down to ruffle his ears. “Why do you keep doing that?” You ask, an air of annoyance to your tone as you note the indents of fangs in your boots— the only pair of shoes you had even brought with you, already covered in drool and bite marks by some magical dog you hardly knew.

Ghost snorts, dark eyes locked on your face as he circles back around you. “You’ve got lead in your head or your shoes girl, which is it?”

You puff your cheeks in a slight pout, half a mind to knock his fuzzy head with the basket in your hands. “Neither,” you mutter, carrying on towards the cottage. “Stop biting me.”

Ghost shakes his shaggy head, opting to press his mouth to your hand in a silent order to get you moving again. You oblige, leaving the dog behind as you make it to the back door of the small house. You knock once, and already hear the sounds of the locks unlatching just beyond the wooden door. The door swings open, and Kate stands there in silence. face paled.

Ghost lets out a low bark somewhere behind you as you wave him off. Kate smiles broadly at the dog before turning to look at you just as he scampers back up the trail, no doubt back to the graveyard he had appeared in.

“I apologize, dear,” she breathes out, ushering you back inside. She looks incredibly apologetic as she takes your shoulders and turns you around to face her. Her tone remains a cross between stern and reassuring, and you feel a swell of guilt, almost like you should be comforting her rather than the opposite.

You explain to her that Ghost didn’t frighten you, and she settles immediately, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. You return the basket to its proper place, stored on a shelf high up in the pantry as you tell Kate about your interaction with the strange, talking graveyard dog.

“Sounds like he likes you.” Kate responds followed with a soft laugh. You notice she’s cleared the table of breakfast, only neatly crocheted doilies in place of where the two of you had sat earlier that morning. “He wouldn’t speak to me the first day we met.”

You shake your head in protest, gesturing towards the marks from his teeth in your boot. “He bit me!” You whine, earning another laugh from Kate. You crouch down to untie your boots, pulling them off of your feet, the woman kneels next to you and pries the boots from your hands with gentle, aged hands. She runs her thumb over the indentations with a hum.

“I should be able to fix them.”

“Really?”

Kate nods, standing to her feet and offering you her free hand. You take it, straightening yourself out. The room smells of lemongrass and lavender, the flickering glow of a large candle placed neatly on a side table housing a few choice pieces of fine china.

You watch as Kate takes your boots to her room, no doubt where whatever supplies she deemed useful enough to fix them lay in wait. She returns roughly a half hour later with them graciously repaired, and you’re uncertain of how she’s managed such a feat to the extent she has— no more indentations, no scuffs on the leather. They look new, something you haven’t seen since the day you purchased them.

You thank her graciously with a little bow of your head and you and Kate fall into a comfortable conversation. She tells you that there are many others like Ghost, that some of them look human but aren’t, that some are no more than groaning shadows or looming abysses of fur and sharp claws. Kate diligently reiterates her rules from earlier, and though you weren’t quite sure you believed her entirely about the dangers of these ‘neighbors’, you nod along enthusiastically.

“So, if Ghost is just a dog, why doesn’t he live here? With you? Winter gets cold in places like this,” you breathe out, seated on the opposite end of the floral patterned loveseat next to Kate.

“Oh? He didn’t show you then.” Kate laughs. She’s brewed another kettle of tea and she dispenses the amber fluid between two mugs. “I suppose he didn’t want to frighten you off, but he’s no dog.”

Your eyes widen, and you’re uncertain as to why Kate’s words fill you with dread, a cold spike through the chest that sends a shiver down each ridge of your spine. Ghost hadn’t hurt you, of course. He didn’t even seem to be entertaining any idea other than eating and walking you home. Maybe a bit pushy, but otherwise a proper gentle…dog. Your head tilts, wordlessly asking Kate to fully explain what Ghost may have been hiding.

“He’s a big guy,” is all she says as she takes a long sip from her tea. You open your mouth to speak again, but all of a sudden the scent of tobacco fills your lungs, swirls around the entire room as though it was emanating from the walls itself. You stifle a cough with your palm pressed flat against your lips and Kate laughs. Yet, as you glance about the den, you see no one else. Paranoia? But Kate seemed to have smelled it too. “Not me, dear.” She says quietly.

“… what are they?” You question, voice wavering. The scent of tobacco seems to grow stronger then dissipate after a few moments only to return.

“The good folk,” comes Kate’s immediate reply as she stands, clapping her palms against her thighs with an exasperated sigh. She tilts her head to look down at you with a small smile. “This one’s nice enough, too. Don’t worry.” Despite the waves of scent that drift in and out of the room, nothing else seems to appear. With everything that’s happened today, a part of you expects to meet with a sentient cigarette at Kate’s words, but… nothing.

— — —

As the days pass, you and Kate fall into a sort of routine. The woman will tell you the most unbelievable things with a smile on her face, and you find almost too quickly that everything she says is true. This place feels holy in a sense. It’s no church, but things of myth seem to embedded themselves into the walls, singing like a choir in the dead of night. You swear you hear Kate talking to someone some nights, a man’s voice booming through the cottage. They share laughs and the scent of a cigar ebbs and flows, but every time you’ve tried to steal a peek at this visitor, he seems to vanish the moment you step out of your room. Maybe you would think him rude if you knew for certain he existed at all.

Your mind tends to play tricks after the stress of leaving behind everything you knew, uprooting your entire life to come here. On the second day, you lose your car keys. You had placed them on your nightstand and you knew it, but the following morning they were no where to be found. On the third night, you wake up on your side in bed, the sound of someone breathing deeply behind you sending a swell of dread from the base of your neck down to the heels of your feet. Sleep paralysis, you tell yourself, but you knew you had pulled the blanket a bit tighter around yourself when it happened, stealthily tried to move your foot to see if you could feel anyone. You could move, it had been real.

It’s on the fourth day that your heart sinks in your chest. You wake to morning light flooding through the curtains, the chirping of birds in the willow just outside of your window. As you sit yourself up and wipe at your eyes with the meat of your palms, you realize the potted lily Kate had gifted to you is gone. Plants don’t just get up and walk, using their leaves to tug up their pots as if it were trousers as they saunter away on thin, wiry root legs. You feel like your sanity is slipping when you check the window and realize it’s still locked. Even though the lily was just a plant, you feel a sense of grief at the fact you couldn’t find it anywhere— not beneath the bed, in any drawer, the closet or… anywhere in the cottage.

You finally give in and decide to ask Kate, to which she explains that this event isn’t uncommon. You expected her to be upset (with what you believed to be your own irresponsibility), but she remains kind as always, tells you it will turn back up when you least expect it and ushers you to the kitchen to prepare breakfast with you, coffee, omelettes and bowls filled with blackberries.

“You could try asking Ghost,” Kate offers, “He seems fond of you, perhaps he took it.”

You bite back the urge to ask her how a dog could have possibly broken into your room and stolen a potted plant. The very image of it seemed silly, a beast like him biting down on the clay pot to, what? Haul it off to rest it atop some long-forgotten soul’s grave? Instead, you toy with the eggs on your plate, still feeling a bit strange about the entire ordeal.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Don’t be afraid,” the woman speaks up again. The expression on her face, oddly sheepish, doesn’t suit her well. A silent ‘don’t leave’ buried beneath her words, written clear as day in the sullen look in her eyes.

The trek to the graveyard feels heavier this time around. The dog isn’t what has your skin crawling, it’s the ever-present feeling that something just beyond your field of view is lying in wait, eyes trained solely on your form. You swear you can feel a puff of breath on the back of your neck a time or two, almost causing you to trip over a cluster of fallen pine cones and other forest debris. It’s silent, as always, and as much as your eyes scan through fallen leaves and bent branches, you can’t make out the sight of anything scampering about, not so much as a squirrel or a proud cardinal. It’s strange how empty a place teeming with life can feel at times when something lurks coaxing the other creatures to silence lest they fall victim to sharp fangs. Even you, you find, have taken to subconsciously adjusting your strides as to not step on too many fallen leaves, avoiding twigs as though making a peep at all would be a death sentence.

Making your way to the hill littered in graves only makes it feel more certain, that steady drip of dread telling you that death was nipping at your heels. Though, a part of you considers that’s just Ghost’s presence. Black shulk, a keeper of fairy mounds, a harbinger of death.

You’re not met with the presence of a wiry-haired dog this time though, but a man clad in black, face concealed by the frontal bones of a human skull with all but the jaw mostly there. Tall and bulky, the thin fabric of a tunic barely concealing the rigid musculature beneath. There’s a moment of panic, so brief the swell and fall leaves you breathless, before you realize looking into those eyes that this was still the dog you had met before. Different, but still just as haunted and weary. There’s a misplaced sense of peace with Ghost; a wolf taking to shepherding a lamb rather than devouring it.

“Ghost?” You call to him, and he tilts his head ever so slightly, attention pulled from whatever duty he feels that he owes to this cemetery. Some instinctual guardianship, perhaps, rooted just as deeply in his fae blood as the pride and fear in your humanity.

“Yes?”

The dog, man, whatever he may be doesn’t seem to have a care that you see him as he is now, his focus returning to the same tombstone you had kneeled beside the day you met him, thick fingers roving over the mossy stone. He’s not clearing it away, you notice, merely looking it over and it dawns on you that perhaps, in some distant past that this was someone he once knew. Had he waited at their side during their end? Pressed his muzzle to their palm in a kiss of death? Your fingers twitch at your side as your feet move on auto-pilot, arriving at his side before you seat yourself next to him.

Ghost smells of sulfur, of pine and morning dew. Not death as you had expected. He smells of spring mornings and hazy summer afternoons, scorched earth and vibrant meadows all in one. Purgatory made flesh, a passerby between heaven and hell.

“Did you steal my lily?” The words seem entirely outlandish as they spill from your mouth, and you realize how stupid you sound the second he cocks his head to look you over beneath the skull concealing the majority of his face from you. He doesn’t have to give you an answer, really, because you know he didn’t take it, but he still gives you the courtesy of a slow shake of his head. “Well, it’s gone.” You say quietly, drawing your gaze away from him as you look to the tombstone before the both of you. You can see it now, the name. Johnny MacTavish.

“Don’t know anything about it,” Ghost utters, his dark eyes remaining trained on you, but his hand moves to the soil beneath his feet. There’s a certain reverence to his touch as he splays his hand across the earth. This ‘Johnny’ must have been important to him in some capacity. Not a kiss of death at all, you realize then. Whatever Ghost was, he had the propensity to love, to grieve.

“Oh.” You breathe soft, pulling your lower lip between your teeth. A heavy silence hangs in the air for a moment. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him during such a sensitive time, but there’s some flicker in his eyes when you look up at him that suggests a semblance of gratitude that you’re here. “… you knew him?” Your force the question from your tongue, and Ghost merely turns his head to look at the stone before him, eyes somber as they trace over the engraved name as though he were reading poetry.

“That I did.”

You both sit in silence for a time. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to leave him to haunt this place alone anymore, and a more rational part that tells you that he belongs here, tethered to this Johnny’s side for the rest of his days. Ghost seems less tense in your presence, almost soothed by the silence it seemed as his broad shoulders go slack and he pays his silent respects to this buried man by way of gentle touch and a barely contained softness in his eyes. The silence feels neither awkward nor unfamiliar, it’s as gentle as a breeze passing through. You picture what this man must have been like, to steal the heart of someone like Ghost, even in death. You don’t ask, despite the questions burning in your throat. In due time, perhaps.

An hour passes before you force up the will to leave him, and just like the last time, Ghost walks you home. There’s no more pushing, no ushering you to look forward or walk faster. The man would never voice it, but something about the way he looks at you now tells you there’s some newfound respect budding up in his chest like a wildflower.

The silence is only broken as you reach the door to Kate’s home.

“Somethin’s got its eye on you, lovie.” You whip your head around to question him, but find the man has already gone.

— — —

You return empty handed, noting that Kate’s car was no longer parked in the gravel driveway. A note on the refrigerator door reads ‘Out. Be back soon!’. It’s the first time that you’ve found yourself alone in the cottage, but you have the sense to tell you that you’re not entirely alone. Even the mottled white and blue wallpaper, some faux marble pattern, makes you feel as though you’re being watched, as though something you’re just not seeing is tucked away beneath those colors observing you with the eyes of a starved wolf.

And it’s quiet, it’s so quiet that it makes that unease grow. You’re repeating Ghost’s words in your head like a strange mantra.

Somethin’s got its eye on you, lovie.

Why didn’t he elaborate? Did he even know? Could he know?

The house settles, a floorboard creaks loudly and that’s enough to spur you to hide away in your room, at least until Kate returns.

Your room feels like small sanctuary as you shut the door behind you and let out a shaky breath. The calm is only interrupted when you notice the dead sparrow lying neatly atop your bedsheets, it’s wings spread out, feet tucked against its tiny body and it’s eyes closed. It looked peaceful, not brutally marred and yet the sight alone pulls a gasp from your throat as your eyes grow wide.

Something had been in your room. Someone had been in your room.

Was the dead bird a threat? A gift? You couldn’t be certain, but you glove your hands and bury it in the backyard, eyes carefully scanning the tree line every so often as a chill runs down each knob of your spine. You’ve heard mentions of the fair folk your entire life, in books and film, but those stories all felt so nonsensical and sweet compared to the here and now. Were they not supposed to simply be little people donning butterfly’s wings? Fluttering about thick oak trees and being birthed from flower bulbs? Kate’s ‘neighbors’ looked and felt the part of demons by comparison.

If not for Ghost’s existence, you would think this all was her doing, that perhaps she was more eccentric than you had realized. You’re scared, you’re alone here in the country, and it seemed as though these strange occurrences would just be your new day-to-day. As normal as a walk to the subway, as ordering your coffee from a local cafe. You pat the small grave with the spade once as you rise to your feet to head inside to wash your sheets.

— — —

You don’t remember falling asleep, memory only supplying you placing your sheets in the washer with a slight grimace on your face. But you wake, you wake to the dim light of the moon basking your room in a hazy, milky glow. You can feel the presence of a blanket covering your lower half, but you’ve hardly time to question how it got there at all.

A long, muscular arm curls around your middle, inviting in a cold, billowing wave of fear to wash over your bones. Ghost?, you wonder in silence, but the thought immediately dissipates as you feel the figure shift closer behind you, tucking you further against himself. Ghost was big, but this person was somehow larger. Impossibly so. You part your lips to scream, but not a sound comes out. You feel as though your voice itself has been snatched away from your throat. “Shh,” a voice hisses into your ear, the feeling of fabric moving over your face as the man behind you tilts his head to look you over.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I won’t hurt you,” the voice continues, somehow both gravely and light as he speaks. It’s unfamiliar, entirely unfamiliar. He sounds unhinged in a way your fretful mind can’t even begin to voice, and surely, he must be. Climbing into bed with a stranger, pulling someone you’ve never met so closely to you… why would anyone in their right mind do that?!

You manage to find your voice when the man lowers his head to the crown of yours, deeply inhaling as his grip around you tightens. “What the hell are you doing?” You try to sound assertive, truly, but it comes out as a small squeak, anxiously wavering with each syllable uttered.

“You smell like honeysuckle.”

Was Kate back yet? If you screamed would she come sprinting through to door to rid this beast of a man from your bed? Your thoughts are like a roaring storm in your head just before you feel the gentle brush of lips, hidden beneath some veil, against your cheek and the figure pulls away to settle against your pillow with a soft huff of breath.

“Your heart is racing like a little hase. Calm down.”

“Stop. Please.” Your voice cracks again. Through the dim light of the moon seeping through your window you make out the sight of a clawed hand resting over your tummy. Thick, black keratin gently splayed over the fabric of your shirt, grip firm but not tight enough to cause injury. Your breath catches, the stranger let’s out an airy laugh, tries to pull you closer once again. You’re so entwined that it’s for naught, you’re only grateful he was gentle. The thought of those claws splitting you open surfaces just before he shushes you again.

“I won’t hurt you,” he repeats as if sensing your unease. You can almost detect the dejection in his voice, as though he knows, knows that you’re catching glimpses of a monster, a sight he couldn’t change. It’s gone so quickly you think you’ve imagined it. His thumb moves languidly to trace a circle along your sternum, trying to soothe.

“What do you want?” Your voice was a low hiss, eyes darting from his hand to the wall in front of you. The courage to twist in his grip and face him wasn’t there, your imagination running wild with possibilities of the rest of him like stills from a horror film.

“To hold you.” Simple sentences do nothing to make his voice sound calm, the man is practically trembling as his hand moves to your hip to trace a pattern there, clawed fingertips dancing over a hint of exposed flesh. His other arm shifts to fit beneath your neck, you can see the taut muscle, the veins there as he moves it to curl over your chest, his breathing uneven and deep. The sound was familiar, the same sound you had heard when you felt the dip in your mattress a few nights prior. “Just to hold you.”

And this, despite how horrific and strange, is oddly comforting. Your mind has been plagued with anxieties caused by the unseen for days on end, and you can’t even recall the last time you’ve been held like this, if ever. So tender, so warm. The man behind you quietly hums the tune of a song that isn’t familiar, but feels as though it were just behind you. His fingers continue to delicately trace small shapes against you, warm paths of connecting points, some angular, some smooth. Despite yourself, you find you’re lulled into a deep sleep filled with dreams of fall forests, of unknowns with sharp teeth and fierce eyes. A song, dancing naked in groves, a man with eyes like an ice covered stream.

When you wake, you find your bed empty apart from your own person, and a fully bloomed lily in your windowsill.

#König x reader #konig x reader #König x you #konig x you #konig fanfiction #konig #König #call of duty #if i look at this any longer i will never post it raaah #erlkönig!König is everything to me

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cherubispunk · 4 months

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BARK! BITE! BLEED! (PART I) - FWB!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

summary: being without is always easier when you don't know what it is to be 'with'.

a note from Lucy: heyyyy! hows it going? yes...im back with another series. Those of you waiting for cherub, its coming. I promise. hand over my heart and the other on the bible. but words have a funny habit of not wording so...tale please take the humble peace offering of slutty fwb!frankie and please dont bite my fingers off.

playlist | moodboard

wc: 5742 Warnings: 18+ MDNI! no use of y/n, slight noncon voyeurism, thin appartment walls, mentions of cheating, obsessive behaviour, frankie is obsessed and it is very unhealthy, toxic relationships, heavy religious imagry (come on, is this even a surpise when it comes to my writing?), age gap but not bombastic sorry chloe (reader is 21, Frankie is 27) - though not mentioned in this part, graphic smut, could be considered dubcon, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (do i need to spell it out to you not to do this?), creampie, biting, its not vore!!!! but there is something inherrently sexual in the themes of metaphorical consumption, softdom!frankie, scratching, gore imagry in the sense of a hunter prey type of thing? More of lu being dell, batshit insane, blurting words onto a google doc and praying ot makes ense when being blasted out into the void.

series m.list | m.list

“At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is merely a bitch. True power lies in those who don't just bare their teeth, but make you bleed when they sink in.”

Frankie was a quiet man. He would always keep to himself. Never usually stuck his nose in anyone's business unless it was for their own good. Stayed in the four walls of his own apartment he rented close to the barracks. He’d made one friend in the entire complex. You. His next-door neighbour. The only thing he knew before prying was your last name on the buzzer out front. From there it was waiting. And watching. Frankie had an obsession with observing you from his kitchen window every time you came home from work at the bar. Stood in the shroud of shadow and sheer curtain. He dug his claws in and clung to each passing conversation in the hallway, or the laundromat down the street whenever coincidence let you pop up there too. Stored each part of you that you trusted him with in his mind for safekeeping. Often caught himself staring at a particular pair of red lace panties whenever you did your laundry.

There was one small, tiny little problem in all of this, however. Lisa. He supposed he should thank her really, because without her, he would have never moved out of the barracks in the hope of starting a life for them. He would have never met you. It was convenient, reasonably priced and he could excuse poor plumbing and heating for the fact it was close enough to his work that he didn't have to wake up any earlier than 5:30. But Lisa…oh, Lisa was Machiavelian. A conniving woman, with her heart set in thick ice, and a cold, unforgiving grip over what was hers. It made him wonder what he saw in her in the first place. Maybe he was blinded to everything but the curve of her face, or the pout of her mouth and the pant of his name as it passed her parted lips. Or there was some morbid fascination he had with her teeth as they bared to his skin and bit down. Tearing him to shreds. Either way, there was something to live for when being ripped apart by her. Something to distract from the sounds of pleasure that seeped through paper thin walls at night. Your pleasure. At the hands of a man he felt nothing compared to and knew nothing about. So he’d roll over and fuck out his frustration on the woman he hated but chose to stay with until she left him for another.

Another day, another ache. Another pain cramping in his lower back as Frankie inched closer to thirty and still no happier. Twenty-seven, a stable-ish job…and what else in life to show for it? He was bitter. In no place to want the company of another unless only for the night. Except tonight he was alone again, pressing his key into the lock, twisting it open, closing the door behind him. And then waiting…listening. Anticipating the drag of his hand south over the plane of his abdomen to under his boxers where he’d tease himself to the sound of you with another man. The pretty whimpers you’d let slip under the weight of another man's skin and bone, and the pleasure flooding the gaps of your synapses.

Only this time there were no cries for more. No whimpers, or moans. No. These sounds were shouts. And anger ignited you as you rampaged through your apartment on the other side of the wall, getting dressed as Mark, the man you’d wasted months on, chased after you in pursuit of your forgiveness.

“Who do you think I am?’ Frankie heard through the wall, pressing his ear to cold plaster with bated breath. Your voice was shrill, seething with the intent to carve into Mark’s skin with an onslaught of verbal mutilation. Have the words mark him with bleeding, weeping shame. “No, really? You think I’d never figure it out, Mark? Am I naïve to you?”

He slipped out of bed with careful stealth: Followed the sound of your voice through the wall, walking with his ear pressed to it before the sound of your front door opening made him jump, stepping back for a second. He blinked, once, twice…then raised his hands to plaster again and leaned closer, ears straining to hear what was now distance shrieking from the hallway outside. Which he followed to his front door. Listening intently behind the wood.

As he held his breath until his lungs burned in his chest, something flared up in Frankie. A desperate, wanting, starving need to swoop in. Be your knight in shining armour. The words were stuck in his throat, and if he wasn’t careful, they would choke him blue. But if he knew even a shred about you, it was that you’d hate that just as much as whatever it was Mark had done to you to have you tossing him out in the early evening. You were a private person. A woman who never appreciated prying ears or eyes. You avoided all his questions about your past whenever he asked. Swerved him off topic and into the hedgerow before he had a chance to blink and realise he had the backhand of whiplash. And if he let it slip once that the walls were thin, there was no telling where your quick mind would jump to next. Frankie never knew why or what made you so guarded. But he imagined one day you bit the hand of god and he stopped feeding you.

Frankie’s heart was thumping to the beat of his anxiety in his throat, making it harder to swallow the lump it formed, clammy palms pressed to the cool wood with the rest of him.

“You’re a sick man!” He heard, followed by a thumping of something being thrown, then a yelp out of Mark as Frankie guessed he was dodging whatever it was you threw his way. Shoes, maybe? Something else? “A coward! So get out. Don't call. Don’t come knocking. And tell your fucking wife!”

A shuffling of ashamed feet. A slam of your front door. Clattering around behind shared walls. Then silence.

It was five minutes of silence. But it felt like the seconds within those intervals were put on the rack and stretched in torture. Five minutes that he should have used to step back from his door but didn't. He just prayed there was more of you to have to himself for a second.

Then the descent of knuckles came beating down on his door. Causing his heart to jolt out in his chest then plummet into his stomach. Twisting his insides into knots that made him sick with intrigue. He took a step back. And a breath. Then waited a second before opening the door to find you stood there in a silly little lace hemmed tank top and sleep shorts. Your hair dishevelled and cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to speak, but found the words stuck to the backs of his teeth and the roof of his mouth like soggy, claggy toffee. So he shut up, grateful you cut him off first.

“We’re having a bonfire. So whatever shit Lisa left here, bring it with you. My door will be open. I’ll be on my balcony.” And you left him with nothing but that. Stomping back down the hall in a flurry of your anger.

Frankie stood there, feet practically glued to the floor, fingers curling in on his palms as his blunt nails pressed into already calloused flesh. And an image of you, teeth bared to him like Lisa’s once were, appeared in his mind. An apparition of hurt, torment and his own vulnerability. But it was too late. His feet moved before his mind could and he was already collecting the things of his ex-girlfriend who had wronged him time and time again, stuffing them into his arms in a bundle of broken memory, anguish and lingering hurt.

He found you standing by a metal bin of a man's belongings. The odd t-shirt, pictures of your face next to his, smiles happy and bright with the joy of a relationship you never expected to cave in. In your hand was a packet of cigarettes you'd told him in the passing of a hallway’s conversation that you’d quit, but evidently not. And a crumpled, misshapen box of matches. In the other was a bottle of Whiskey. The brand Mark insisted on liking and you’d bought him for a birthday present. A present he’d never receive because he was as dead to you as the day was long.

“I thought you quit.” He said, trying to start a conversation that hit a dead end pitifully quickly.

“Toss it on.” You mumbled dismissively with a jerk of your head to the pile, eyes glued to Mark’s belongings, washing down your bitter words with an even more bitter swig of drink.

Frankie complied wordlessly from there, dumping the contents of his arms on top of the photos and clothes, stepping back while you poured a generous amount of the liquor on top. A seasoning of fuck you not farewell to the people you’d shared your life with and would thankfully never cross paths with again. He took the bottle from you when you pressed it into his chest, taking a drink and grimacing at the taste. It wasn't smooth. It was almost sour, with a kickback that burned too much to be pleasurable as it passed down the column of his throat in a thick swallow. His thoughts trickled in from there as he read the label and glanced at you. He wanted to get you drunk. Get you to slip up. Let yourself be taken for once.

You both watched, deadfaced, as you struck a match, used it to light a cigarette and then tossed it in the bin as memories curled up under heat. The alcohol setting the blaze up in a satisfying roar of good riddance.

He thought it was a little strange. How you’d come to him. Yes, you were friends. But the type of friend that only ever conversed between life events. In the empty limbo of hallways and laundromats. Not burning things on your balcony in the hope the heat will melt your heart back together, It was a little late for that. Stone doesn’t melt. And the two of you had hearts of set concrete from the turn of events you’d experienced. Encased in the cage of bone that would no longer open to another unless broken in two and forced apart. So you slid down the brick wall, knees bent to your chest while you smoked. The flame flickering a violent xanthous, ochre and scarlet.

He joined you on the floor, passing back the bottle. The two of you side by side, and it only just occurred to Frankie how lonely he was now. But how terrified of intimacy he was. Intimacy of a level deeper than skin/ The both of you wordless, silent as the decaying dead of night. Only the crackle of fire between you and a sniff for your nose as the evening air nipped it and made it run. So to distract yourself, you condemned your tongue to bad liquor, chasing it with a drag of your cigarette and a grimace,

“God, this is shit.” You scoffed.

“Not a hard liquor gal?” He chuckled, turning his head to glance at you out the corner of his eyes before the flame had his eyes attention again.

“More of a wine person, really. But even I can tell this is shit.” And you gestured to the bottle in your hand, reading over the label and sighing.

“Yeah,” he sighed, inflicting another taste upon himself when he took it out of your grasp. “It is.”

Silence again. Not awkward for you who preferred your own company to others, but for him, who had been watching you begging for an in, it was clawing at his insides like a starved animal would at the walls of its enclosure.

“So…” He drew out, and you had to bite back an amused smile.

“What?”

Frankie found himself staring in trance at your side profile, with the same fascination you honed in on the flickering flame. He thought in silence for a second. Asking himself the same question.

"How long did you date Mark for?" He asked. The name made him grimace as if it tasted sour in his mouth. Like he had to spit it out with disgust in every syllable for fear of it burning.

"Six months." Another awkward, off beat pause followed as he nodded. Then asked again.

“Did you love him?”

"No." You said flat out. But your words were honest and brutal to the man you let in then kicked out.

Frankie found himself suffocating a sigh of relief in his own ribs. They pinched slightly with an attempt of something profound to be felt. Like a child who had stumbled upon a strangely twisted shell at the beach. "Have you ever loved anyone?"

You turned to him, tilting your head. But Frankie couldn't tell if it was annoyance or respect for the bravery he had on asking you such personal questions. "What is this? Keeping Up With The Kardashians?"He held up his hands in quick defence, backing down.

“I’m just trying to get to know you.”

"There isn't anything to know except for the fact I'm pissed off." You muttered. “And I figured you would be too, considering the argument I heard a couple nights ago through the wall of my kitchen."

Frankie felt his face go pale, then heat up in the apples of his cheeks. "Oh. So you heard that?" The way your cigarette smouldered as you spoke was the only movement on the narrow balcony. So you did know the walls were thin. It made him wonder what else you knew. If you knew how he strained to listen through plaster and drywall each night.

"Oh, I heard it alright.” You smirked, finding sick pleasure in the way he seemed to squirm. “Something about Lisa finding you...'dull behind the eyes'." Frankie watched as you rolled your eyes and doubled back on your standing in the argument, "If you're going to insult someone, at least be creative about it. ``Give them a good reason to cut it loose." You were like a pendulum to him. But one that spun in clockwise, then anticlockwise circles, instead of oscillating back and forth. Unpredictable in a way that both horrified and intrigued him.

"Dull?" He had to laugh in disbelief, "I am not dull."

You smiled to yourself at that, leaning your head back against the brickwork. Ready to shatter his lie with a flick of your sharp tongue. "You are dull, Frankie. You get up. Go to work. Come back. You do your laundry every Sunday— and I know that because so do I. Your car is always in the exact same spot next to mine. Without fail. Now, you can put all down to ‘strict military regime’, but the bitter truth is," You looked him in the eye, your cig hanging from your lips as you showed him the satisfied grin pulling at your mouth, "you are dull. We all are. We work, we grind, we cry because we work. You ache to the marrow and you get stabbed in the back. And you're begging on your damn knees to bite the hand that feeds you. But if you do, then you starve.”

Frankie had never had his own fear served to him by such a beautiful devil before. And he wished, with all he had left in him that Lisa hadn’t taken or ruined, that you were wrong. It made him want to cave into himself to protect what little he had left. Snarl like a wounded bitch as he held back from others to lick his wounds. Maybe offer it to you and beg you to take it off his hands. But how could he argue when you were practically holding up a mirror to his own eyes? "I hate that you're right." He said in solemn downcast bereavement. And watched the cloud of smoke float silently in front of your face to obscure the very mouth that let him have it in such careful, exact slicing words. The blade of your knife was sharpened to a paper thin point. Now stained with his body’s red.

"There are very few things I'm wrong about. Regardless of that, it's a simple formula and easy to understand.”

“And what is it?” He asked, but regretted it for he knew his heart might not be able to take much more. Not that he showed it. This whole exchange his brow hadn’t folded into a single crease.

“Two things in life are certain: Death. And taxes. You work to pay your taxes, and you die from working."

"That's a pretty pessimistic way of looking at things."

"Life is pessimistic." You shot back with amusement, intently staring in a fixed trance at the pile of burning memories. The last warmth it offered was metaphorically and literally its own destruction. Irony, as Frankie pointed out to himself in his crawling mind. "It crucifies you, and burns you...until you curl in on yourself at the corners and turn to ash."

The conversation had reached a level of solemnity he hadn’t expected, but he’d be a liar if he didn't admit to sinking his claws in yet again. His teeth might come next if you gave him the sweet chance.

You were quiet after that. Both of you were. The remnants of a fire that symbolised how Mark was no longer relevant in your life, and neither Lisa in his. If he thought Lisa was machiavellian, the word had new meaning now. But like with her, it drew him in and snared him into blissful trance. It was the type of blind faith you pin to a deity in the sky. The type that you never see but are forced and gaslit into believing because it's shoved down your throat from a young age. You were not his savour. He knew that in the pit of his very existence, the eye of the storm in his gut.

He would be crucified by you.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, you know that?”

"Aw." You pouted in mock appreciation, pressing a hand to your chest. "Thank you."

Frankie afforded himself the pleasure of laughing at that. As cynical as it all was, it was real. You had just dared to say the quiet hushed parts out loud for him to digest. Though he felt like he was choking on it more than swallowing it. Regardless, he pushed it down to find confidence in himself and prod further.

“You keep doing that.”

“What?” “That.” Frankie pointed to all of you with a gesture absent of any direction, as if it was obvious. He watched as you tilted your head and scrunched your face a little. That crease in your brow…how it would haunt him in future. He felt like the prey. He was torn between wanting you to hunt him slowly so he could feel something at your hand, agony or not. Or asking you to do it quickly so he doesn't have to pursue through the bitter aftertaste.

“I’m not following.”

“You do this thing…where you turn conversations on their head. I feel like I'm getting whiplash.” He forced out a chuckle to make it seem like he was playing through with humour. But his words were genuine under the lace disguise of jest. You really did confuse him. You had his string of thought in knots. Complicated ones. “Why?”

Your eyes narrowed at the question. “You’re trying to figure me out.”

“Why shouldn’t i?”

"Because I'm not the distraction you need." You bit, almost like a warning. And Frankie would have listened if he wasn't so hellbent on breaking in. No matter how hostile, how feral, he'd take the time to tame the caged, battered, abused animal.

“Maybe not.” He agreed, twisting his upper body to face you. It’s important to understand that what Frankie felt wasn’t love. At least, not how he’d experienced it in the past. This was an infatuation birthed by the fruit of lust forbidden to act upon until now. “But you’re the one I want.” With those words came a darkness in his eyes. The kind that reminded you of floods and tempests in biblical art. You were that tempest, with swollen grey clouds and a hammering of thunder ringing in his ears. Laughing as you crashed him onto rocks while he swam helplessly with little energy to the shore. Only to be shoved back with another crushing wave that cut through flesh and met bone with a chill like ice. “Just because we’re sad and miserable, doesn’t mean we have to give up a good time.” His instincts were buried before. Rolling in their grave at the chance to touch you. So he pressed his palms to the lid of the coffin and pushed. Reaching out to trace a delicate line along the angle of your jaw. His eyes were drawn to the soft plush of your lips and how they parted ever so slightly. “I want a distraction, baby.”

He had you where he wanted you. And the liquor mixing thick with your blood had inhibition slipping through your fingers. His breath was hot on your lips. Needy to be paid attention to.

“Would it be worth my while?” You challenged, ignoring eye contact for now. Instead looking to his lips for the lies.

“You don’t think I could satisfy you?” He smirked, lifting your chin with a single thick finger curled underneath and the pad of his thumb swiping slowly over your bottom lip. “I’ll do better than anyone else could.”

“Sounds like an awful lot of confidence you have there. At the end of the day, a dog that’s all bark and no bite is just a bitch.”

Frankie chuckled at that. A deep rumble that rattled the bones that protect the hollow hole in his chest. “Come on…let me have a taste.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. He took the silence and the glimmer of ‘i dare you’ in your eyes, pressing his lips to yours to consume you. Devour you whole. They took their time in sinking together and suctioning your lower lip into his mouth. Then his tongue dared to venture forward past parted lips to lick into your mouth and taste the backs of your teeth.

First, you let go of trepidation to take a hold of him. The roots of his hair and the back of his neck, fingers curled like talons. After, you let go of all else. The thoughts scratching the back of your skull, the headache that blistered before by the inferno calmed down and you were forced to focus on him alone as he took a handful of your hips and lifted you up to his lap to roll into him like a steady tide.

You pulled him by the collar of his shirt to your room, clothes left in a scattered flurry along the way. Breadcrumbs to pick up later and either regret or laugh at. He unhinged your jaw to let slip your airy moan as his hands travelled south to meet the seam of your cunt. All else fell into place when he circled your clit with two fingers to start the first loop of the knot in your belly. A warmup for the act of sin, and need, and wanting. Whatever god there was should have never been prayed to in the first place. And Frankie knew it now that he was damned to hell from the first parting of your thighs for his wandering hand. His teeth were ready for sinking as he gathered your legs and hooked them over his shoulders to walk open mouthed, spit decorated kisses down the trunk of your navel. Pressing his nose into your mound. The must of your cunt making his eyes light up as he stared at the bob of your throat when you swallowed sharply. Head rolled back to the pillow. His tongue glided into your folds for the first lick. Making a hot wet stripe of a path from your asshole to your clit. He used the tip of his tongue to circle it and glide lover to curl into your quivering hole. Drawing out the taste. The beckoning gesture of his tongue gathering your taste in his senses. A thumb following suit to roll the bud of your clit under it, his nose clumsy as it bumped into it too. Obsessing over the tang of your arousal, thick in shine over his lips the scruff of his chin.

Your thighs clamped over his ears that were red. The heat made your own skin burn. Dark curls of his hair whispering against their insides as he continued to devour you from the seam. And your orgasm– it burned bright after the first fizzle. Made your eyes scrunch closed as he pulled it from you with hand and tongue. What was used for his words had yours spilling from parted lips like a puppet. A vessel for him to carry pleasure through. It had you toppling over into oblivion. The abyss.

With bones brittle and hollowed like a bird you were fine to be dead weight as he ascended your body again. Folding you in half with your legs still bent over his shoulders. He traced the jut of your collarbone with the blunt edges of his teeth. How he wished they’d be sharp to sink deeper. But you were grateful as it would be easier for him to not draw blood and see the inside of you ran red like all the others. It was easy to not be human. It was easy to not show emotion and weakness.

“Feel that?’ he panted against your goosebump pebbled skin, and you nodded. You did. It was the promise to feel desired and not broken. And not maimed beyond repair by another person you let in. Another person you built yourself up to prepare to love, to only have the rug pulled from under your feet and the brickwork clatter to the ground. It was the same promise to him. And the desire that ran thick in his blood made his pulse thrum heavy under its weight. Its intrusion hot under his lust scorched skin.

“Yeah.”

“Imma make it go away for you, baby.” he promised with a kiss to the hollow of your throat below its column, between your clavicle. And it was anything but empty. It was full. And round, and swollen with something deeper in his ribs that ached to be let loose. Breathed to fill you too. “I’ll make it all go away.”

His hips pressed flush to yours and the drag of neatly groomed hair sent a shockwave through your clit and up your rattling spine. Vertebrae by vertebrae. Setting off blazing fireworks in your mind for just a second before he started a slow drag. It was a stretch that stung. But pain was comfort if it had pleasure hot on its heels like an obedient dog. Ironic how you feared men like him, who seemed so eager to please and let themselves in uninvited. But you took it willingly this time because you needed to forget for a single second about the heart that bled under flesh and bone in the cage of your ribs.

His cock was thick, full and curved up into the part of you that you couldn't have reached even if you tried. He slotted into your heat like he was meant to stay there. And that alone made you want to scream for him to give in and not relent so you could be ignorant to the way it seemed divine. The roll of his hips kicked up in pace and soon he was hunched over you. Strong arms rippled with muscle from brutal training since the age of eighteen bracing himself on either side of your head. The feeling of him curling his hips into you made you burn. It sent a tumble of a moan from your lips through the breathless pant of his name. A name he never thought you'd call in the tangle of your sheets. But the burning need to give you what he had wanted all this time ate at him. It ripped the flesh fresh off his bone and left him bleeding into you.

Frankie’s eyes misted over when the chain that hung from his neck slipped over your chin and you bought the metal of his dog tags between your teeth. Biting down. It feels better biting down anyway. And the cool of the metal on your hot tongue made your head swim. Looking him in his eyes and daring him deeper. So his lips pressed into a firm line, and your nails raked down his back to leave raised red lines in their wake. Tracing new paths over the old map of scar tissue. Marking new land and territory. The air between you hung heavy with the heat of exhales. And blew with the shared moan you indulged in when it coiled in your belly. The cradle of your hips accommodated his cock as it stretched the tightness of your walls. Your slick arousal giving way to fluidity of otherwise rabid motion. Starving.

When on his tongue, you were alive. Inside you he breathed again with the clutch of your cunt around him. Warm and beating, and thrumming quickly like a hummingbird's wings. A squatter temporarily camped up in the crack between two ribs. Where thick muscle shuddered with breath. You believed something in you was worth loving. But you also knew for it to be found you'd have to be flayed alive.

The crash of his hips into yours aided in the symphony of sex, and filled the four walls painted but void of personal belongings. If he were on the other side of them he'd be jealous. But now he was here, he was alive. Beating hearted and thriving. And any god, saint, angel or divinity could watch and weep as he finally had what he wanted. What he might have needed in order to restore his humanity that lay dormant for so long. He was trying to crack you open so he could lick up what lay inside you. Gather it up in his arms like the greedy wolf, lambs gore, blood and flesh, between fangs of his lower jaw. Have the muscle pulsing between his teeth. But he wouldn't. So for now he'd settle for the flesh on show. The mound of your panting breast that he pressed into his open mouth. The flat of his tongue pressing greedily to your nipple. Before his lips pinched together and pulled the left pert. Switching to do the same for the right. Not leaving an inch of you untouched. Because he had his chance now. And who knew when he'd get another. So he relished in what he was spared and he would take it with him to the grave. Dream of it on his deathbed if this killed him. Or if something else did. Regardless. This would run through his mind until his last heavy and troubled breath.

“That's it.” he murmured into your breast. “Take it. Take it, baby. Take me..”

Your back arched, strung tight like a bow ready to fire. Spine curled up into the heat of his mouth and he bit down again on the swell of your breast. Wanting to take its entire weight into his mouth and have it rot and smear into his tongue. The fizzle of nerve endings reached the tips of your curling toes. The heels of your feet digging into the planes of his scapula to press him closer in the burning of your young orgasm.

“Come on. Let me see you come.” Frankie demanded in a breathless growl as he stared you down with his eyes. The hue of his irises almost devoured by black of pupil. Your jaw unhinged to let rip a silent scream. Feeling that sharp coil snap, and a numbness fill your aching core before your toes curl in pleasure. He helped you ride it out with his cock fucking into your tight weeping cunt while you sang out his name in a chorus of moans, whimpers and cries. Letting go utterly as a rush filled you, lighting you up like dry kindling under your skin. The pulsating of your walls around his length had his hips faltering for just a moment, twitching within your sopping cunt. His head fell into the crook of your neck as he let out a deep guttural groan, closing in on skin with teeth again. Spilling inside you, the mix of your slick with his cum painting you white like the searing heat of pleasure between you. He leaves the last of his load with you by fucking it deeper. Three, sharp, punctuated thrusts.

He lay flat above you while he awaited the comedown from his catharsis. The tingle down his spine sputtered out in a haze of slowburn afterglow. Eyes closed and face buried into the crook of your perspiring neck. Panting together. Hit tongue forgot for a second to shape your name the way it sounded, but with a sharp inhale, the air surged his mind.

“I suppose this is the part where I leave?” He mumbled, pulling back from your skin. His time had come and ended. The two of you now sat back to the world of hallway and laundromat limbo. He sighed through his nose when you nodded. And he did the same, pressing his lips into a thin line.

Frankie gathered his clothes up, putting them on slowly one by one. Drawing out the ache of being alone again by lingering in your presence.

“Come back tomorrow.” You said. Not asked. He nodded, still facing the door. Then twisted the handle and left an empty space in your apartment where he had once been.

#pedro pascal #triple frontier #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x female reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales fic #frankie morales smut #frankie triple frontier #frankie morales fanfic #bark!bite!bleed!

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seuonji · 6 months

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night shift ★彡 xu minghao

xu minghao x yn ln

彡when yn’s juniors finds trouble with some fellow college mates, yn goes through mountains just to get them justice, even if it means needing to infiltrate and make friends with the most intimidating clique on campus.

masterlist

#7 7th chance! | #8 wasted times! | # 9 yn’s boyfriend!

notes: there’s a writing part after the cut! <3 (1k words!)

you turned your phone off and redirected your attention to minghao and his friend that tagged along who’s name was…kwon soonyoung? you were mildly acquainted with both of then due to chan’s dance club but other than that, you really have never had a conversation with them so the walk to icey milk was ought to be interesting.

when they first approached you, minghao was quiet and cold as ever. perhaps that was just his default character. soonyoung on the other hand greeted you with such friendliness that it shocked you.

now you three were on the sidewalk making your way to icey milk.

awkwardly, you were walking beside minghao.

soonyoung walked on a faster pace so it were as if he was leading you two.

“so, what’s it like being vice yn!” soonyoung turned around, walking backwards as he asked.

you giggled at his eagerness, you’ve never met someone so interested in the role of a vice, “well, i kinda just do whatever the president tells us. but there is times i get to boss people around aswell.”

“you boss people around?” minghao suddenly chirped in.

“hard to believe?” you titled your head.

“not really,” he faced to the front again.

“i’ve always wanted to get acquainted with you guys, you all seemed like fun but i was scared it was prohibited.”

you held back your laugh, from the corner of your eye, you saw minghao doing the same. “like we’re celebrities or something? come on, it’s really nothing like that, we’re all students just like you,” you casually responded.

you caught the attention of minghao while your attention was on soonyoung. today he realised, you probably aren’t the snob-could be apart of the mean girls trio-obnoxious-not humble type of person he portrayed you be in his head. you were pretty decent and he could see himself being alone in a room with you without going insane.

but what was he thinking? it’s only been a 2 minute walk so far he could only judge so much.

“so i could totally just try and be friends with the student council?” soonyoung continued his questions. that one kind off took you aback, did he have some sort of student council addiction, why was this man so invested. but perhaps this interest could be an asset to you.

“of course! we don’t bite. actually jeonghan might but he’d only do it as a joke,” you joked.

“who’s jeonghan?” soonyoung tilted his head.

minghao snorted out a giggle, “so much for wanting to be friends with the student council.”

“ouf,” you blurted almost letting out a loud laugh. jeonghan always swore everyone knew who he was, you wish you caught what soonyoung said on tape.

you proceeded to give brief descriptions on everyone from student council but before you knew it, you reached icey milk. you parted ways with soonyoung. you think you made a good impression since soonyoung insisted that you and him should hangout again. that felt like an accomplishment!

soon enough, you and minghao went to the back to start work.

it was a slow day seeing as it was a weekday which allowed you and minghao to focus on training more today.

he trained you in ice cream scooping, the right way to wash the dishes and since icey milk also sold milkshakes, minghao was able to train you on that aswell.

“so that concludes your training, anything else just ask me,” he had a slight smile on his face.

you let out a breathe thankful for the zero mishaps that happened that day.

“thanks, mind if i take a break?”

“not at all, go ahead”

you were able to confide in the space of the employee room to text seungcheol. afterwards you shut your phone tired of the situation but laughed cause it was pretty funny.

you had your earphones in and looked up into the ceiling, letting your playlist run wild.

few songs had passed and you heard someone walk in. you lowered your volume down just in case someone spoke.

unbeknownst to you, minghao walked in and caught a glimpse of the song that was playing on your phone. it was showcased on your lock screen and he pointed it out.

“hey, you listen that artist too?”

it took you a bit too long to realise he was talking to you but you pulled out one of your earphones and you peeked at your screen. an artist song was playing, an artist you swore only you listened to. “yea, holy shit i’ve never met someone that knew them.”

“yea, they’re kinda underground.”

“i like them that way,” you giggled.

he had the same smile on his face as he laughed, “me too.”

huh, you two finally agreed on something.

he sat infront of you, going on his phone aswell.

this was your chance.

“did you hear they’re coming to town this year?”

“huh they are?” he placed his phone down giving you his full attention.

“yea! i mean it’s not a huge concert, it’s more like a live house but, would you go?”

“probably not, it would cost money i can’t spare,” he looked defeated.

your eyes grew bigger from the reality check as your plopped back into your chair, “that’s true.”

“i mean, we could just take the cash from the register and go,” he shrugged his shoulder and joked.

you let out a laugh, he was capable of making jokes? you swear he was a robot. “that’s genius actually!”

“let’s plan it out then,” he said with such seriousness it didn’t seem like a joke anymore.

you enjoyed the conversation, just as you were about to prolong it, the chimes rang as the front door opened, alarming you two that there was a customer.

minghao instantly stood up to attend to them as you followed behind. as he opened the door, he whispered to you, “here comes our money for the concert!” he did a small jazz hands gesture before returning back to his employee mode. you watched him at the side and quietly let out a sigh of relief.

maybe you could enjoy working around him.

funfact: when yn went back home they searched up the meaning of the song wasted times. they could see some correlation and they definitely didn’t let him breathe because of it.

taglist: @weird-bookworm @kissesfrmwonwoo @haecien @amxlia-stars @addyanm @anemoiant @kokoiinuts @leewonkyeom @silver-liner @zzenkha @buffhoshi @woozixo @porridgesblog @ilovehimyourhonour @koala-wonderland @bangantokchy @limbomoon @som1ig @imprettyweird @hyelium @sikuthealien

send an ask to be added to taglist! (replies are fine but i may not see them!!) — please check your visibility before asking to be added to taglist! if your account is hidden it won’t allow you to be tagged on posts!🤍

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kotir-propaganda · 10 months

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Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.

-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.

-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?

-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!

-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.

-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack

-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.

-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!

-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.

-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy

#redwall #mossflower

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steleir · 9 days

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໒꒰ྀི ੭-ࡇ-꒱ྀི੭ fem! reader x kunigami rensuke, angst. i’m in such a writing block writing this alone had me fighting my demons.

the apeathetic look in his eyes was funny, almost. your heart beating faster than it ever has. the raindrops that landed on the windows, slowly sliding down the clear glass, mimicking your own tears.

it was humbling when you rushed to hug him when he stepped through your front door with a copy of your keys in hand.

he was the only one allowed to barge in like this. just like how he barged into your heart and carved a perfect place for him to sit, right at the centre of your heart. you ran to hug him, only to be met with coldness—no arms wrapping around you, no hand that would be placed at your head as kunigami placed a kiss right at the crown of your head.

nothing, just the feeling of his hard abs through his t-shirt and silence. silence that rang into your ears so loudly. "kuni..." you mumbled, pulling away and looking up at his dead eyes.

dread rushed through your body at the sight, the boy you once knew—the boy you once loved—wasn't there.

...at least not anymore, and he wasn't coming back any time soon. was he?

what happened in bluelock to make him like this?

"we're never getting back together, got it?" he said demandingly.

it was only a day after he revived the letter from bluelock that he broke up with you, saying he couldn't bare the thought of having to make you wait for however long this program could last.

but when he returned, he promised, that if you still loved him, you could be together again.

but, look where that led you. to you having a throbbing heart and souly yearning for the orange-haired boy.

you went quiet, struggling to figure out what to do—what to even say.

"kuni, you can't just leave me like that..." you whispered to yourself, though deep down wishing he heard. "i can; i don't love you anymore," he shrugged, his apathetic eyes staring daggers into your own empathetic ones.

you got on your toes and placed your hands on his cheeks, leaning closer and closer. lips yearning for his.

for some reason, he hasn't pulled away; he just froze. and somewhere behind the shock, you swore you could see the boy you once loved hiding. from you—from the world.

you lips smashed against his as he found himself kissing you back, the tears that still tripped down from your eyes squishing against his cheek.

you pulled away eventually, and you couldn't help but notice how his lips still chased after yours. like his mouth said one thing, but his body said a whole other thing.

"tell me if you change your mind," you mumbled, trying to hold back tears, to no avail, however.

they ran down all the way to your neck.

in a way, you hoped his didn't change his mind, because you knew if he did, you'd run right back, causing yourself even more hurt. you had to move on.

#૮Ꮚ ´͈ ⁄⁄`͈꒱ა ( literature )#bllk angst #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk #bluelock #bluelock x you #bluelock x reader #blue lock x you #blue lock #blue lock x reader #kunigami rensuke x you #kunigami rensuke x reader

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farfromstrange · 11 months

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Hey, may I make a Matt x Reader request. Foggy wants to meet Matt's new girlfriend. Foggy and Karen are supposed to meet you at Josie's. (You and Matt have a little plan to annoy Foggy.) You arrive later than the others and walk past the trio, foggy notices you and flirts with you. The idea came to me with the quote.

Matt Murdock : How would I even know she's a beautiful woman? Foggy Nelson : I don't know. It's kinda spooky, actually. But if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer.

Thank you so much for your request, nonnie, and I apologize for the delay. I hope you like it!

That Girl Is Mine | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt thinks it would be a funny idea to mess with Foggy before you properly meet him and Karen, and you play along.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/n: This was so sweet to write, and I feel kind of bad for Foggy, but oh well.

You and Matt have been dating for a few months now. You’re the happiest you have ever been and things are going well between you. He has met your friends and family, and a few days ago, you introduced him to your co-workers. Things are getting serious between you two, and it’s when he offers for you to move in with him that he also asks you to meet his friends.

Foggy and Karen are like family to him because he doesn’t have anyone else. He always mentions you to them, but you haven’t met them before. That is supposed to change tonight.

Matt invited his friends to Josie’s for the evening, thinking it would be the best place to get together and introduce you to them. Initially, you were nervous, but when he told you a story about him and Foggy when Karen came into their lives and that he wants nothing more than to annoy his best friend again because you are a real catch, you chose to hear him out.

“Foggy thinks I have a magical radar for beautiful women,” he told you over dinner.

You remember snorting. “Does he now?” you said.

“Yeah. He said, and I quote: ‘But if there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer.’”

No matter how many times he tells this story, it’s still as ridiculous to you as it was in the beginning. It was his idea to play with Foggy and humble him and maybe make you feel a bit more confident in the process; you should flirt with him, he had told you, before revealing who you are. You’re unsure why you agreed, but Matt sometimes has the funniest ideas. It took a while for him to rediscover his playful side, and you would be the last one not to indulge him.

Josie is bustling with people. You’ve only been to the bar a couple of times so you’re not acquainted with everyone like Matt is, but it’s a nice place to hang out, especially when neither of you wants to have a fancy date night.

Foggy and Karen, whose faces you remember from the pictures in Matt’s apartment, are already there. You walk past them toward the bar. Your short dress and the smell of your perfume catch Foggy’s attention when you accidentally brush against him, uttering a slight apology, and it merely takes a second before you’ve got him on your hook.

His gaze lingers on you. Matt's predictions were correct. You count to three in your head while you order your usual drink, and just when you're about to turn around and see where Foggy is, he's standing right in front of you. Your lip curls into a smile, trying not to look too giddy or mischievous so you won't give yourself away, but he seems enchanted enough not to care about anything other than... well, you.

Karen watches the scene from afar, shaking her head slightly. When Foggy started following your figure to the bar, she knew that she would be spending some time alone until Matt - and ultimately you - would arrive. She has no idea either, but it's not like she cares. She sips her drink and decides to watch the scene unfold, her phone at the ready in case whoever Foggy chose to flirt with would raise her hand and slap him - Don't get me wrong, she would never wish anything bad upon her friends, but sometimes Foggy's enthusiasm in picking up women happens to be ill-placed and his flirting goes wrong. She is prepared for that scenario, the only thing missing is the popcorn.

Matt, entering the bar now, too, and pretending not to notice the interaction, is subtly enjoying the whole scene from afar. He can hear Foggy's elevated heartbeat, his fast breathing, and the determination in his step. He puffs his chest, which is probably a ridiculous sight because you sound like you're trying not to laugh, and he bites back a smirk as he greets Karen and tells her a half-assed lie about how you're stuck in traffic. She's suspicious, but she allows it.

Foggy can't resist striking up a conversation with you when he catches your attention. He leans against the counter and flashes a charming smile. "Well, hello there. I must say, you certainly know how to make an entrance," he says. "And you drink beer, which is much appreciated. Not everyone understands the allure of it."

You glance at him. "Should I be flattered or concerned that it took you only two seconds from seeing me to hitting on me?" you retort, and his cheeks turn bright red.

He chuckles awkwardly. "A little bit of both, perhaps? But it's hard not to be captivated by someone as stunning as you. You're like a magnet in a room full of metal filings."

You laugh softly, pretending to be flattered. "And he is a smooth talker, too. Damn, I got lucky!" You sip your beer, your eyes crinkling just a little when you spot Matt in the crowd.

"I can offer a lot more than just smooth talking, y'know? I can buy you another drink and we can find out."

"Wow-"

Matt didn’t lie when he said that Foggy was a huge flirt.

"I have to admit, there's something intriguing about you,” he says, not intending on stopping anytime soon. “You’re pretty, but you’re sassy. I appreciate that.”

“If you call that sassy, you’ve clearly never seen proper sass before,” you say.

He licks his lips. He’s not one to give up so easily. But he doesn’t do it in a way that pushes you into a corner, it’s more of a friendly banter that you know you can get out of if you only say the word that you’re not interested.

Seeing Matt smirk in your direction, you can tell he is enjoying this a little too much. Usually so jealous, he sees no competition when it comes to Foggy or how the man is looking at you, and you’re not sure if you should feel bad for Foggy because he’s a nice guy or if you want to punch Matt for being so smug about how no other man could possibly match up to him. He either loathes himself or he has a God complex, and it varies a lot. You know that deep down, he is more than insecure and scared of losing you, but there is something territorial about him that makes it impossible for anyone else to even catch your attention – and he has marked you up good in places most people will never get to see, but you know it’s there, you belong to him, so leaving him for his best friend would never cross your mind. This is more fun than it is serious, but part of you wants to push it further.

Your hand lands on Foggy’s arm and as if you flicked a switch, Matt’s smirk disappears. “What do you offer besides a drink,” you ask, “now that I’m already curious?”

The purr in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed. He’s out of his chair faster than you could say his name.

“That depends,” Foggy returns and leans in closer, “what do you prefer? I offer what you want me to offer.”

You truly wonder why he’s single.

Before you can respond, Matt steps up beside you, placing a possessive hand on your lower back. His touch is both subtle and comforting. "Hey, sorry I'm late," he says, his voice filled with a concern that is supposed to overshadow that he's pretty much feral inside. Oh, how much you're enjoying this now. "Am I interrupting something?"

Foggy's eyes widen as he sees his hand. "Matt! Wait, is this...?"

Matt nods. "Foggy, this is my girlfriend," and he tells him your name before you can. The fact he emphasizes the word "girlfriend" means he's taking this rather seriously, and his God complex from before has vanished into thin air. You feel almost bad for him, so you place your hand on his back as well and lean into him before pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. You're going to get punished for this later, but right now, you don't mind.

The realization dawns on Foggy, and he looks between you and Matt. "You... you set me up!" he gasps. "I can't believe you did this to me. I made myself look like a fucking fool! Oh, my God..."

You giggle, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry, this was Matt's idea. But you're a really nice guy."

Karen, who has been quietly observing the whole exchange and watching from afar, joins in on the laughter. "Well played, Matt," she says. "Well played."

Foggy crosses his arms. "Okay, okay, you got me. I'll admit, I fell right into your little scheme. But damn," he eyes you again, "you're even more amazing than I thought."

"Thanks, Foggy." You place a hand on your chest. "I wanted to meet you in the old-fashioned sense, but at least now I can say that THE Foggy Nelson flirted with me. From what I've heard, that's an honor."

"Did he tell you that?" Foggy points to Matt. "'Cause he has always been the one stealing all the ladies from me."

“Listen, I didn’t do it on purpose, I told you,” said Matt.

“And I told you that-”

It’s your turn to finish what Matt already told you before. “If there's a stunning woman with questionable character in the room, Matt Murdock's gonna find her, and Foggy Nelson is gonna suffer,” you say.

Foggy nods. “Exactly, that!”

Matt shrugs, though he smirks as if he knows just what an effect he can have because he does. He can hear it, smell it and feel it, and it’s especially precise with you.

“Well, it didn’t work on me,” Karen cuts in, and the four of you erupt in laughter.

And with that, the four of you settle in a booth, getting to know each other like you originally intended. You can tell just from talking to them that you’ve won two more friends, and they are a lot more fun than you expected them to be. They accept you and you accept them and that’s all that matters to you, and Matt is more than happy that you’re his and that you are comfortable and happy in his family’s presence like he is. Even though he will never ask you to flirt with one of his friends as a joke again, that’s for sure.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @lina-mar @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock imagines #daredevil x reader #daredevil fluff #lizzi writes #request #reader insert #no y/n #female reader

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bibbykins · 1 year

Text

Moonlight Reign Ch.1

A/N: Instead of forcing myself to focus on one series at a time, I'm planning to write what sparks joy to write in the moment and post it as I go! Hopefully this will clear some wips and help me feel less disorganized lmao! Not to say I'm not working on THB, I def am I just want to have something to post as I work on THB and the bigger projects like the LWAB fics among other things! So (hopefully) I'll keep these chapters limited to 5-7k, but we'll see lol pls enjoy and send me asks I thrive on them and so does my motivation!

And a huge thank you to my wonderful B @rapline-heaux for beta-reading ily!!

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yandere! Mafia! BTS x Reader

Words: 5.7k

Warnings: crime, sensory flashbacks, trauma, unhealthy relationships, yandere behavior not rlly in this part but soon, pining, violence, past abuse, past neglect, academic neglect, stitches, drunk Jungkook, tackling, pinning someone down, mention of open relationship, poly is the norm is this au

“It’s time to go now.”

1, 2, 3, 4

“Five years after the fall of the underground power family, Moon Corporation, people still suspect an even more powerful company has taken their place since…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“It’s… so red…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“The exposure beheld more answers than questions, but on the five-year anniversary of the suicidal explosion that killed the head, Moon Byungyeol and his daughter, the elusive green-haired girl who was 18 at the time, colleagues mourn in secret and establishments fear an anniversary heist or something worst than last year as the date rapidly approaches…”

1, 2, 3, 4

“Locals have several theories on the big conglomerate that now controls Seoul’s business, underground and above, with the mafia organizations and gangs running rampant, people fear the government is under their thumb as well…”

1, 2- SHUT UP

You inhaled deeply as if just surfacing from the drowning body of water residing in your brain. Your fingers stilled from the tapping, a desperate attempt to make you surface, a sorry technique your brief stint in therapy drilled into you. Maybe having nothing led to illogical personal connections with a number. Of all your training as an heir, it was the mundane basic curriculum lessons that fascinated you the most. You were never good at math, but you loved to be perplexed by the numbers. It was a humbling experience, and in your fruitless calculations, four was always the easiest to wrap your head around. Of course, you didn’t know how humbled you’d be until you were a 20 year old trying to figure out how to do middle school math. Your education left much to be desired growing up, but you still enjoyed learning.

You used to be convinced four was too perfect of a number for such an ugly world, and though you let go of the notion with your past life, it didn’t change that it was a world you had to feign blind to now. In your youth, four was a beautiful result of a simple equation, a funny origin to big numbers. It was a warm hug among the violent reactions when you’d get questions far below your intended grade level wrong. In a world where stuffed animals were banned from your childhood room, the number four was all you had. You didn’t particularly like how pathetic that made you feel, but it didn’t change how much it helped you on days like these.

Your palms retracted from their firm placement on the wall you leaned on, relaxing you. Releasing your slightly curled fingers, you stifled a bitter laugh at the desperate attempt to grasp onto something. It was always so degrading to scrub off the marks your acrylics made along the wall, but the stiletto nails made taps loud enough to bring you back. It was an absolute mystery how the school you worked at let you get away with these.

Your little episode was finished as you settled your mind with the news continuing to drone on. You massaged your jaw, sore from the subconscious clench you were cursed with. You blew out a sigh as you felt your face and nodded when no tears were felt. Your phone buzzed, alerting you to the time and you groaned. Your damn neighbor would be here any minute now.

Jungkook wasn’t a mean guy by any means, quite the opposite. He was extremely insistent on your well-being, so much so it bordered on doting, and such behavior made you clam up. You didn’t know how to respond to his fussing over you. Hell, you didn’t know how to respond to most interactions outside of your old family business for a long while. That was just one of the many things he taught you, and he never once lost his cool doing so. He was patient with you, and you didn’t know how to thank him for it.

You both had been in the same class when you attended university, and while you were fine with letting your temporary acquaintanceship go no further than asking for notes or the occasional study session, he was a force to be reckoned with. You just kept running into him and when you moved here and found he was your next-door neighbor, you knew there was no getting out of it. He was going to be your friend. Although, you never understood why he wanted to be so bad.

Cut to a whole year after you both graduated, and it still didn’t make any sense. You both were polar opposites in a lot of ways. He was the regular party boy always at clubs and coming home at ungodly hours of the night. Meanwhile, you were usually in bed by 11:00 pm and only left your apartment for the job that barely covered your rent. Needless to say, you weren't exactly a social butterfly, so if you found one friend in Jungkook, you figured it wouldn't be such a crime.

However, having Jungkook as a friend meant having a weekly dinner with him as he mooched off of your TV and you mooched off of the food he paid for. It was an even enough exchange. Plus, it was nice to talk freely, or well, as free as you've ever been able to, even if just for a little bit.

You faced the mirror, patting down your hair, thankful for how much healthier it was without the cheap dye job you had done yourself when you were 14, “That green didn’t suit me at all,” You mused, fixing your hair, “Plus it nearly ruined my hair.” You murmured to no one in particular, keeping track of your speeding thoughts as you settled back into Earth.

Jungkook knocked on the door and you nodded to yourself, “It’s open!” You called and sat down at the table as he walked in, take-away bags in his hands.

“You really shouldn’t leave your door open like that, you know.” He tsked like he always did. It just made sense to leave it unlocked when you knew he was coming, especially if you needed to run to the bathroom so you could finish crying before facing him. Of course, you haven't had to do that in a while, but better safe than sorry. Your issues, for lack of better term, were no secret to Jungkook, and you both knew it, but you liked to avoid having him see you at your most vulnerable when you could help it.

You simply shrugged as you helped him unpack the food, “We’re the only ones on the top floor.” You reminded him, “it would be quite silly of a criminal to come all the way up to the 20th floor.” You chided.

“Still.” He tried to argue but quickly gave up. Jungkook knew by now that you could take care of yourself, but sometimes you wished you’d let him do it for you more often. However, he let this potential argument go, this time. He looked around and narrowed his gaze at the TV, “Why do you still have the news on?”

You paused and looked up from your food as it prattled on about your family, “I guess I forgot,” You forced your casual tone, “Did you get-”

“Syndicates, huh…?” He echoed the news reporter’s words, eyes fixated on the screen with a curious look, “The news is so weird with this stuff.”

The chopsticks in your hand stilled. You wanted to say that the syndicates were even weirder since they were the ones that probably signed off on the script. As a little girl, that was the first thing you had learned, how to play chess outside on a park bench, how to play chess crushing people in your hands as you moved them. It had all been the same to you for far too long.

“Like I care, it’s just background noise.” A lie, you hated lying, but it was something you had to get used to doing for the sake of your safety.

“You aren't scared of these guys at all?” Jungkook looked at you like you were crazy, although his eyes didn't match the rest of his face's intensity.

Shaking off the weird notion, you rolled your eyes, “A world without you buying me dinner is pretty spooky but that,” You gestured to the TV, “Is a cheap haunted house in comparison to the hell of making dinner or worse, ordering it myself, on a Friday night.” You giggled.

Jungkook rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Is that all I am to you? A sugar daddy?” He asked in mock offense and you nearly spit out your drink.

You swallowed roughly before glaring at him as he laughed, “If you’re my sugar daddy, I need a new one.” You retorted and his laugh died while a childish pout settled on his face, “I mean, all I get is a measly dinner once a week and I still have to work and pay my bills?”

“Well, what do I get, huh?” He crossed his arms, and it made you chuckle. Laughter had never come easy to you growing up, and it still had a hard time coming to you but after years by Jungkook’s side it was easier than ever to do, “Where’s my sugar?” He thrusted his cheek toward you, tapping on it with his index finger.

You rolled your eyes in spite of the flutter in the pit of your stomach and pushed his face away with your index finger, “My presence is your sugar, dummy.” You teased and how easy it was to be human around him made you smile wider, “Plus I let you watch your silly little shirtless men.”

He clicked his tongue, “First of all, if you’re going to call them shirtless men, at least call them hot because look at him.” He pressed a button on your remote and his favorite fighter, Park Jimin filled the screen, “Second of all, it’s literally fewer syllables to just say MMA fights.”

You took a bite of your food and shrugged, “Don’t you have, like, a million boyfriends? Wouldn’t you make them jealous drooling all over Jimin?” You challenged, vaguely remembering Jungkook saying he had more than three boyfriends at some point. Not that it was surprising, most people had at least two significant others. Unless they were you, of course. You had no one to talk to but the man sitting in front of you, forget about a significant other. “He would make me pretty damn insecure.” You chuckled.

Jungkook scrunched his brows at you, “Six.” He corrected, mirth filling his eyes already.

You looked from the TV to him, “Hm?” You tilted your head to the side.

“I have six boyfriends, thank you very much.” He stated matter-of-factly, and you rolled your eyes at his tone, “Why? Are you trying to give me seven significant others?” He feigned a scandalous gasp, “Well, the relationship is open, you know, so I guess I could pencil you in–” You cut him off by shoving a piece of chicken in his mouth with a glare. The teasing made your chest seize for a split moment when faced with his teasing smirk, so this had been the best way to shut him up.

Jungkook had always been a flirt, he often relished in teasing you to see how embarrassed you would get. Thankfully, over the years you had gotten used to it. You had already known his relationship was open since he mentioned how often they’re all apart, but you didn’t care to entertain that kind of intimacy with Jungkook even in your thoughts these days. It was just better that way.

“Ha, ha, we got a comedian.” You deadpanned and before you could say anything else, something on the screen caught your eyes, “What the fuck?” You mumbled.

“What?” Jungkook inquired as he looked at the TV, swallowing the food you fed him.

The camera had panned over the crowd and over an eerily familiar face poorly covered with sunglasses. The etching of a scar peeking out of the cheap frames told you all you needed, though. That was your uncle.

What the hell was he doing showing his face? Let alone this close to the five-year anniversary of everything. The new syndicate in charge took great joy in celebrating the fall of your family, no doubt they’re itching for someone to make an example of someone. Worry tried to leak its way into your veins, but you fought it. Why should you care about him? If he wanted to sign his death certificate, that was on him.

Still, the sight of a man you were almost positive you’d never see again made you feel uneasy. You’d acclimated to regular life quite well, so one of the few remnants of your past life appearing like a ghost was ominous. In spite of your unease, you couldn’t look away. Almost as if you were waiting for him to poof away. You kinda wished he would.

The camera changed and you finally blinked.

“N-Nothing.” You finally said, shaking your head, “I just thought I recognized someone, that’s all.” Your hands trembled for the briefest of moments as you lifted food to your mouth.

“Oh really, who?” Your only friend asked curiously and you shrugged as you chewed.

“Just some teacher that called in today.” You lied and it made your food taste sour for a moment. It was for the best you lied, you had to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Hell, I’d call in too if it meant I could see the fight live.” You were thankful Jungkook dropped the topic and let your shoulders relax. You shouldn’t feel bad for lying, really. An unspoken rule between you both was that you never pried about private details. Jungkook led his life and you led yours. Hell, you don’t even know what he does for a living, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it was living off of his boyfriends’ income. Not to mention you didn’t even know if he lived with anyone else next door or if that was just a place of his own to use on occasions. Though, you couldn’t help being a little jealous at the idea of being so pampered.

“Yeah, I could go for a silly little shirtless man fight on occasion.” You shrugged with a cheeky grin.

“Silly?!” Jungkook guffawed, “I’ll have you know if he wins this fight, he’ll qualify for the championship, so this is pretty high stakes.” He toted his knowledge of the sport.

“Hasn’t he already been champion like a few times now?” You asked, barely following.

“Yeah, but, he’s been off his game this season for… personal reasons, so he’s never been this close to not qualifying.” He admitted, and your brows scrunched at the melancholy in his eyes.

“Damn.” You mustered, “How do you know all this?” You asked, genuine curiosity lighting your eyes.

Suddenly, Jungkook’s cheeks reddened as he tore his eyes from you, “Interviews and stuff, you know.” He waved his hand dismissively and you rolled your eyes.

“Nothing wrong with being a fanboy.” You chided, “I’m certainly in no place to judge.” You offered, reminding him of your fixation on TV dramas, making him snort before you both honed in on the TV.

These fights were quite fascinating and allowed you to at least tap into some of your training. It was how you knew that Jimin was going to win this fight from the first calculated punch, his form was immaculate and instead of going for the face, he drove his fist into his opponent’s ear. It was a dirty trick, but it was more than enough to give him an opening.

“Holy shit, I think he might win this.” The fanboy across from you breathed.

“No way he isn’t going to win.” You confirmed.

“Don’t get my hopes too far up.” He all but squeaked out, basically on the edge of his seat.

After a couple of rounds and idle chitchat, the fight ended with Jimin as the victor. You clapped lightly, but Jungkook was so elated he hugged you as he let out a celebratory roar. The first couple of times he did this shocked you so bad your hands almost went to snap his neck. Now that you were both years into the friendship though, the gesture just made you chuckle. Soon after, just like it did every match, Jungkook’s phone vibrated and he had to leave. He always left you with some kind of affection and this time it was a kiss on the cheek, a rare one, but not a huge step from the common forehead kisses he gave you.

“Don’t drink too much.” You warned and he flashed you a cheeky smile, “At least don’t get into trouble.”

“We’ll see.” He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes.

“Well then don’t make it my problem!” You yelled and he waved a hand as he closed your door behind him.

—

“Father?” You whimpered as a strong hand patted your head to calm you, or soften the blow of what was to come, you couldn’t quite tell, “Tell me you didn't.” Your voice was in shambles as you trembled beneath his palm.

The news mocked you as panic took a hold of your body, shaking it out of the shred of blissful ignorance you had clung onto. Ever since your father took you in, you had many responsibilities, but the comfort of not needing to keep up with the public facade kept you going. You hated the public, all the pleasantries, and honeyed words. None of it made sense, and now, now you felt foolish for not involving yourself more. For not ensuring that something like this could never happen and crumble the only world you’ve known.

Still, even as despair monopolized your nerves, a tear wouldn’t fall. You weren’t sure if you knew how to shed them, but you knew it would only piss off your father.

Moon Byungyeol was a rough man and calling him father teetered between feeling genuine and like a formality. He was a boss first, but sometimes he wore the mask of a dad. Sometimes, but it was enough times with enough gusto that you couldn’t tell which side of him best represented his true self– or if he even had a truthful bone within himself.

He may have been rough, but he was all you had. He and the family he brought you into had been your first priority all your life, even when you had never really been his priority at all.

Not unless you could be used as currency.

“Y/n, it's time for us to go,” His voice was somber, but even. You’d never seen him so outwardly upset, but even so, he didn’t so much as let his eyes water as his life’s work shattered before his eyes. He was left with a subdued longing as he looked at the TV, melancholic defeat infecting his usually strong posture, “I let this greed consume me, and I'm afraid it's begun eating not just me alive now.” He admitted and it made you feel ill.

“...such evidence is linking the Moon Corporation to heinous organized crime activities painting them as a possible syndicate, but no arrests have been made nor has a formal criminal investigation on Moon Byungyeol himself been launched, but many workers under the company are being investigated due to possible involvement…”

Everything was dying. The realization that everything you did, all the lives you took, all the training you had suffered through, had never been for some prosperous empire you were promised. All of it had been to supply the lining of your father’s and uncle’s pockets. You should’ve been angry, shocked, or even appalled, but you weren't. You were numb to the fact that you were raised on lies. Fear resided in your veins about what that meant for you.

“If I just cash out and retire, we could never live in peace,” He shook his head as he switched off the TV before he placed his hands on your shoulder, catching your attention, “But Uncle Byungjoo has a plan that I think might just work.” You swallowed hard at this. Anything Byungjoo could think seldom meant good things for you. On your best days with him, you were a mere afterthought, but on the worst days– most days– you were–”The only thing is that you and I will have to… separate…”

He was going to abandon it. No, he was going to abandon you. The only thing more pitiful than your fear had to be your shock. What reason did you truly have to be surprised that he was throwing you away just as easily as he picked you? He was going to cash out one last time, and leave like this whole operation meant nothing to him. All the while you had put an inkling of faith in his heart to love this empire, like a fool. At the very least, it was the closest thing to love that you knew. This entire place was all you knew. When was the last time you had gone out on your own as anything but his daughter?

“But…” Your mouth was woefully dry, “The empire, just like you said, it’s-”

“We were never an empire,” His self-loathing clung to each word and disgust curled in your stomach as you looked at his solemn face, “I treated this organization as a bank, a money maker, it was inevitable that the paper I cradled would catch fire.” The roundabout way he was speaking began to grate at your nerve. The pseudo-poeticism of his words did nothing to save his dignity, but you didn’t tell him that.

You didn't scream, yell, or cry.

At least you hadn't, yet.

“Then who will rule Seoul?” You wondered aloud.

“That’s not my problem anymore.” He said as if it were the easiest thing to come to terms with.

“Who will stay with me?” You asked meekly, immediately regretting it as you watched his previous words dance on his lips before he decided against it.

He smiled warmly at you and it brought a chill down your spine, “Some of us are meant to be alone.” He patted your shoulder and you wanted so badly to break into pieces from the impact.

No one would stay with you. Not him, not anyone, and he didn't care.

That wasn't the answer you had hoped for. You hung your head in shame, shame that you expected anything other than a cold answer from a man on fire. The request for him to just kill you was on the time of your tongue before he turned around, ready to attend his last hurrah.

////

You woke up with a start from a bang outside, but considering the fact that it was 4 am, you chalked it up to city noise. Now awake, you stared at the ceiling and blew out an annoyed sigh. You were constantly plagued with flashbacks both in and out of your dreams, and you wished the rancid memories would choose one state of consciousness to haunt you in. Your therapist a couple of years back told you it's normal for people who have gone through what you have to constantly see what you were then in trying to dissect where you are now. Essentially, it was a constant cloud that hung over your head, and no matter how far you removed yourself from that life, its consequences would stay etched into your skin.

Another bang sounded outside your window and you grimaced. Anniversary week was beginning, and you felt more on edge than usual.

Five years ago exactly, you saw the match light. In four days, it will have officially been five years since you saw the flames engulf your home, your family, and everything you were. Each year, this week was chaos for the city of Seoul. Each day was accompanied by an event that slowly grew more and more above ground. It was almost mocking the past, the surfacing of dirty secrets. Secrets the world knew, but never wanted to see, cowards.

The new syndicate at the top of the kingdom was known as Bangtan to the underground scene, but with a “Group” tacked on after the ominous name, they were also the kings of the business world. They were much better at actually hiding their identities, hence why most average people assumed there was no such syndicate anymore or that the “law” took care of it. As if the “law” wasn’t under the thumb of the kings.

Even so, your information could very well be outdated. The whispers from the underground, also known as the Underworld or even more to the point, Hell, reached your ears less and less as you removed yourself from the lives of anyone who knew who you were. No longer working at the diner your previous nanny ran shut you off from the underground so much so you seldom became aware of Anniversary Week’s events until two days before the main event.

Another bang, but this time on your door, startled you out of your thoughts, “I can’t believe you went to the bar on a day like today- where are your keys?!” An unfamiliar voice spoke through your door.

“Ask, y/n,” Jungkook’s slurred voice rang out in a yell as you flinched at the volume, “Y/n! I need stitches!”

This wasn't the first time Jungkook was yelling outside your door, demanding your assistance. This was just another facet of your friendship that you both silently agreed was fine. You never really asked questions, you just patched him up and left him on your couch. It really wasn't any of your business, nor did you have any desire for it to be. Jungkook was an MMA fan, and you knew he was big on that scene and the fitness scene, so it just made sense he would get into fights. You could only hope these fights were agreed upon prior to alcohol, but you weren't naive enough to actually assume that was the case.

“This isn’t even your door, baby, come on.” The voice grunted and your attention peaked. You had encountered a few men trying to help Jungkook home, but you seldom got such an obvious confirmation of their relationship with him, “What? Are you trying to booty call your neighbor?” The unknown man teased and you rolled your eyes. Were they all like this?

“I wish!” Jungkook shouted in response and you were fine with leaving your door closed this time until he spoke, “Ew, I’m dripping on the doormat.”

This made you huff as you hopped out of bed in your large t-shirt and shorts and ripped the door open. You were faced with a man with perfectly styled black hair in a three-piece suit accompanied by a trashed Jungkook with a short, but deep, cut on the corner of his forehead. The man that looked a few years older than you and Jungkook stopped struggling with your neighbor as he looked at you with the most pristine and exasperated face.Everything about this man was polished. Even as your neighbor lazily draped around the man, his suit had barely begun to wrinkle.

Meanwhile, he looked you up and down with contempt before sighing, “Look, just forget we were-”

“Y/n!” Jungkook cheered before he passed out.

“No booty calls here, sorry.” You remarked flatly, “He usually keeps his keys in his wallet for some reason.” You nodded to his pocket before you looked at his forehead again, “But he does need stitches.” You opened your door a little more, gesturing for them to come in.

The man narrowed his eyes at you, “Do you usually play nurse for him?” You bit your tongue and swallowed his condescending tone with a sigh. You couldn’t tell if he was jealous at the thought of his boyfriend having some neighbor who treats his wounds in the dead of night or if he simply didn’t like you. Although looking at his face, there was no way this man was jealous of you. His gaze was sharp nonetheless, sharp and vaguely familiar, but his eyes held no recognition for you, so you let it go.

“Only when his blood is dripping on my doormat, for the third time this month,” You pointed to the sullied mat that you had just cleaned fully this week, “Bring him in, this isn’t that uncommon-”

“But-” He tried to object, noticeably a little clammy at the unspoken knowledge of their relationship.

“Any more blood on that mat and I'm making you pay for it, now come on,” You snapped as he walked in and sat Jungkook in a chair around your table. You shut the door as you pulled your first aid kit out, “You have to sit him on the floor or the couch.”

He complied to the couch, and though he didn’t say anything, you could see the question floating around his mind.

“When he wakes up, he attacks whoever is in front of him,” You spoke, preparing the needle and thread, and you had to ignore the curiosity peaking within you when you saw the other man shift uncomfortably at your comment, “And I can't stitch and hold him down at the table,” You explained, settling your knees to lock on both sides of Jungkook’s legs and your elbows pressing on his shoulders.

“Aren't you scared he'll hurt you?” The man asked as you began stitching.

You scoffed, “I can play scared if that's what you want, but certainly not for free.” You chuckled, but he remained straight-faced. Tough crowd. You worked very hard to develop your banter skills these past five years, but he paid them no mind making your smile drop.

Eventually, you just went on stitching in silence until the man broke the silence, “Who are you?” The man spoke mid-way through your stitching.

You paused for a moment, “Didn't you hear Jungkook? I’m y/n, and who are you?”

“None of your concern,” He clipped.

You snorted a chuckle, “You're bleeding on my hardwood floor, that has me pretty concerned.” You gestured to your hand to show him the small cut on his and he slowly grabbed a napkin to press against his hand with his mouth in a thin line, “Concerned for my floor I mean.” You clarified, “But a word of advice? If you don’t want to be suspicious of you, don’t act suspicious.”

He sighed, “My name is Namjoon-”

You were tying the final knot when Jungkook snapped his eyes open, “Shit.” Was all you were able to get out. He immediately dove at you, pushing you to the floor, making the needle in your hand scratch your forearm before you threw it across the room to avoid the tempting notion of stabbing him with it. You sucked in a breath through your teeth at the burning sensation while you struggled to shake him out of it.

It didn’t take a genius to deduce why Jungkook’s fight or flight was so concentrated, he’d obviously grown up with a reason to be. Nevertheless, it has never been your place to pry or judge, if anything, it’d be quite hypocritical. He'd seen you in a less-than-ideal mental state plenty of times, to put it lightly. Plus, you knew he didn’t mean any harm, and he was always pretty apologetic after the fact. Although, you were sure the struggle looked pretty concerning as you saw Namjoon scramble to his feet.

Namjoon was trying to find an opening to cut in between the battle as Jungkook was sloppily throwing his fist down and you were moving your head to dodge each blow. Though his moves were sloppy, they were still fast and you could only dodge for so long. With no other option left, you sighed before slamming your forehead on his fresh stitches to make him stop to register the pain. You took advantage of the opening as you effortlessly pinned his arms down with your knees planted on his upper arms, “Jungkook!” You snapped as Namjoon watched his younger friend finally recognize you in his drunken haze.

“Y-Y/n?” He questioned, his tongue thick in his mouth, “You hurt my head- hey, you’re bleeding on my shirt!”

Your arm had a scratch about half the length of your forearm, it was shallow and oozing blood, but you didn’t flinch, “Wonder who made me hurt both my arm and their head, dumbass,” You muttered, examining his stitches to make sure the impact didn’t affect the new suture, “And you got your blood on my doormat and my forehead, so let’s call it a draw.” You grunted as you fixed the suture.

The sight of someone towering over his boyfriend after headbutting them made Namjoon on edge. Jungkook talked for days and days about how much he loved spending time with his neighbor, but something was… off about you. Why would a school nurse be that skilled in combat? Jungkook was a ruthless fighter and you hardly flinched.

This string of thoughts prompted his mistake of grasping your wounded forearm to make you stand so he could properly question you. What he didn’t calculate in that movement was the fact that he grasped your fresh cut, which hurt like a bitch. This pain made you bring your other forearm to his neck, pressing firmly into his trachea as his back hit the wall with a bang. You both looked at each other in surprise at your reflex. You gasped softly before releasing him, “Don’t ever manhandle a lady, Namjoon,” You mumbled as you brought distance between the two of you, “I don’t do well being frightened.”

Namjoon regained his composure, impressed by your reaction time and ability to weaken his pride in such a short matter of seconds, “Who are you?” His tone was rougher in comparison to when he first asked the question.

“None of your concern,” You mocked his voice cartoonishly, becoming more and more irritated with his line of questioning, “Now take him, an alcohol pad, and go.” You hissed, unceremoniously tossing the package at him.

He gave you a sharp glare but complied, hauling Jungkook over his shoulder and leaving. The door shut and you let a relieved sigh escape you. You shut your eyes tightly, frustrated that you let your instincts take over like that. Namjoon was undoubtedly suspicious and that’s the last thing you needed. You opened your eyes and caught sight of the clock nearing 5 am, and it was a Saturday now, so you were going to sleep in as much as you could.

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

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Masterlist

#bts mafia au #bts fanfic #bts series #bts poly au #ot7 x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader #mafia bts #yandere mafia bts

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anarchywoofwoof · 5 months

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i think it's funny that the first thing people go to when trying to discuss the idea of reshaping work and capitalist society is that "you just want an excuse to sit around and contribute nothing" when in actuality, i would be contributing far more to society if i wasn't chained to a desk 40~ hours a week or beholden to company-sponsored health insurance in order to survive.

here's a list of things i'd rather be spending my time providing to society rather than working 40 hours a week doing something i could not possibly give a fuck less about:

teaching - adults, children, general education, coaching sports

writing - fiction, non-fiction, philosophy, essays, comedy

art - painting, abstract expressionism, contemporary pieces

music - lyrics, beats, melodies

helping others - friends, neighbors, strangers; with whatever they need, however they need it, volunteering my time

helping animals - rehabbing, care taking and husbandry

tending to the planet - gardening, planting trees, trash pickup, farming

archiving - safely storing everything we've created; physically & digitally

i could truly go on and on and on with more things that i would be spending my time doing if i wasn't constantly held underwater by the capitalist machine. and i don't want anything in return; the free time to do these things and share in the creations of others is reward enough.

does this sound like an unmotivated individual who wants to do nothing? quite to contrary, in my humble opinion. i simply would like the freedom to choose the things that fulfill me in my quest for meaningful time spent, rather than being subject to the wills of a conglomerate making an ungodly amount of money, of which i see .00002% of the revenue.

#text #bork bork thoughts #fuck capitalism #anti capitalist #anti capitalism #antiwork

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third-arch · 3 months

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Corazon Rambling-A Heart of Gold

An incomplete rambling about how I see Corazon and how I write him as a character.

One thing that I noticed when studying Corazon’s design was that it was a complete contrast to his brother’s.

His posture was droopy, his features were boxed and squared, rather than jagged and pointed like Doflamingo. His colors were darker and mature, rather than bright and chic. His bangs drooped over his eyebrows. He smoked, too.

So,

When you think of Corazon, what are the first words that come to mind?

Silly? Goofy? Lovable? Clumsy?

Or maybe, there’s a more subtle set of words that come to mind,

Quiet, father figure, caring, and all that.

The funny thing about Corazon is that he is all of those things, and I always try to incorporate them in my writings.

Still, it seems undermining to only define him that way, at least to me it does.

Throughout my time in the One Piece fandom, I have seen Corazon’s character interpreted in a multitude of ways, ranging from a silly, goofy tall guy, to a compassionate father figure and selfless caregiver for the bratty child Law was.

I realized the amount of characterizations that were possible for him.

He is one of the most beloved characters in the One Piece universe. Yet, we see so little of him.

So, there are bound to be multiple characterizations of him.

Yet, out of all of the perceptions I have seen done of him, there were two individuals who I thought interpreted his character very well.

But, throughout all of this, one phrase I rarely seen used when describing him is the one that I think fits him most admirably.

Corazon has a Heart of Gold

In my opinion, he’s just.

He’s willing to sacrifice himself for the greater good, and dedicate his life of it simply means helping others see the greater good.

He’s brilliant and loves unconditionally.

Humble, sweet, and gentle.

He’s patient and empathetic.

He’s a leader and a commander, willing to take on hardships and make sacrifices, even at his lowest.

Even when in pain and miserable,

He’d bleed and die for those he loves.

He set aside his emotions when others were hurting.

He loved with all his heart.

He’s strong and courageous.

He’d be willing to smile in the face of the devil if it meant a greater good would come out of it. If it meant forever leaving a positive impact on someone.

He is someone who is willing to set his foot down when someone crosses the line, and will do what it takes to ensure it never happens again.

And, most of all, he was completely altruistic and noble.

Even when he was dying, he wasn’t even sure if Law would remember him or his impact.

He just thought he’d be a passing memory.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Corazon was truly the best thing that ever happened to Law after all that he went through.

Neither Corazon nor Law realize it, nor do they need to.

Just and genuine love.

He saved his life without knowing what would come of it.

Even in his final moments, instead of reflecting on his own life or past, all he cared about was Law leaving silently and safely.

His heart poured out love for that child.

Courage and compassion beyond comprehension,

And he did it all with a smile.

#one piece #op #trafalgar one piece #trafalgar law #one piece art #trafalgardwaterlaw #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #corazon #corazon op #rosinante corazon #rosinante x reader #one piece rosinante #corazon x reader #donquixote rosinante #op imagines #one piece imagine

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wineauntharry · 1 year

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There’s a lot of “cocky guy Joe spoils his gf” type content to the point that I’d love to read the opposite spin on it, rich and successful badass Y/N spoiling Joe. IDK just a thought. Love your writing!

First thank you for the compliment, let's kiss. I like this i think its cute and i had fun writing it. i hope you like it!!!

would yall jump me if i said i was listening to question by chris brown when i was writing this? be fr its okay if you say yes

Anywaysssss enjoy MUAH!

—

Spoiled Rotten// j.b.

Joe and I had been together since he came to LSU. We grew into adults together. I stuck by him through the beginning of his professional football career. I can’t deny that Joe helped me make it through law school. We were such a strong team and so lucky to have eachother.

Now that we were more stable and in our “grown up” jobs, We could do whatever we wanted when Joe was in his off season. Words can’t explain how proud I am of Joe, but I can’t say I’m surprised with how far he’s come, he’s alway had it in him.

My love language has always been gift giving, and now that I had the means to do so, I can’t stop spoiling Joe. I bought him those infamous Cartier glasses when him and the team beat Clemson in the national championship.

When he was drafted, I bought us and a few of our closest friends box seats for a Cincinatti Reds game. He is always so grateful, so it's easy to spoil him.

I can’t say that Joe doesn’t spoil me in the same way. For my law school graduation gift, Joe took me to Italy to visit Rome, Venice, and Naples. Whenever he was on the road for long periods of time, he would never let me feel forgotten. I would wake up to dozens of roses at my door or huge fruit arangements. He was always so good to me.

Joe’s birthday was coming up and I might be more excited than him. I might have overdone it with all of his gifts but I just couldn’t help myself, not to mention the club I rented out for a surprise birthday party.

It was finally the morning of Joe’s birthday. It was still early and Joe was fast asleep, so I slipped out of bed and into the kitchen to start on some breakfast. I had just finished up his turkey bacon and french toast when he came creeping into the kitchen sleepy as ever.

“Happy birthday my sweet boy.” Being sure to keep my voice low since he was still waking up.

“Thank you baby” He replied with a quiet, raspy voice. All while making his way over to me.

He snaked his hands around my waist and pressed a light kiss to my lips.

“Are you excited for today?” I asked.

“I am because I get to spend it with you.” He responded with that same warm smile he always gives me in the mornings.

I smiled back and said “Well eat up babe, there’s a fun day ahead of you. Meet me in the shower when you’re done, yeah?” He perked up after that and just replied with a smirk. Gotta start the day right of course.

We had made our way to all of his favorite stores, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and many others. Of course we stopped at Nike. Baby had money but he kept it humble, plus, it was all on my dime anyway.

The entire day Joe had peppered me with kisses and a constant stream of thank you’s. Once we had finished lunch we made our way back home to relax before his party that he knew nothing of later in the night.

Once the time came to get ready, I chose Joe’s favorite dress to wear. It was always fun to have him a little flustered in public, and if anyone could do it to him it was me, but that’s besides the point. Joe had chosen an all black outfit with new Nike dunks we had got earlier in the day.

“You're the prettiest girl in the world. You know that right Y/N?” He said while smiling and putting on his favorite Cartier watch.

“Thank you baby. No funny business just yet though Joe, don’t fuck up my hair, it’s too early for that.” I let out with a little giggle.

“Oh whatever.” He replied

“Is that a sassy birthday boy I hear?” I responded. He just laughed in response. Before we could continue our cute little banter, I got the notification that our Uber was here.

“ Come on J, the Uber is here.” I told him

I grabbed my purse and made my way out our front door. Joe followed closely behind, making sure to slap my ass before he opened the door for me, always being a gentleman I guess.

We were dropped off at the club entrance and we’re let right in by security.

Joe began to question how easy it was to enter when he was cut off by his friends and family screaming “Surprise!”

The room was flooded with balloons and drinks. Future was playing over the loudspeakers and Joe was ecstatic.

“Baby you did this?” He said in awe of what he just walked into.

As the night went on and Joe had gotten drunker, he kept telling me how grateful he was for everything that happened today.

“Y/N you spoiled the fuck out of me today, thank you so much baby. Heaven sent you straight to me, I’m sure of it” He yelled to me over the loud music.

“Anything for my birthday boy, you deserve the world Joe. I just wanna make sure I give it to you.” I responded. Joe’s cheeks turned a light shade of red and I could tell he was truly happy with the life he was living.

We continued dancing and enjoying our night when Joe said “You gonna take up my offer of ruining your hair when we get home later? Can’t say no to the birthday boy, it’s the rules.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” I said back.

Joe just let out the deep laugh he always does when he’s drunk. After our little “conversation”, if you can call it that, we went back to dancing with all of our friends, knowing what's gonna happen when we got home.

—-----

YALLLLLLLL not me getting all hot and bothered at the end whew. I’m supposed to be sleeping but this popped into my head after I read the request and I just ran with it!

You guys are making me so emotional over the love my other writings are getting. I could cry, this is insane. I can’t thank you enough!!!! :’)

Request here!

all the love- kitt

#joeburrow x reader #joe burrow #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow oneshot #joe burrow imagine #fluff imagine

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qserasera · 2 months

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#i feel like lee sookyung would be even MORE mocking and funny when news is that kdj is yjh's right hand man (via @righteousenjoymentofthunder)

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

enjoy this crackfic snippet based off the idea of a darker AU where yoo joonghyuk takes the absolute throne, and kim dokja ends up as his consort/right-hand man/advisor (im assuming in this canon-divergence AU that the scenario Catastrophe of Floods happens before the War of Kings to test out each king's strength or something; yjh speed-runs their established relationship development once kdj is back as a result :))

(i'm not going to write any more of this, so if anyone wants to use the above AU premise as a fic idea/ fanart thing, go Wild; would be nice if there was a link to the original post with the AU idea tho )

*using name spellings from my friend's summation, instead of the other variations {{ Now with an AO3 crosspost Here}} title: axis mundi rating: T words: 1,196 pairing: yoo joonghyuk/kim dokja "They're waiting inside," the woman with the sword says, to the masked figure.

The masked figure nods. Hears the tent flap flutter shut behind her, as she strides forward.

She stops and turns her head, assessing the room around her.

A contradiction in character. A polarity to be pondered--but one so balanced, it seemed to converge together to one perfect point.

The tent, though spacious, was a far too humble backdrop to serve as a royal hall.

One side, to her right, is sparse. Nothing more than a single sword rack marks out the space; a clean stroke of calligraphy against white paper.

The side to her left leans towards unruliness, moreso than the right. Papers scrawled in ink and scribbles flock over a long side-table. A tray, empty of any food, leans precariously on one corner.

A janggi board sits askew over one of the papers (a surprisingly old-fashioned choice for planning scenarios, she assumes; could she attribute it to that person's influence?). Next to it, a half-open book, laid upside down.

There are other smaller tables around, below the level of the dais.

Above everything else, the chairs at the center—one throne in particular, with a smaller chair on equal level besides it—loom large with their presence.

As did the Status of their occupants.

The one in white stands first. Rocks once on his heels, before setting his hands inside his jacket pocket.

"Lee Sugyeong," he says. He offers a smile. Perfunctory and polite, crescent-thin. "Mother. Why have you come?"

"Information," Lee Sugyeong says. Removes her mask, the wood of it smooth in her fingertips.

Everyone always said that Kim Dokja had inherited her eyes. Bright, when in good humor or with delight. And in other times, too many times—opaque as one-way mirrored glass, save for glints of light as his thoughts tumbled over each other, sharp and sharper.

"And to see the new Absolute King, of course," Lee Sugyeong says. A nod to the one behind Kim Dokja.

Yu Junghyeok stands to his feet from his throne. Fluid and swift, a shadow in motion. A presence that could not be ignored. Power rolls off of him, palpable as the bright shine of a strong sword.

The new Absolute King. Her son's protagonist; his hero.

And now, if rumors could be believed....She turns her gaze back to her child—the man in the white coat, fingers turning in his pockets. [The Fable, 'Kingmaker of a Thousand Strings' is continuing its storytelling] [The Fable, 'Cherished Consort of the Conquering King' is continuing its storytelling]

"Consort?" Lee Sugyeong raises a brow.

The cool line of her son's brow twitches. "Bihyung said even if it was a typo, it couldn't be changed once recorded in the system."

Lee Sugyeong opens her mouth to ask more, but Kim Dokja cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"Better to talk if we're seated, I suppose. We don't have coffee. Tea will have to do." There's a hand, curling in over an elbow. The hem of a dark sleeve over white fabric, Kim Dokja's shoulders easing at the touch.

Yu Junghyeok, the Absolute King, speaks for the first time. "Mind the leaves." Kim Dokja's brow wrinkles. His voice turns light, lilting. "Even if I burned them, didn't you just say you would buy more for me, last time, Junghyeok-ah? Is the Conquering King going back on his words?"

The Absolute King tilts his head, but lets Kim Dokja go without further complaint.

He turns back to Lee Sugyeong, tips his chin in a rough motion towards one of the chairs by an empty table.

Lee Sugyeong shakes her head as she sits.

Well. It wasn't like she hadn't been warned about Yu Junghyeok's manners.

The silence that passes has as much warmth as a mountain blizzard.

Yu Junghyeok doesn't seem nearly as interested in finding out any information the King of Wanderers would have as he did in following around Kim Dokja's movements with his gaze.

She resists the urge to lift her hand, and rub away the wrinkle she could sense forming between her brows.

What sort of complications had her son gotten himself into, to invoke such a troublesome devotion from an equally troublesome man?

Kim Dokja returns with a tray, the teapot and small cups.

The Conquering King lifts the tray from Kim Dokja's hands without a word, setting it at a center. His wrist flips over the small cups, as if laying out cards.

The color is a light pale green in the cups. Faint notes of grain in its steam.

Kim Dokja's right hand rests against the table, his index finger tapping a three-note rhythm against the wood. He lifts his eyes to her, expecting her to speak.

So Lee Sugyeong does.

"The loyal hound, following behind the heels of the Conquering King. Was this everything you had wished for once, child?"

"Ah, well—I'm not following him, exactly—" Yu Junghyeok snaps his gaze upwards, his expression dark. Not at Kim Dokja—at Lee Sugyeong.

"Not a hound, nor a follower." He lowers a teacup in front of Kim Dokja, setting his hand down. Close enough to pin down the hem of Kim Dokja's sleeve. "Kim Dokja is my companion."

Kim Dokja nods. Again, a collected composure. Again, his eyes calm, steady as an undisturbed lake.

"You've met him now, Mother. And have seen me, besides. If there is other information you are looking for, you can leave it to us through the usual processes—"

Lee Sugyeong tips her head back, her eyes considering as she watches Kim Dokja, as he lets his words unroll from his tongue with a frightening ease, swifter than the arrows of a master archer.

"I wonder, " she says idly, "Is your bark more terrifying, or his bite?"

"Forgive us if you find our hospitality is lacking." The switch in tone from the Conquering King is also something that prickles of danger. Something he learned from Kim Dokja, in turn, she would guess. "King of wanderers."

Yu Junghyeok is holding out one of the filled teacups with both hands towards Lee Sugyeong. She takes it, resting the bottom of the cup on her palm, her other fingers holding onto the rim.

Then a pause, before a merciless blow from Yu Junghyeok. "Or would sieomeoni be more appropriate?"

At his shoulder, Kim Dokja makes a cut-off sound like a penguin choking on a fishbone, and slams a hand down on the table as he stands.

"Yu Junghyeok!"

"Kim Dokja," the Conquering King parrots back. For someone who has seen all manner of shocking things since the start of the scenarios, this nears the most shocking of them all. The lazy indulgence in the Conquering King's eyes. One of his hands tugs at the ends of a white jacket's belt at Kim Dokja's waist, wrapping the end of it loosely around his wrist.

"Sit," he says, in a voice that allows no argument. "You should at least finish your tea."

If she had a jot less of self-control, she might very well have dropped her cup.

One of Lee Sugyeong's masked guards a short distance away, puts her hand under her chin, and says quietly, but not quietly enough for Lee Sugyeong to miss hearing: "Sieomeoni? Or would Queen Dowager be more appropriate? Wait, no, what would be the right term...?" Notes *Sieomeoni - 시어머니 (mother-in-law) *Another video on family terms

#joongdok #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #yoo joonghyuk #kim dokja #orv fanfic #absolute throne AU #words words words #uhhhh...crackfic #have fun reading this SKDJFSLKJDF

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httplilyyy · 1 year

Text

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 || 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐄

pairing: katie mccabe x reader, arsenal x reader

request(s): ‘could you possibly write something with katie mccabe x reader? maybe katie being a hard ass on the pitch and being a softie with reader, perhaps fans shipping them and then katie confesses to reader after a game?’ & ‘katie mccabe x oblivious reader where katie gets jealous and reader finds it hot but is confused’

summary: an oblivious reader and a jealous mccabe, what could go wrong? (nothing really).

warnings: nothing but fluff other than the occasional swear word and my god awful writing

word count: 3.1k

a/n: this is my first time writing for katie mccabe so i hope its up to standards and is somewhat alright. i also realised i didn’t really focus on the requests and got a little sidetracked but it follows the same concept :)

woso masterlist

It was clear to everyone that Katie had her eye on someone and that someone happened to be you. Yet, you were the only one who couldn't see it.

It bewildered everyone, hint after hint you still didn’t catch onto Katie’s antics only thinking she was being friendly.

Although Katie really liked you, it was slowly getting to a point where she was starting to lose hope. Desperately trying not to be weighed down by not making any progress.

Deciding to graft extra hard, Katie made it her mission to let you know how she felt and if that didn't work, she wouldn't know what to do.

“Hey, y/l/n.” Katie smiled, walking up to you and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Hey, McCabe.” You chuckled, leaning into the woman beside you as the two of you made your way to the coach where the rest of the team was waiting for you.

“Ready to make North London red?”

“Of course.” You smiled.

“Here come the love birds.” Jen teased, watching as you and Katie approached the team.

“Shush, Beattie. We’re just friends.” You replied, shaking your head and letting out a laugh.

At the little harmless comment you made about being ‘just friends’ Katie dropped her arm from your shoulder and let a stoic expression take form on her face.

You turned your head, wondering why Katie put some distance between the two of you, raising an eyebrow in question.

The Irish woman just shook her head a little, looking down at the floor as she found a seat for herself on the coach.

“What was that about?” You asked, looking back and forth between Jen and the door to the coach.

Jen didn't say anything, instead she just let out a small sigh, sending you a smile before walking onto the coach herself, leaving you even more confused than you were before.

Following Jen, you made your way onto the coach and went to find a place to sit. Walking further down the coach you placed your bag over head and sat yourself down with Katie.

“What was that all about?” You questioned in a hushed tone.

“What was what about?” Katie replied, trying to act like she didn’t know what you were talking about.

“Outside and now, you look sad.” You said, turning your body so you were facing Katie more.

“I’m fine, honestly. Just got the jitters, I guess.”

“McCabe getting the jitters? Wow, something must be wrong.” You teased earning a small chuckle from the woman beside you.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Kate said, trying not to let a smile slip past her lips.

“Of course, I am hilarious.”

“And humble.” Katie said sarcastically.

“Hey!” You said, smacking the Irish woman gently on the arm.

The two of you continued to converse for the rest of the journey to Tottenham’s stadium. The teasing not letting up from either of you, causing you both to laugh harder and harder each time, earning knowing looks from your teammates.

Once you had arrived at the stadium, everyone began to pile out of the coach. You and Katie, however, decided to take your time leading to the two of you being the last ones off the coach.

The girls “ooh’d” as you were followed by Katie coming down the stairs of the coach. You waved them off with a smile, once again saying that nothing would happen between the two of you.

“What were you two up to?” Lotte said, a certain tone underlying her voice.

“Not what you are thinking about.” You replied with a chuckle.

“Yeah, y/l/n here can only dream.” Katie said with a smile trying to hide the painful feeling in her heart.

“Come on girls!” Jonas called out.

You and your teammates eased up on your conversations and followed behind Jonas, walking into the stadium and to the locker room.

Changing your clothes and into your kit, you put on a jumper over the top, ready for the warm up.

The warm up went by quickly and before you knew it you were standing behind Leah in the tunnel waiting to walk out onto the pitch.

Shaking the oppositions hands you had a little team talk before going to stand in your position, waiting for the ref to blow their whistle and for the game to start.

You had won the coin toss and it was chosen that Arsenal was to kick off. Standing with the ball at your feet you took a look at your teammates, determination etched onto your face.

Once the ref blew their whistle, you passed the ball to Beth and the game was underway. The game was gruelling from the start, each team putting in their all from the get go.

Arsenal had a few chances and Tottenham even less. Tackles were being made left, right and centre, each of them becoming harder than the last.

You could feel the fans wince every time someone went down, noticeable grimaces on their faces.

After one particular foul from Ashleigh Neville on Lia, you were prepared to get a yellow whether that's from a tackle or for sticking up for your teammates.

It got to the thirty-sixth minute when Arsenal had a chance. Beth was running down the wing and sent in a weighted ball straight to your feet.

Not having the chance to control the ball due to having two defenders surrounding you, you hit the ball first time, smashing your laces through the ball, you watched as it soared through the air just out of the keepers reach and into the top corner.

The stadium erupted into cheers, the ground practically shaking. You felt someone jump on your back whilst some other girls ran over to celebrate.

The game started up again and it was as if Arsenal had found a new fire from within. For the rest of the first half, Tottenham struggled to keep the ball and found it hard to get it out of their own half.

As a result of this, Sozua managed to get a goal from a corner. The header slotting perfectly in the bottom left corner.

Once the ref blew their whistle for half time you, along with your teammates, made your way back to the locker room with an extra skip in your step.

“Hey, nice goal.” Katie smiled as she sat beside you near your locker.

“Thanks.” You replied, taking a sip from your drink.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence but you were soon to catch onto Katies nervous fidgeting. Leg bouncing up and down, restless fingers drumming on her thigh.

You gently placed a hand on Katie's thigh, taking her hand into yours and resting it in her lap. You raised an eyebrow in question and silently asked if she was alright.

Getting a small smile in return you were about to pull your hand away when you felt Katie grip onto it harder.

“Are you doing anything later?” The woman asked, nervousness settling back in.

“I think the girls want to go out, whether we win or not and I was thinking of going, why?”

“No reason.” Katie said, sending you a smile albeit it seemed sad.

“I’d like it if you were there.” You said, nudging your shoulder into hers.

“Really?”

“Mhm, if you dont go then I won't.”

“Okay, I guess I'll see you and everyone else later.”

You and your teammates were soon called back out and the game started back up again.

The second half went much quicker than the first and, much to your dismay, the tackles never ceased. Arsenal managed to score a third before you were subbed off for Viv, where you sat on the bench next to Katie.

As the match continued, Katie was subbed on and rather than concentrating on the game you couldn’t steer your eyes away from a certain Irish woman. After Beth got subbed off, the two of you made little comments about certain plays here and there as well as shouting when a player went down.

Expecting no less, Katie was being brutal when it came to her tackles, earning herself a yellow after only being on the pitch for twenty minutes.

Unbeknownst to you, after every tackle, pass and shot taken by Katie she would discreetly look at you. Hoping that you were watching her in some way, smiling to herself once she sees any sign of you looking at her.

When the final whistle blew everyone let out a sigh of relief, thankful for no more tackles coming their way. The game ended with a four-nil victory and it was safe to say everyone was going to go out.

You walked onto the pitch and went around shaking the opposition's hand once again before walking around the stadium to speak to the fans that came to watch.

After many selfies, signatures and short conversations you had managed to get around to almost everyone as well as giving your shirt away in the process.

“You're drooling.” Manu teased as she came up beside Katie, nudging her as she stared at you.

“Shut up.” Katie mumbled, unable to tear her eyes away from your frame, watching as your eyes lit up talking to the fans and smiling after getting praised for the way you played.

“You gonna make a move yet?” Manu asked, sending a knowing glance at the woman beside her.

“She doesn’t feel the same way.” Katie said sadly, finally taking her eyes off of you.

“You don’t know that.” Manu said supportively. “Try and talk to her at the club and if you're lucky you might get to take them home.”

Katie let out a huffed chuckle at the wink the goalkeeper sent her way before walking off and back to the locker room.

“Y/l/n.” Jonas called out to you, making your head turn towards him. “You’re needed for an interview.”

Taking one last photo with someone you sent a smile to the fans before making your way to the interviewer.

“Hey.” You smiled as you approached the woman who was going to interview you.

Throughout the interview a common theme was occurring. The woman in front of you couldn't seem to keep her hands off you.

Trying to laugh her advances off you looked to the side multiple times silently begging for someone to come and save you. What made matters worse was you didn't pick up a coat or a spare top before going into the interview.

You stood in front of a camera and a very handsy interviewer with only your sports bra and shorts on.

It was as if God had answered your prayers once you saw Katie making her way towards you, a coat in hand and a not so happy look on her face.

“You must be very strong to keep those defenders off you when scoring that goal.” The interviewer said as she placed her hand on your bicep and gave it a little squeeze before moving her hand down your arm and onto your stomach, brushing her fingers over your abdomen.

“Okay, that’s enough of this interview.” Katie said as she stood behind you, wrapping the coat around your shoulders, covering your front.

“But we were just getting started.” The lady replied, sending a wink your way and an ugly expression towards Katie.

“That’s a shame, but I really don’t give a shit so bye.” Katie deadpanned, sending a fake smile before walking off and pulling you along with her.

“Thanks for that.” You said appreciatively.

“She should be fired.” Katie muttered, shaking her head, steam practicalling coming out of her ears.

“Hey, it’s okay.” You said, stopping causing Katie to pause as well. You placed your hands on either side of her face, thumbs gently brushing past her cheek bones.

“It’s not, she touched you inappropriately.” Katie huffed, closing her eyes trying to calm herself down.

“How about we forget about it and go celebrate our win?” You suggested.

“Yeah, okay. I could use a drink.”

“You and me both.” You chucked.

It was a couple of hours later and you were with all your teammates in some random club in London. Cheap booze and sweat lingering in the air along with drunken bodies swarming the dance floor.

Making your way over to the bar with a couple of your teammates, ordering for yourselves and the ones trying to find a table for you all.

After spending a little too much on drinks you took as many as you could in your hands and made your way to the others.

After many drinks, shots and poor choices you stumbled over to the bar, choosing to go for a water so you won't be dying of a terrible hangover in the morning.

You swirled the straw in your glass, watching as your teammates did some questionable dance moves. Letting out a soft laugh you turned back to the bar, asking for another water.

“Questionable drink of choice.” Someone said as they sat beside you. “Water at a club, not seen that before.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, taking another sip, “I prefer not to be half way down the toilet.”

“Very true.” They laughed. “I’m surprised you haven’t recognised me yet.”

“Wait- oh my god!”

“Surprise.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see an old friend.” They shrugged with a smile.

As you continued to converse with your friend beside you, the looks by your teammates went unnoticed by you.

They saw the way you would laugh at something your friend said, hand touching their arm before going back to your drink. Your body position completely focused on the person sitting beside you.

“What do they have that I don't?” Katie asked, completely misreading the situation.

“Oh, Katie.” Leah said softly.

“It’s not fair.” Katie mumbled, her grip tightening on her drink.

“Why don’t you go over there?” Jordan questioned.

“I can’t.” Katie said dejectedly. “They look too happy.”

“Maybe y/n’s just being friendly?” Beth piped up.

“Yeah right.” The Irish woman scoffed, taking a big gulp of her drink before placing the glass back on to the table. “I’m going home.”

“Wait Katie-” The girls tried but it was no use as the Irish woman had already made a beeline for the doors, walking out and onto the streets of London.

It wasn’t long after when you decided to end the conversation with your friend and head back to your teammates. After a quick hug goodbye and an exchange of numbers you walked back over to the girls.

“Hey, where's McCabe gone?” You questioned as you stood looking at everyone.

“She went home,” Jen replied, “how’s your new girlfriend?”

“Huh?” You said, confused.

“You were chatting someone up by the bar.”

“Oh, God no. That was just an old friend.” You chuckled.

When the girls didn’t laugh or send you a smile you were quickly put into a state of utter confusion.

“Wait, do you think I was cracking on with them?” You asked.

“I mean, that's what it looked like from over here.” Lia said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Oh, God.” You muttered, slumping your shoulders and hanging your head, looking at the floor.

“You might want to go see Katie.” Leah suggested.

“Wait, why?” You questioned, lifting your head up from your gaze on the ground.

“Why do you think? She loves you.”

“She loves me?” You repeated softly.

“Yes, now go!” The girls said together.

“Oh. Oh. OH.” You said frantically. “Okay, do you think I should get her something or-”

“Just go.”

“Alright, I'm going.” You said raising your hands in defence and walking backwards before turning around to make your way out of the club.

As you made your way towards Katie’s place the heavens had decided to open up, causing you to become soaked by the rain. Speeding up your pace, you spotted a little shop and you quickly made your way inside.

Searching through the tiny shop you brought some flowers before heading back out into the rain.

You finally arrived at Katie’s place, knocking on her door as you stood on her doorstep, drenched from the downpour you had just walked through.

To say Katie was surprised to see you standing in front of her when she opened her door was an understatement.

“Hey.” You smiled, clutching onto the flowers that you held close to your body.

“Hi.” Katie smiled back, although it wasn’t near enough as big as yours.

“I got these for you.” You said, holding the flowers for Katie to take but now looking at them they looked very worse for wear, water dripping off them as they sagged around your hand.

“Y/n.” Katie chuckled softly.

“They looked better when I brought them, I promise.” You internally groaned as you tried to hide your face in them.

“No, no, I love them.” Katie said, gently taking them out of your hands.

“I’m sorry.” You smiled weakly, looking down, toeing the ground.

“What for?”

“For being oblivious.” You said.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You mumbled. “If I knew you liked me before then I would’ve made a move.”

“You like me?” Katie asked cautiously.

“Yeah, loads and this isn’t really how I wanted to confess said feelings but it's better late than never and with you being jealous and all-”

“Oh shut up,” Katie mumbled, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you in for a searing kiss.

You took a hold of Katie’s waist and pulled her into you, smiling into the kiss. Stepping forward, you turned and pushed Katie against her front door.

Katie let out a small whine at the action, desperately tugging at the collar of your top, trying to bring you closer.

Trailing down Katie’s neck, you left open kisses from her jaw to her collarbone. Sucking partially hard on a certain spot, Katie let a whine escape from her lips.

You pulled away, smiling at the expression painted on Katie’s face. Lips bruised, hair dishevelled, chest rising and falling rapidly but still looked like the most beautiful person on the planet.

“I- that was- wow.” You said, struggling to find what to say.

“Such a way with words.” Katie chuckled.

“I really like you and I really don’t want to mess this up.” you admitted, pointing between the two of you.

“I really like you too.” Katie smiled. “But you already knew that.”

“Well, not really.” You said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I'll let you off.”

“It’s ‘cause you love me.” you teased dragging out the ‘o’ in love.

“Not there yet,” Katie smiled, “but how about you come inside and we can finish off what we started.”

“No need to tell me twice.” You rushed out, being pulled by Katie as you kicked the door closed.

It was safe to say you were very thankful for jealous Katie that night, unlike the neighbours.

#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe imagines #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader

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