#she just had her whole world shattered in a matter of weeks. she's left with nothing and no one but an empty house and her 5yo brother | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

herlondonboy · 3 months

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trust worthy, clarisse la rue

summary: you’ll make it up to her. part two of trust.

warnings: flashbacks in italics. um, mentions of nightmares? it can be read as a stand alone!

wc: 2.0k

read part one here: trust

depression wasn’t new to you. nor was loneliness. but even when you were depressed and lonely, you always had clarisse to go to. now you were lonely and depressed because clarisse had left you.

but you kept on trying to imagine what clarisse was going through. what she had gone through.

but you missed her so much. more than you had ever missed anyone.

clarisse was missing you. you’d been on the quest for nearly five days and you hadn’t called her since the first day.

clarisse woke up to the familiar sounds of camp half-blood—the distant clang of swords, the laughter of her fellow campers, and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. but despite the comforting familiarity of her surroundings, there was a heaviness in her heart that seemed to weigh her down with each passing day.

it had been a few days since you, her partner in battle and in life, had been sent on a quest, and she was already a mess. at first, clarisse had tried to keep herself busy, throwing herself into her training with a fierce determination. but as the days turned into weeks, and your absence stretched on, clarisse found herself becoming increasingly irritable.

everything seemed to grate on her nerves—the way her fellow campers chattered incessantly during meals, the way they left their gear strewn about the training grounds, even the way the sun beat down relentlessly on her skin. every little annoyance felt like a personal affront, a reminder of the one person who wasn't there to share in her frustrations.

clarisse tried to hide her feelings behind a facade of toughness, but it was becoming harder and harder to keep up the act. she missed you more than words could express. they were more than just partners—they were kindred spirits, two halves of a whole, and without them by her side, clarisse felt incomplete.

the nights were the hardest. alone in her bunk, clarisse would lie awake for hours, unable to shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at her from within. she would toss and turn, her mind filled with thoughts of you—wondering where you were, if you were safe, if you were thinking of her too.

and then there were the nightmares. vivid, terrifying dreams that left clarisse drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. she would see your face, twisted in pain, hear their voice calling out to her for help that never came. it was enough to drive her mad with guilt and despair.

during the day, clarisse threw herself into her training with even greater fervor, hoping to drown out the pain with the clashing of swords and the adrenaline rush of battle. but no matter how hard she fought, no matter how many monsters she vanquished, the ache in her heart remained.

she tried to find solace in the company of her fellow campers, but even they seemed to grate on her nerves more than usual. their well-meaning attempts at conversation felt hollow and empty, their laughter a painful reminder of the joy she had lost.

and so clarisse withdrew into herself, retreating behind a wall of bitterness and anger. she snapped at anyone who dared to cross her path, her words sharp and cutting, driven by a pain she could scarcely bear to acknowledge.

but deep down, beneath the layers of bravado and bluster, clarisse was just a girl who missed the person she loved more than anything in the world. and until you returned to her side, she knew that nothing would ever be quite right again.

clarisse stood in the training arena, her muscles burning with exertion as she swung her sword in a relentless flurry of strikes. she was in her element here, the familiar weight of her weapon comforting in her hands as she honed her skills with single-minded determination.

but her focus was shattered when she noticed a group of familiar faces approaching. chris, luke, mr. d, and chiron made their way across the training grounds, their expressions grave. chris, in particular, caught clarisse’s attention; his normally jovial demeanor was replaced by a look of pain and discomfort that sent a pang of concern through her chest.

confusion furrowed clarisse’s brow as the group drew closer. what could possibly be wrong? she couldn’t recall any recent battles or incidents that would warrant such a serious expression on chris’s face. and why were mr. d and chiron here? had something happened at camp that she wasn’t aware of?

her questions were left unanswered as chiron spoke, his voice carrying a weight that made clarisse’s stomach churn with unease. “clarisse,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, “i need to speak with you in private. please, follow me to my office.”

clarisse’s eyes darted to luke, searching for some hint or explanation in his expression, but he avoided her gaze, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. something cold twisted in her chest as she followed behind chiron, her mind racing with possibilities, none of them pleasant.

they reached his office in silence, and chiron closed the door behind them with a soft click. clarisse turned to face him, her heart pounding in her chest as she braced herself for whatever news he had to deliver.

clarisse sat in chiron's office, her heart pounding in her chest as she awaited whatever news he had to deliver. she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over her since he had asked her to meet him here, and the tension in the air only served to heighten her anxiety.

before chiron could speak, however, the door swung open, and mr. d barged in with his usual air of haughty indifference. clarisse's stomach dropped as she braced herself for whatever scathing remarks he had in store.

“why did you steal the lightning bolt?”

clarisse's eyes widened in shock. the missing lightning bolt? they thought she’d stolen it?

before she could defend herself, chiron spoke up, his tone gentle but firm. "clarisse, we have reason to believe that you may have been involved in the theft of the lightning bolt."

clarisse's jaw dropped in disbelief. "me?" she exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation. "who told you that?"

chiron hesitated for a moment before answering. "percy," he said quietly.

clarisse scoffed, her disbelief turning to anger. "percy?!" she spat, her fists clenched at her sides. "of course. you're going to trust one person’s word? seriously?"

chiron shook his head. "it's not just percy," he said. "it's everyone else on the quest. they all believe that you had something to do with it."

clarisse's heart sank as she realised the implications of chiron's words. you were on that quest, and if you thought she was guilty, then surely everyone else did too.

suddenly, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface boiled over, and clarisse exploded. "this is ridiculous!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the walls of the office. "i didn't steal anything!"

but her protests fell on deaf ears as chris and luke burst into the room, their faces set in grim determination. despite being the daughter of the god of war, clarisse found herself overpowered as they restrained her, their strength surprising even her.

chiron sighed heavily as he watched the scene unfold. "clarisse," he said, his voice weary with disappointment, "you'll be under surveillance until we gather enough evidence to prove your innocence."

defeated and humiliated, clarisse could only watch helplessly as chiron and mr. d exchanged somber looks, the weight of their accusations hanging heavy in the air. she had never felt more alone than she did in that moment, betrayed by those she thought were her friends and branded a thief by those she trusted most.

you lie awake in the darkness of your room, the weight of loneliness pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ever since clarisse broke up with you earlier, citing a lack of trust, sleep has been elusive. the absence of her presence beside you in bed is a constant reminder of the void she left behind.

suddenly, you hear a faint creaking noise, and your hand instinctively reaches for the dagger you keep tucked beneath your pillow. but as you sit up, ready to defend yourself, you see percy sitting up in his own bed, his eyes searching the darkness.

"can't sleep?" he asks softly, his voice breaking the silence of the night.

you shake your head, unable to find the words to express the depth of your turmoil.

percy sighs, a heavy weight of regret hanging in the air. "i'm sorry," he says, his voice filled with genuine remorse. "i should've known it wasn't clarisse. i shouldn't have stopped you from running to her."

you nod in understanding, grateful for percy's apology even as the ache in your heart refuses to fade.

"are you going home tomorrow?" you ask quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

percy nods eagerly, a flicker of excitement lighting up his features. "yeah, i am. wanna come? my mom would love to meet you."

for a moment, the darkness seems a little less oppressive, and a glimmer of hope stirs within you. maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance for you to find solace and belonging somewhere other than beside clarisse. and as the scene fades to black, you allow yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, there's still a light waiting for you at the end of this long, lonely night.

as the summer sun began to rise over camp half-blood, the air was filled with a bittersweet energy. some campers were packing up, preparing to leave for their homes or new adventures, while others were settling in for another season at camp. among them, you found yourself caught in the whirlwind of emotions, unsure of where you belonged.

your thoughts were interrupted by the sight of clarisse, towering over a hephaestus kid, her demeanor as fierce as ever as she demanded that he fix her spear. you hesitated for a moment, but something compelled you to step forward, to try and reach out to her despite everything that had happened between you.

but as you approached, clarisse's gaze fell upon you, and before you could even utter a word, she pushed you roughly to the ground. anger boiled within you, your temper flaring hotter than the forge fires of hephaestus. the ground trembled beneath your feet, a warning of the storm raging within.

clarisse raised an eyebrow, daring you to challenge her further. but instead of lashing out, you took a deep breath and asked again, more calmly this time, if you could talk.

clarisse scoffed and turned to walk away, but you followed, determined to make her listen.

you found a secluded spot away from prying eyes, and as you began to speak, you saw the skepticism in clarisse's eyes give way to curiosity.

"i know you don't trust me right now, but please, just hear me out," you pleaded, your voice tinged with desperation. "i need you to understand what happened."

clarisse hesitated for a moment before nodding reluctantly, a flicker of interest in her eyes.

you told her everything—from meeting ares to being locked in the lorry, to the moment you realised that percy and grover thought she was the lightning thief.

clarisse listened in stunned silence, her features softening with each word you spoke. and when you finished, her disbelief was palpable.

"my father hates me?" she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "after everything i've done for him, he..."

you didn't let her finish. instead, you threw your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

"for what it's worth, i believe you," clarisse said softly, her voice thick with emotion. "and i'm sorry for pushing you away."

as you held each other, you knew that things wouldn't magically be perfect between you, but maybe, just maybe, there was hope for reconciliation.

and as the summer sun cast its warm glow over camp half-blood, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could find your place here after all.

#clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse my beloved #clarisse x you #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse x reader #clarisse pjo #clarisse la rue #please reblog #elijah writes

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vellichxrr6782 · 11 months

Text

— all too well.

character[s] — diluc. theme & genre — lovers to exes, angst. cw/tw — very toxic diluc, fighting, self-deprecation, breakups. word count — 4.2k words. a/n — let's play a game called, "spot the references i've made to other taylor swift songs in this fic" :D | a heartfelt apology to all diluc kissers, but no apology to diluc bc he REFUSES to come home

"diluc, what the fuck?" you spat, your face showing utter disbelief.

"what?" diluc groaned, taking off his coat and setting it on the rack, "what is it now?"

"what do you mean!? did you not hear what the hell your colleagues were telling about me?" you raised a brow, crossing your arms while you leaned against the doorframe.

"what did they say?" diluc paid no heed, his face devoid of any empathy as he poured himself a glass of water.

"don't act like you weren't there." you clenched your fists, gritting your teeth. "they were making fun of me."

"you're simply overreacting." he furrowed his brows.

you and diluc had been dating for seven whole years. isn't that insane? seven years in heaven, yet these days, it started to seem more like hell. maybe you had been ignorant of all your problems for seven years, or diluc recently had a massive shift in his attitude towards you.

he treated you like a deity before, now he treated you like you were a job. like you were an obligation.

you went out for dinner with diluc's colleagues tonight, hoping it could be a nice change for you both. diluc and you had both been busy with your own things for the past few weeks, and you hoped this dinner could help you both bond.

but instead it drove you both apart even more.

"did you not fucking hear what they said? 'oh, i thought y/n had so much of experience with guys, but i was pretty shocked to find out they were often simple flings with no significance. i was surprised when she started dating you, though, i didn't think you liked girls like her' meant? huh? am i not allowed to date other people?"

"and how does that imply they were making fun of you? to me it sounds like they're just thinking about our relationship, normally."

maybe that's how you ended up in an argument with your significant other, who didn't seem to think you were significant at all. your opinion didn't matter as long as diluc had his way.

"it implies that i don't put in any effort into my relationships, diluc. it says that i go around sleeping with every man i meet. you of all people should know that that's not true." you clenched your fist, "they shouldn't be thinking about my relationship, i should. you didn't say a word to defend me."

"god, y/n, what if they were right?"

"excuse me?" your eyes widened in disbelief. "what did you just say?"

"what if they were right?" he raised his voice, standing up. he slammed the glass down on the kitchen counter, and you flinched, and noticed a small crack appear in the glass. "what if you're not putting in any effort for us? i have to do every damn thing. i need to make time for you, do you know how big of a deal that is?"

you were shocked, to say the least. where was this sudden outburst coming from? honestly, was he even listening to you right now? was he listening to himself? he sounded absurd, it was like you didn't know him anymore.

"wow, okay, if making time for your girlfriend is such a nuisance for you, then how wonderful would it be if you didn't have one at all?!" you shouted, gritting your teeth as the words left your mouth.

diluc didn't spare a second in bouncing back, as if he was speaking from the bottom of his heart, and he didn't need to think twice.

"yeah, that sounds pretty nice right about now, y/n." diluc let out a laugh, "it sounds pretty fucking nice."

your throat went dry. you felt your heart shatter. it was as if your world came crumbling down onto you, you didn't expect for him to agree with you. at a loss for words, you sharply inhaled to stop tears from falling. you felt immense anger at first, but for some reason, when he admitted that, your anger disappeared. it was replaced by hurt.

in your storm of emotions, in your speechlessness, all you could manage to utter was a broken, pathetic, "fine."

and you turned around and left out the door, grabbing your coat. you stopped there, in the doorway for a second.

just a second. one second, diluc. that's all you wanted to give him. cause no matter how much he hurt you, you still had that wretched thing in you.

hope.

you had hope, god, you had faith that diluc would call your name, apologise, you both could make it up to each other, you would apologise, and- wait, what were you even apologising for?

well, one thing was certain when you didn't hear his voice call out to you. diluc ragnvindr, for the first time in the seven years you had known him, betrayed your faith.

it had been two weeks since the fight that night. two goddamn weeks. not a single call, not a single text, not a single glance was spared for you from diluc. it was as if you didn't exist anymore.

he probably wished you didn't.

yeah, sure, couples often have their fights, their arguments. but in the end, they meet in the middle and talk it out. but what could you do when there was nothing more left to say? when every cruel claim had been made already? when it was too late?

daylight hit your drawn curtains, itching to be let into your room, but you refused. the light hurt your eyes, you'd much rather prefer to be in the darkness of your bedroom, with the only light being diluc's contact on your phone.

it baffled you how someone could pamper you and give you all their affection one moment, then completely disregard you the next. you threw your phone on your pillow, collapsing onto the bed. his words played on loop in your mind.

you wanted to cry, you really did. but the tears refused to come out, you wouldn't cry for him. especially when diluc probably doesn't feel an ounce of guilt for everything he said that night.

your phone buzzed, and you jumped to see what the notification was. your frown immediately turned into a smile when you saw diluc's name.

you picked up the call, and bated your breath.

"y/n. let's talk."

wow, couldn't he have even said hello? just cutting straight to the chase. he sounded so... demanding that it made you feel like you're the one at fault, and you owe him an apology.

"you finally came around, huh? two weeks and now you wanna apologise?" you grit your teeth, awaiting his response.

"who said i'm apologising?"

what?

"what do you... what do you mean- " you started, but paused when you heard diluc sigh.

"just come to good hunter at 2 o'clock. i'll buy you something." he hung up, not even allowing you to speak any further.

you had no choice but to listen to his bullshit.

you were seated across diluc. in silence. painful silence.

perhaps even the waitress at good hunter, who was waiting at your table, could sense it. you would've felt bad for her, but right now, you pitied yourself even more.

he looked so... dignified. he looked like he was in a completely different world from you, you felt small and meaningless compared to him. you hated it, you hated feeling that kind of worthlessness.

who knew? the same diluc who showed you the stars and showered you with fake niceties, now stole away all of that praise he'd once given.

"two black coffees." he stated, and the waitress scurried away with the order.

"you know, i can order too right? i know how to speak, thank you very much." you rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair.

diluc frowned, "i don't want to spend too much time here, let's just get this done with."

"alright, what did you wanna say to me, that isn't an apology?" you furrowed your brows, emphasising the fact that he still owed you one.

you didn't expect diluc to utter the words you had been dreading. the words that would absolutely tear you apart.

"let's break up."

you thought time came to an abrupt stop. the world stopped. your world stopped.

no.

no, no, no, no, please no.

"...what?" you almost choked, biting your lip to stop it from quivering. "you're serious?"

please, diluc, no.

"you heard me, let's break up." he wasn't even asking you, he was just demanding it. "this isn't working anymore."

this isn't working anymore, you almost would've laughed if you weren't on the brink of breaking down.

"it isn't working because you refuse to do anything from your end. you're so fucking entitled, you think you have the right to treat me like fucking shit-!" you started, your frustration seeping through your words.

"we're in public, calm down for god's sake." he resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"so that's why you called me here? in public, so i wouldn't make a scene, and just quietly accept whatever you're telling me?"

"why do you always twist my intentions? i called you here because it's a place we both can go to easily. i didn't want to bring you to my place, if i was gonna break up with you anyway." diluc massaged his forehead, letting out a groan. "we're over."

he was so cruel. so, so, utterly cruel.

didn't this hurt him too? why did he look so unfazed? did he never love you to begin with...? no, that can't be true. you rememeber diluc from years ago. he was so kind, so loving. what happened to him? why did he change?

questions revolved in your head, all left unanswered when diluc willed it. he was always in charge. you were just some pathetic pawn for him, just a tool with no emotions.

"my world revolved around you for seven years, diluc. how do you expect me to throw it all away?" tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, unable to grasp the sudden news. "if we had just tried to love each other-"

diluc's harsh tone suddenly changed into a soft one, as he said, "i don't think we should be trying to love each other, y/n." he sounded guilty, almost.

almost. you hated that word. it reminded you of a future that could've been.

"that's all i had to say to you." he claimed, "if it makes you feel better, i'm sorry."

"i don't want your fucking pity apology, diluc." you let out a scoff, "i want my seven years i wasted on you. i want them back. can you do that for me?"

"you know i can't-"

"i thought you were pretty accomplished, though? master diluc, the king of the wine industry. a strategist, a business tycoon, a master manipulator," you waved your arms around, "i never understood that last one until now."

"enough." diluc narrowed his eyes.

"yeah, enough. i've had enough." you got up, almost crashing into the waitress who was bringing your black coffee. the one you didn't even want.

it would've been childish to take the cup of black coffee and throw it on diluc. it would've been dramatic and badass though, maybe you should've done that. but you would've felt guilty about it, later. even if diluc hurt you, you would've probably thought that was too far.

fuck, why did you care? he went too far too. and he didn't apologise for it, he never felt guilty. why did you?

that really said a lot about your relationship with him, huh?

it had been exactly seven hours since you and diluc broke up. you watched as the clock struck hour nine, minute five, exactly seven hours from your break up.

you didn't know what else you were supposed to do except count every second.

lifelessly, you stared at your bedroom ceiling. you inhaled deeply, glancing towards your phone screen.

9:06, no messages.

nothing.

maybe it was wrong of you to expect something in the first place. but could you blame yourself? you loved him desperately, and the only thing you wanted was that love to be returned. you had to fight the irrational urge to call him first.

the sun went down, and your love died.

you kept your phone aside, getting up to clean your room. your head hurt seeing the terrible state of your bedroom, clothes thrown around, papers falling from drawers and the table.

sitting down, exasperated, you started folding your clothes to distract yourself from your grief.

your mind was silent, you were too tired to think anything. you were too tired to utter another word.

in your heart, you knew you were just waiting for your phone to ring, and diluc's name to show up on the caller ID.

but in your heart, you also knew that it wouldn't happen.

your eyes couldn't help but wander to one of the corners in your room in which, tucked away safely, sat a carboard box. you held you breath in contemplation. arguments were drowned out by silence, and you got up, and took out the box. opening it, your eyes focused on the collection of small trinkets and notes.

on top was a picture of you and diluc, the one you had taken on your first date. there was a note attached, with the date and diluc's handwriting, "first date, liuli pavillion."

your mind was blank, you didn't know what to think. should you smile at those fond memories, or frown cause it's gone forever? should you let out a laugh at how gullible you were, or cry because you're still gullible, and worse, probably, if you still had hope.

you found a few cassettes thrown around in the mix, labelled with the names of cliche love songs, and a "to y/n, my beloved" or "to diluc, my dearest" written.

you chose to laugh at your own incredulity. it came out pained, weak. tired.

tied with a worn-out rubber band, you saw a stack of small papers, with affirmations written on them. before diluc headed out to work, he used to write you little notes to keep you company in his absence.

adelinde probably helped him put those around the house. it ranged from simple, mundane things like "finish two bottles of water today, you can't keep forgetting", to essays and paragraphs about how much he adored you. you valued both of them equally, they really made your day.

and those notes that made you grin back then, now make you break out into a pitiful sob. you thought to yourself, you were pathetic.

it hurted so much. you couldn't explain it, but it was eating you whole. you made him your temple, your world revolved around diluc solely for seven years. now that he was gone, you didn't know what else you had left. what responsibilites, what obligations and commitments did you have now?

the gods hated you, you thought. diluc hated you too, probably. you hated yourself even more.

maybe going out for drinks wasn't a good idea. you thought it could get your mind off things, but instead, you were running straight to the problem.

you called diluc.

"diluc," you slurred, holding onto the coffee table. "i miss you."

your house was a mess, with things thrown around, a broken vase lying on the floor from when you bumped into it a few seconds ago. you got drunk, despite being a lightweight. you just needed to get your mind off everything.

but even in your subconcious, you still came back to him. that's what you hated most. and you most certainly weren't in the right state of mind to call your ex.

you could hear diluc's steady breathing from the other end of the line. he didn't respond to you, instead choosing to ask a question.

"...are you drunk?"

"no," you chuckled, "i just miss you." you were starting to have a splitting headache, so you crashed onto your sofa. you accidentally collided with the lamp next to it, and hurt your arm.

you let out a groan of pain, and diluc asked you, worry evident in his tone, "y/n?! are you fine?"

"not really..." you replied, feeling your eyes close as you dozed off in deep slumber, he could hear your soft snoring. he hung up.

around 10 minutes later, you heard the doorbell ring, but you couldn't get up to answer it. diluc opened the door, mumbling a, "god, you forgot to lock the door? what if i hadn't come?"

he rushed to your side, calling your name. "y/n, look at me." he asked, and you grabbed his hand, eyes meeting his.

"you're really here... diluc? or am i hallucinating.." you mumbled, struggling to keep your eyes open. "i'm so mad at you."

diluc's throat went dry, and he spoke, "i know."

"i really want to hate you."

"i know."

"but i can't find it in me to hate you, for some reason. i'm just really frustrated at you, for treating me this way." you gripped on his clothes, shaking. "you're the worst person i've ever known."

"i know. i'm sorry." was all he could say, as he gently wrapped an arm around your back, trying to carry you.

"you're not sorry." you replied, with a hint of sobriety. diluc couldn't respond, he didn't know how. he silently carried you to your bedroom, slowly placing you on your bed.

"it didn't hurt as much as i thought it would, when you broke up with me. in that moment, i was just angry." you confessed, "but after a few days, it hit me. the realisation that you won't be there when i wake up anymore."

he didn't know what else to say. diluc didn't even know why he came running to your house. he wasn't in love anymore. it was over for him. it would be an overstatement to say he cared, too.

maybe it was pity.

but that made him sound heartless. maybe he was.

"i was so angry at you, i thought i never wanted to see you again." you frowned. "but when my anger faded, and i felt grief instead, i wanted to come back."

"why?" he asked.

"i wanted to come back because i loved you." you raised your voice, still keeping your calm.

diluc paused, not knowing what to say. he pressed his lips into a firm line, "i guess we've found another thing we can't agree on anymore."

"get some rest." he whispered. it was definitely the effects of the alcohol you had that night, but diluc almost seemed kind. you felt like you were in the past again.

why were you still clinging onto what was long gone? it was just you. he had moved on. you should too. though it was easier said than done.

maybe, just for tonight, you'd let yourself mourn your love that died. the love that would've, could've, and should've been something beautiful.

you sat with diluc on a park bench. your scarf was tightly wrapped around your neck, and you shuddered, feeling the cold air brush past your face.

"aren't you cold?" was the first thing you said to break the silence.

"no." diluc replied.

"ah, well, i shouldn't be surprised. for some reason, you never used to get cold." you let out a small laugh, "you're like a walking heater."

"is that why you liked to hold onto me?" he spoke, gaze fixated on the concrete street, as if it was far more interesting than you. "you would say, 'you're warm'. i thought it was just an excuse for you to get hugs."

"it was." you smiled. "i just wanted to hold you, to make sure you were real."

"did you wish i wasn't?" diluc asked, meeting your eyes for the first time in the last ten minutes. "when we had that fight, i mean."

"which one, diluc?"

diluc felt a pang of regret cut through his heart.

"the one we had after we had dinner with my colleagues." he inhaled sharply, shuddering as he breathed out. it wasn't because of the cold, maybe just because of how nervous he was feeling, or because of how he was just a few words away from letting tears roll down his cheeks.

"i always wanted you to be real, 'luc. no matter how hurt i was, i always hoped you'd come back. if it was a dream, i hoped i'd never wake up." you fiddled with your fingers, your cheeks red. "i guess i thought that... if we loved each other, then we'd always come back to each other."

silence engulfed the air, suffocating you both. gripping at your necks, but your pride was too strong to let you beg for mercy, too strong to let you both tear each other apart.

you were too mature for that, now, weren't you? you both had grown up, you couldn't let your emotions handle you. but sometimes, you wished you were a teenager again so you could forget about maturity, and scream, shout, cry, and yell at diluc, telling him how much he had hurt you.

"i... i'm... i don't know what to say, except, i'm so-" diluc began, but you knew what he had to say. and you didn't want to accept it. so you chose to not hear it at all.

"diluc. snow." you looked up to the sky, and he paused.

you watched the snow glisten in the sky, in pretty shapes that crystalised in the sky.

fog hazed over the night skies of mondstadt, and soft flurries of snow quickly rushed to the ground. they started to group together on the ground. white specks drifted in the winds, frigid air bellowing as you shivered.

you felt a wave of warmth rush through your body as diluc put a hand on yours in an attempt to warm you. in that moment, you couldn't help but think how he'd wrap you in his arms before. it just wasn't the same as it was.

"i feel happy," you murmured, tears rolling down your cheeks. "so happy."

diluc didn't have it in him to look at you.

you were close to accepting it all, though. all the heartbreak, all the tears and lonely nights spent agonising. you would accept all the bad times, just like the good ones.

it would just... take a while. you couldn't move on that fast. the would was so deep that it would take time to heal, but in the end, it would, nevertheless, heal.

if you had been sent an invitation to diluc's wedding a year ago, when he broke up with you, you wouldn't have attended. you would've cursed them out of spite.

but it had been a year since you two broke up. since you wrapped up the heartache. so when diluc's wedding invitation was sent to you in your mail, you smiled.

that's how you ended up at the venue of this momentous occassion, though arguably his bride-to-be was not all that happy about having you here.

i mean, you dated diluc longer than she had known him.

and maybe diluc dragging you away to a secluded corner was seemingly innapropriate behaviour at his wedding, but diluc (for once) did not care about what other people thought. he needed to talk to you.

you weren't that interested in anything he had to say. he had told you everything already, even the most hurtful of words. still, guilt doesn't let you end things to make peace with yourself. and it seemed, this same guilt was eating at him.

"i'm sorry, y/n." diluc held your hand tightly, his voice low.

"careful, you wouldn't wanna get caught being handsy with another woman at your wedding, no?" you laughed, letting go of his hand. "i've forgiven you, diluc. not because i excuse whatever you put me through, but because i want to move on from you."

you looked at diluc's bride.

"... congratulations, diluc. she's beautiful." you smiled, cheeks warm.

a beautiful fool.

diluc felt his breath hitch, and he nodded, "yeah. thanks."

it was time for the ceremony, so diluc left you, once again. just like all the times before. but the only difference was, it didn't hurt as much this time.

he had found happiness. and you told yourself, you could too. without him.

you were over diluc. for real, this time. no going back.

he wouldn't look at you the way he used to, he won't hold you the way he used to. that love dissipated into thin air, like it never existed.

you had accepted it, though. it was over. your relationship with him would never come back. but it was terribly beautiful while it lasted, ingraved in your memories. your love in the shade of golden.

published on; 24th may, 2023. writing belongs to @/vellichxrr6782 on tumblr.

#[🔖 vellichxrr writes ]#genshin diluc #genshin impact diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc #diluc angst #diluc x y/n #diluc x reader #diluc ragnivindr x reader #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin impact #diluc x you #diluc headcanons #diluc imagines

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ijustwantogohomehogwarts · 8 months

Text

m i n e | (s e c r e t l y)

Y/n recounts the struggles of Timothée going back to work after spending time with her, knowing there's nothing she can do about it because, to the eyes of Hollywood, she doesn't exist. There's nothing she can do...as a girlfriend-

Warnings and such: established relationship, secret/private relationship, sad reader but major fluff points!

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I rolled over in bed, the gut wrenching realization that I was, once again, alone hit me before I even opened my eyes. The spot beside me was cold, covered pulled up and long abandoned...but his scent lingered. The warmth of his embrace, the feeling of his skin, his lips on mine...he was gone, but the memory burned in my mind like it was brand new- present.

I had myself convinced that I was handing this whole situation very well, he even gave me credit for how well I was 'holding it together,' and keeping everything a secret. Oh the irony in having secrets in Hollywood. I knew it was going to be hard, there was no way to make it any easier, but the façade shattered like glass each morning after he left.

It never mattered how long he was here; 12 hours or 12 weeks, it never felt like enough time. Who am I kidding- the rest of my life wouldn't be enough time to spend with him. We never wasted a moment, and made up for all the lack of physical touch until reality ripped us apart again. I'd fall asleep and convince myself that the next morning would be just the same, but nothing ever prepared me for his absence.

God, it was such a cliché thing to think! I could call him 10 times a day if I wanted, I could send him 100 text messages and FaceTime just to stare at his face! We live in a world where technology makes it almost impossible to miss someone...almost. Close isn't good enough...

I trudged around the empty apartment, the sound of his voice, the echo of his laughter; played loudly in the back of my mind. There was no trace of him. Keys, shoes, coat...all gone.

"Stop whining, he'll be back in a week!" I scolded myself in a desperate attempt to pull my head out of my ass and carry on with my life. "He's not dead!"

I made breakfast, cleaned the apartment and played music so loudly I couldn't hear my own thoughts. No thoughts, no tears. Besides, it was selfish for me to be upset: this was his life, I'm just a small part of it. He's got work to do, projects to finish and I'm so proud of him, truly I am! Who am I to hold him back from any of it because I miss him?! I turned the music up louder. No thoughts, no tears.

The afternoon rolled around and I dragged myself into the patio to enjoy the city. There was something magical about the time between when the work day ends, and the night life begins- there was a sense of calm amidst the chaos, something you only got to experience once a day. This is normally the time where I get to call him, or where he calls me, and we talk about the 9-5 grind as if either one of us had one, but I remember his speaking, as he drifted off to sleep last night, that today was going to be different. Busy. Demanding. Attention and time consuming. But he was excited, so I was excited for him.

There was no call.

When the noise started up again on the street below, I resolved myself to spend the rest of the night on the couch, watching movies and wallowing in my own self pity. I knew this feeling wouldn't last, that in the next day or two life would go back to the way it was before he was here, and the cycle would repeat itself. The thought of giving it up never crossed my mind...the days we were together made it all worth it. I was just a person who got too attached and I know that I would eventually learn to handle this better...good things take time after all.

I turned to shut the door, my eyes glancing over the table for the first time all day. It took another glance to notice that something on it didn't belong to me. The undeniable sparkle of designer diamonds. A ring. His ring. One of them anyway.

Maillon Panthere Ring. Cartier. $12,000. Maybe more.

Sticker shock is still very, very real.

He's left things here before, why wouldn't he, but this seemed like too much to simply forget. Shoes and t shirts were one thing, but he's never left something he wears regularly, something so expensive. I smiled, realizing that it was undoubtedly a mistake, and he had days where he would loose his own head of it wasn't attached.

"Missing something?" I texted him, though I didn't expect a response.

I set the ring down on the bathroom counter and indulged myself in a shower that lasted all too long. I threw on a pair of sweatpants and a t shirt that didn't belong to me and picked up the ring again. Funny, I had seen it so many times since he bought it, but it looked much different not wrapped around his fingers. I spun it around my own, blushing feverishly when I realized the only one it fit was my ring finger.

My phone chimed, drawing me quickly out of my thoughts.

"You. Filming on Astoria Boulevard probably until midnight...it's beautiful here. I'll bring you sometime! Call you tonight? xoxo"

Would it really be so wrong...

I jumped off the couch, giddy like a child on Christmas with a plan that would either end horribly or wonderfully, but if I was careful, the latter was the only option. I made myself presentable, without putting in too much effort for the sake of time constraint, pulled on a pair of shoes and a sweatshirt (which also didn't belong to me) and headed out the door.

I walked quickly towards the subway station a few blocks away, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the ring still on my finger. Astoria Boulevard in Queens was about an hour away, and I could only hope he was serious about being there well into the night, or this would be an all for nothing excursion out of the house.

There was a small group of people, only about 12 maybe and mostly girls, giddy with excitement and staring through their phone screens. If that wasn't enough to give away that they were all still there, the sidewalk closures, flood lights and film equipment was. I stepped over the barrier and slipped in with the group when no one was looking, though it didn't appear to be a big deal that they were there so what was one more? I made my way to the front, stopping when my fluttering in my chest became near overwhelming.

"Isn't he dreamy?" Someone whispered beside me.

"I hope we get to meet him!" Someone else replied.

"QUIET ON THE SET!"

Like a light switch, the world fell silent around us. The people beside me all hit record simultaneously and watched the magic unfold in front of them.

"ACTION."

There wasn't a whole lot to see from where we stood, but for a moment, I saw a mess of dark curls. I didn't need to see the face that they belonged to to instantly recognize him.

Him.

Everything came flooding back: the sound of his raspy voice, his lips on my neck, bare skin on bare skin, his fingers laced in mine. The smell of his skin, damp with sweat as he fought to catch his breath. I wonder if anyone had caught sight of the faint red lines down his back, or the dark purple bruises on his hips. My fingers instinctively traced my collar bone, knowing that I had matching bruises just below the fabric of this sweatshirt. My cheeks felt warm- warmer still when the train doors open and my eyes instantly fell to him.

I took in every inch of him; savoring the fact this was one of the very few times I was able to do so in public. There was an overwhelming feeling of excitement, a fear of being caught, though to anyone else I was a fan, nothing more. I felt my pulse quicken as adrenaline coursed through my body:

"I've kissed him. I've ran my fingers though his hair. I've shared a bed with him. I have his number saved in my phone. I'm wearing his clothes. I've seen him naked. I-"

Okay, simmer down.

"CUT!"

"That was great guys! Let's take 5 and we'll try to wrap this up."

There was a commotion of equipment moving and people shuffling around, but through it all I caught glimpses of Martin Scorsese (which was awe inspiring on it's own) and his muse. His beautiful, beautiful muse. The people beside me grew louder, desperate to capture his attention.

"Guys," The man who appeared to be assigned 'Crowd Control' turned towards us. "He knows you're here, he'll come say 'hello' when we're all done. Please let him finish or you're going to have to leave." He was met with muttered apologies, but didn't seem to mind.

I've never gotten to watch him work before, but there was something about it that was so...intoxicating. I already knew he poured everything into his projects, but watching him make it come to life was stunning. He took direction, looked, moved, breathed as instructed. I smiled when the rain machine came out and watched him slowly get drenched, curls sticking to his head, his white shirt becoming sheer...

I stared, unabashedly, until the final 'cut.'

"He'll be out in 10 minutes." crowd control guy spoke.

Almost to the second, the official new face of Chanel jogged around the corner. Clad in heavy sweatpants, t shirt and jacket, his hair was still damp and there was music blaring from his phone. The fans around me were screaming, though defiantly not as loud as I'm sure they have before, seeing how few of us there was. He stopped just short of the barrier, eyes locked on me, and froze.

I bit back a smile, watching him do the same as a beautiful color painted his cheeks. I dropped my head and stared at my fingers when I couldn't control myself any longer. I pulled his ring off my finger and rolled it around in my hand. I stole glanced as he made his way down the line. He was a model (literally) celebrity: doting on his fans, signing every autograph, making small talk, taking pictures...he was genuinely happy to be with them, and I know without a shadow of a doubt he would act just the same if I wasn't there.

"Don't be shy," his voice washed over me, hand touching my arm quickly. "I'm Timothee Chalamet, what's your name?"

"I'm [The nickname he gave you], it's nice to meet you!"

I stifled a laugh as the color in his cheeks began to match my nail polish. I rolled his ring back and forth between my fingers, eyes flickering between his and my hand. In public he was quick on his feet; he ran his hand from my shoulder down to my hand, taking the ring from me leaving no one next to us any wiser. In private, this may have taken him quite a few minutes to realize.

"I like your sweatshirt," A shit eating grin was plastered on his face. "I have the same one, but I seem to have lost it."

"Well, I hope you find it! It's very comfortable!"

"Yeah. I know!"

"You looked great out there! I can't wait to see the final commercial. When does it come out?"

"Thank you! Yeah, I'm not sure, but I'm sure you'll all see pictures soon!" He turned to everyone else who began cheering. "Say cheese!" He called, holding his phone above his head.

We all huddled together and he snapped a picture. I've seen a few like this on his phone- he never deleted them. He looked at me for a moment longer before asking, shyly, if i wanted a picture too. It would match the ones I already have, sure, this felt different...like a risqué little thing I wasn't supposed to have. Of course I said yes!

"Everybody get home safe, okay? Thanks for coming out and I appreciate your cooperation! I hope to see you guys soon!"

Tim turned his back towards the crowd and whispered something to crowd control guy. He turned back and waved enthusiastically at everyone who was being escorted away, though I couldn't help but notice the ring that suddenly adorned his finger was gesturing towards the ground, the same way you would tell a dog to 'stay.'

I walked impossibly slow behind everyone else, and as they rounded the corner, I fell back, following Mr. Crowd Control. He must know...right? Does everyone who works on these types of projects sign nondisclosure agreements? They must, right?

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Tim laughed, falling in step with us as we made our way through what was left of the make-shift set.

"You're young, you'll be fine!" He tried to act offended and even made Crowd Control chuckle.

"Wanna meet Scorsese?"

"No! I look like a bum!"

"Excuse you!" He laughed, tugging on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. "Come on, it'll be quick, we gotta clear out anyway."

Martin Scorsese was a very nice man, though firm and to the point. He admired Timothee and told me, very sternly, to not let him doubt himself. 'He's going places, just you wait!' All of this I already knew, but nodded along enthusiastically. To Scorsese, I was just a 'childhood friend,' which isn't a lie, and though I don't think he would care who I really was to Tim either way, perhaps it was best that the less people that know the better.

"Thank you for the delivery," Tim smiled, wiggling his fingers in front of him. "but you didn't have to come all the way down here to do that!"

"Fine, give it back!"

"Wait- no!"

We stood quietly in a corner while everyone was packed up, finding any excuse to touch or otherwise look at each other. It wasn't long (enough) until Tim's driver came. The feelings which I had first thing in the morning, that lingered through the day began to return...loneliness began to wash over me as I was desperate to hold him. Regretfully, Tim had a redeye flight to catch and had to be to the airport in a few short hours- there was no way I could ask him to come back home for one more night.

"It's not long this time," I reminded myself. "9 days and he'll be back for 3 weeks!"

Still, I couldn't help myself and I watched as my fingers reached for one of his own.

"Do you mind if we take her home first?"

"Tim-"

"Not at all! We should get going though..."

His driver pulled the car around and I got in on the blindside, just in case. There was a strategy to doing- and therefore getting away with- just about everything in Hollywood. I had so much to learn! I rested my head on his shoulder, fingers interlaced as we rode in silence back to my apartment. It was nice. THIS was the kind of intimacy I was going to miss with him.

9 days, I reminded myself.

The rest of the night was a blur, even more so when the headlights disappeared down the road, and I could no longer see my hand in front of my face though the tears. I could feel the pleasant sting on my lips where they began to swell slightly, and I groaned audibly, desperate to have him back already. This of course made me frustrated because I had no logical reason to cry, so I cried some more and the cycle continued.

I woke up the next morning with a splitting headache but immediately reached for my phone. 10 text messages, 1 missed call.

-I love you! -I'm so fucking lucky to have you in my life! -I'll call you when I land, but it will be late, please don't wait up for me! *1 missed call* -Thank you :) -I miss you already :( -You have no idea how happy I was to see you tonight! -Like, OMGGGG that's my babbyyyyy -Fucking beautiful! -I'm going to go to bed....but I wish you were here! -I love you! I love you! I love you!

I smiled to myself and began reading over the messages before they dropped to the bottom.

-Bien matin, mon amour :)

-TIMOTHEE HAL CHALAMET

-I literally just woke up, there's nothing I could have done yet-

- I FUCKING LOVE YOU

-lol I love you more!

*Incoming FaceTime call*

"Good morning," I yawned at the boy who was still in his own bed.

"Good morning...I don't have to go anywhere for a few more hours...If you want to go back to sleep..."

"Not without you..."

"I'm not hanging up."

I'm happy the world doesn't get to see this side of Timothee Chalamet...this is the type of intimacy that I want to keep all to myself- all the intimate moments for that matter, but even when we're old and grey and celebrating 50 years of marriage, this is the type of thing I'll hold most precious. I am undeniably IN love with him.

My muse. My beautiful boy. My baby. My Timothee.

Mine.

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swanimagines · 2 months

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DREAMS OF THE DAMNED | JASON RIPPER

Summary: You fell for the bad boy and now that bad boy is in need of a savior. Confessions are made while he's unconscious.

the gif is mine!

Wiping the tables at a shabby bar had never been your dream job - but a girl needed to do something to live, and unfortunately pretty girls like yourself attracted males to the bar. One of them was Jason Ripper, who your colleague Sandra had warned you about - telling you that Jason had harassed her for months and made her uncomfortable, and he may start harassing you too.

So goes without saying that you had major reservations about him as he stepped into the bar for the first time while you were on a shift, and you still remembered him taking a look at you, his eyes wandering up and down your body.

“A new beautiful barmaid,” he had said, grinning at you. You had taken in a deep breath and put on your best customer service smile.

“Hello sir, what can I get you?” you had asked, putting down one of the glasses. He had narrowed his eyes at you and then smiled again.

“Anything if you’re the one who pours it.”

You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks warming up at his flirts, and you had felt shame about that. His looks didn’t help the matter either. From what Sandra had told you, he was extremely disturbing and toxic, possibly abusive too - all the red flags were checked - and now he got you to blush? You couldn’t be that desperate for romantic attention.

Right?

But as weeks went by and Jason visited the bar, you just had felt your feelings growing bigger. Soon, you were completely head over heels for him, but you never said anything to anyone, especially not him. You had tried to stay composed in front of him, even though it was getting rapidly harder.

You felt like there was something wrong with you. A loose screw or something. Sandra was always wondering how are you able to keep up with him and not be visibly anxious or scared after serving him, but she always took it as a fact that you were as much creeped out as she was, you were just better in hiding it.

This was like any other evening when he was in the bar. He got his drink served by you and went to sit by one of the tables and you went to the backroom to arrange some shelves. But your arranging was interrupted by some noise and shouts from the bar area and you hurried back in case it was some drunk making a scene again. But instead, you saw a few shattered beer pints on the floor and Jason’s coat was still thrown across the chair he had just sat on. You had a bad feeling, and turned to Sandra.

“Um, where did Ja- Mr. Ripper go?” you asked, watching her sigh as she took a broom from the closet.

“Apparently he pissed off some gang members. Or they had been hired to beat him up. In any case, they took him outside and judging by how they dragged him, it can’t end well.” She shook her head, sighing again. “Just a regular day.”

Your heart dropped and the world faded around you, before you put down your rag and bolted towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Sandra shouted after you, but you didn’t even glance at her before you got out, the rain soaking you immediately.

They hadn’t taken Jason far - thank God - he was just around the corner and you made a desperate act, shouting to your left, “There they are! C’mon, boss is in trouble!”

That was enough for the three guys to look up and run another way and you made sure they were far enough before you ran to Jason, who groaned in pain when you pulled him up.

Good. He’s conscious.

You used all your strength to pull him to his feet, making him lean against you as you dragged him back to the club. The whole bar fell silent the moment they saw you dragging Jason in, and especially Sandra looked at you in shock.

“You… you went out to save him?” Sandra gasped, and you rolled your eyes.

You groaned. “Sandra, please. Just open the gate so I can get him to the backroom, he needs the bed there. I think some of his bones may be broken.”

She hesitated for a moment but then complied, letting you in and you shuffled Jason through the narrow doorway and after a few more steps, you finally reached the bed, laying him down as gently as you could before sighing, pulling covers over him and sitting by the bedside. He was unconscious now but still breathing. You’d have to call a doctor to take a look at him later.

You knew Sandra was staring at you sitting there, looking over at Jason’s battered form and sighed. “I know what you’re going to say.”

You heard Sandra swallow. “Yeah, I just… when did this happen? I thought you’re creeped out by him and wanted him gone, and now you look at him like-”

You snorted, cutting her off. “I don’t know myself how this happened. I really tried to dislike him, I did, but… something just drew me in.”

You sat in silence for a while, your hand going up to stroke his hair as he slept. His hair was covered in mud, but you hoped that he’d feel some sense of comfort from your hand through his sleep, and you knew he’d be in a lot of pain when he’d wake up.

You turned your head towards Sandra again, but not really looking at her. “I know I’m being foolish, I don’t even know if he actually likes me or if he just wants to play with my feelings. Based on stuff you’ve told me, it’d fit his character to play with me because it sounds like for him, women are objects, only created for a man’s pleasure,” you mumbled. “I know I should be careful and keep my guard up. I know I should go with my brains first and heart second on this. But I just… I just feel there’s something more to him than how he has treated you, treated me?”

Sandra watched you for a moment longer, before she took a tentative step towards you. “If you promise you’ll be careful, I won’t try to talk you out of it. But if I ever see any red flags, bruises you can’t explain or–”

“You’ll make me stop it. I know,” you finished for her. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we don’t even know if Jason wants anything more than flirting with me when he’s coming for a beer.”

Then with a nod, Sandra went back to tending the bar, leaving you to care for Jason’s bruises and cuts. You wondered how would he react when he woke up, seeing you doting over him. Would he be confused, would he be delighted, or would he be angry for some reason?

You just hoped your attraction, your crush, even love, for him would end well, in one way or another.

---

Requests are always open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#jason ripper #jason ripper x reader #jason ripper imagine #jason ripper x you #jason ripper x y/n #reader insert #female reader #my works

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ffion451 · 11 months

Text

Chapter Twenty: Then There Was You | The Centre Cannot Hold: KTH (m)

Chapter characters/pairings: Taehyung x f!reader | AU/Genre: non idol au, angst, smut (see warnings below) see series m.post for fic summary etc.

Rating/Chapter warnings: ⚠️🔞 M - Adults only! 🔞⚠️ SMUT (m/f unprotected sex, m>f oral sex), threat, intoxication, reader is a mild dom, some light bondage (nothing too spicy) yandere and dark themes

Word count: 9.1K

<<< Chapter Nineteen

The door shuts just in time: both men pause mid-motion, shocked into stillness, statues in their surprise. Namjoon grips the door handle tightly as it rattles with another dull thump then a shattering sound.

“So that’s both the lamp and the water I left beside his bed,” Namjoon sighs.

“You used glass?” Jihan quizzes, an eyebrow raised.

“Hey,” Namjoon complains as the cacophony of bangs continues from Taehyung’s room, “I didn’t see this coming… Have they broken up or something? The last three weeks he’s been a nightmare, staggering in blind drunk nearly every night…”

Jihan shrugs, “I don’t know,” he admits, “He won’t say anything and she won’t answer my calls. When I text her she claims she has shitty reception on whatever work trip she’s on. She said they’re fine though.”

“Well he can’t carry on like this,” Namjoon states, “Who would know what’s going on?”

Jihan bites his lip thinking carefully before he answers, “Park Jimin… or maybe Woo Jiho.”

The room beyond them falls silent.

“He’ll have passed out now,” Jihan says softly and Namjoon releases his grip on the door.

Namjoon fixes Jihan with a focused gaze, “Try them both - both Jimin and Jiho. This shit needs to be dealt with sooner rather than later.”

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Taehyung has not passed out. Instead, he lies on his bed, naked and listening.

As his friends creep away, he resolves to find other ways to cope: the drinking has to stop. That’s the end of the night’s clarity for Taehyung. He stares at the flat blackness of the ceiling until he finds depth there and then the void swallows him whole, as it always does, as it always has, even when he was only a small child. It’s always been there. He both hates and trusts it. In the chaos of his mind, it’s the only thing that brings relief, and sometimes Taehyung wants nothing more than to silence his thoughts.

Taehyung’s mind has sometimes been a dark place, sometimes a bright one, but always, no matter his mood, it races, always working, working, working, filled with thought and raw feeling. There was obsession; there was lust, a mad passionate consuming desire; there was need; there was a hole that needed filling; there was satisfaction. There were all these things and more and nothing was ever enough for him. But then there was you and his world was reshaped, reformed, rebuilt.

His existence didn’t explode, the sphere of his days did not tilt on its axis because you came into his life. Instead, you crept up on him like frost at the turning of the seasons. In feather-soft flurries you flittered through his days, he barely noticed until those insatiable fires in him were quelled beneath the pure white blanket you spread beneath his feet. Taehyung had charged through life before you, eyes fixed ahead; now he treads softly in the world you have made anew for him.

He still burns intensely, but it is a different hue: the scarlet inferno, the fiery, empty chasm of his heart is no more. Instead, a blue flame flickers and dances, small and serene, yet it’s looks deceive, it is known that the azure heart of the flame is the most intense. Taehyung knows that it is a lie that winter is cold and that blue is the colour of unhappiness: the final season of the year has always been his favourite. You are his winter, his fresh snow, his clear day, his warm, blue flame.

Once there was chaos, emptiness and pain but then there was you and then there was wholeness; peace, joy and love.

Now, without you, there’s nothing, and chaos has come again.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

“You’re not serious?” scoffs Ellie, throwing a disbelieving look at Jihan beside her, “Come off it Jiho - you had a whole campaign against Taehyung and now you say you don’t know anything?”

Jiho sighs, “I really don’t know anything, I was told something about Taehyung, I guessed what it might mean and I was wrong or whatever… that’s it.”

Jihan’s eyes narrow, “Ah, but how did you find out you were wrong?”

Jiho pauses before he mentions your name, punctuated with a heavy sigh, “…Yeah, she told me. She told me she knew everything and whatever I thought was wrong. She said she had a big trip and that she didn’t want me bothering Taehyung while she was gone.”

“So after the fight in the club, you’re just going to leave it?” Ellie says, with more disbelief.

“I’m not an asshole,” Jiho argues, nostrils flaring, “All I wanted was to look out for a friend, she knows the truth now, whatever that might be and that’s fine. As long as she’s safe and happy that’s all I care about. I trust her to do the right thing. I mean, I don’t like Kim Taehyung, but whatever man, she loves him so…”

Ellie moves to speak, but Jihan shoots her a look, “That’s cool,” he says gently, “When she gets back hopefully everything will be cool.”

As they leave, Ellie quizzes him about why he quietened her down, “Whatever is going on, Jiho doesn’t know about it and given his suspicions about Tae, I say we keep it that way,” Jihan explains.

Ellie nods grimly as they head towards your office to seek Park Jimin, who is avoiding everyone’s calls.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Jimin is a creature of habit and so when he leaves work at the end of the day to head to his gym, he finds Jihan waiting for him in the changing rooms.

“You were busy when Ellie and I came to the office,” Jihan explains smoothly, “So I thought I’d try you here.”

“So desperate to see me,” Jimin laughs, his bravado not fully convincing, “I am popular nowadays.”

Jihan hums thoughtfully before he outlines the dilemma: You’ve disappeared on a “work trip” nobody knows anything about and in your now three-week absence, Taehyung is having a complete meltdown and won’t speak to anyone, withdrawing completely within himself.

“So, do you know what’s going on?” Jihan presses.

With a deep breath, Jimin turns from stowing his things in a locker and begins talking.

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“Well?” Ellie asks impatiently when Jihan joins her outside the gym, “Did he talk?”

“He explained about why the trip was so sudden and how it’s not suspicious, apparently,” Jihan recounts, “Then he claimed to know absolutely nothing about anything else.”

“Claimed?” asks Ellie, cocking an eyebrow.

Jihan laughs dryly, “Exactly. I don’t believe a word about this work trip and I think that slippery little fucker knows everything, but he’s not telling.”

Within the gym, Jimin sits on the changing room bench, drinking water and breathing heavily after his workout. He’s pretty certain Jihan didn’t believe a word he said but what can he do? After this, does it even matter? Whatever bonds he was reforging with Taehyung are broken now and his friendship with you lies in tatters.

He sighs as he remembers the last words you spoke to him before you left for your trip, “Just tell anyone who asks that it’s for work and don’t tell anyone about Taehyung. Make sure they keep their mouths shut.” He foolishly asked you if you could forgive him for not telling you about Yideum and you just sighed, turning your back on him and walking away.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he evaluates the whole mess. Is that what you’ve done with Taehyung? Have you walked away? If so, why are you still protecting him? Jimin is conflicted; the sensible part of him tells him to steer clear of the whole mess, but it’s another part of him that wins out, the same part that always does: compassion. He rises to his aching feet and heads to the showers, resolving that as soon as he’s washed and dressed that he’ll head to Taehyung to see what can be done.

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With the little Jimin gave you to go on, it’s taken you weeks to get to this place and this moment. You could laugh at the irony of having travelled miles knocking on doors, only to find yourself preparing to meet your quarry only one subway station from your own house. In the middle of the busy park, your leg bounces incessantly as nervous tension pulses through you.

You try to distract yourself with your phone, replying to your friends’ messages with the same trite meaningless phrases insisting that you’re fine, that their concerns are misplaced, that you are just really busy with work and of course the final lie, that you and Taehyung are fine and that he’s just going through something else that’s private and unrelated.

You feel particularly guilty abut spouting that last lie to Ellie, but right now, you feel that there’s no other choice. The truth is too burdensome, and you must shoulder it alone. So preoccupied are you by your phone and thoughts, that you don’t register the person who sits beside you until they say your name in a questioning tone.

You turn to look at the woman beside you, oddly relieved that, pretty as she is, she looks absolutely nothing like you. You nod, “Baek Yideum?”

She smiles, but it’s forced and too tight, “That’s me.”

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me and coming all this way,” you say, “I really do need to talk to you about what happened with Kim Taehyung: I have questions only you can answer and I think some answers you might need too,” you draw breath at the end, your rehearsed speech falling out of you in an anxious tumbling of words.

Yideum’s smile becomes tighter, “It was no effort. No offence, but I don’t want this conversation on my own doorstep,” she regards you, her eyes colder than you’d expected, “I don’t need any answers. I know exactly what you’re going to say.”

You stare at her, open mouthed, “How?”

“You’re going to tell me that he drugged me,” she sighs, with an airy, dismissive flutter of her hand and you note the wedding ring there, “I know.”

You can only stare, mouth agape for long moments before you find your voice, “How do you know?”

She smiles tiredly, “Because he didn’t do it very well.”

Over the course of the next few hours she goes into torturous detail about Taehyung and his childhood. His controlling father, the way he and his mother were medicated to deal with every issue from slight stress to helping them sleep at night: a chemical solution for every problem. She tells you how each time Taehyung would drug her that she’d be sleepy but not actually comatose, drifting between sleep and wakefulness. She is insistent that while she slept he did nothing but lay beside her, a shy hand occasionally resting on her hip, telling her how special she was to him and divulging all his turbulent thoughts and feelings about his complicated home life and difficult relationship with his parents, things he could never tell anyone, before he’d eventually fall asleep. It never bothered her, she thought it was sweet and a little sad. Taehyung was always a lonely boy, a sadness sitting on him that broke her heart. She admits it was only with time and experience that she realised he’d turned to chemical support to lure her into tiredness and by then it was only a distant memory.

“So what is it you want from me?” she asks, “Because I won’t admit this to another person and I certainly won’t report him.”

“Even if he’s done it to someone else?” You probe.

She stares into your eyes, evaluating you, “To you?” she asks, “Harmfully?”

“To me,” you say, lifting your chin defiantly, “Isn’t any drugging harmful?”

She clicks her tongue, appraising you as though you are naive, “Not if there’s no harm intended and not if that person is troubled and was raised that way. He was brought up believing that it was a solution - a fucked up one I warrant, but a solution nonetheless.”

You say nothing, your mind spinning as she continues to search your face, processing the emotions that cross it, “Don’t report him,” she asks, “It would be too cruel. If you love him, you know that’s not the right solution.”

“Who says I love him?” You ask, unsure of the answer yourself.

“If you didn’t you’d have gone to the police and would have let them find me,” she asserts astutely, “Anyway, it’s written all over your face. You’re here because you want a reason not to stop.”

“I can’t trust him,” you say without thinking, “I can’t keep loving him.”

She rolls her eyes at you, “You think you have a choice? Don’t be stupid.”

You only frown in response; you anxiously ran through this conversation from every angle you could think of before you arrived here today and not once did you think it would play out this way.

She takes a breath, standing up nod smoothing out the creases and wrinkles in her skirt, “If you go to the police I will deny everything. Does Taehyung know you’re here? I’m guessing he doesn’t.”

You shake your head, feeling small and diminished.

“He told you what happened, yes?” she asks, and you simply nod, “So, he’s been honest with you, and you sneak off without telling him. Maybe it’s him that can’t trust you.”

You look at her in betrayal, but it’s too late, she’s already walking away. For the first time, you now understand what it feels like for someone to turn their back on you and leave.

“Talk to him,” she calls back, without looking at you, “He doesn’t love easily and so if he loves you you’re very lucky indeed.”

Trembling with feelings you’re not yet able to name, you stand up and stride in the other direction, focusing only on following your feet while your brain and body processes the emotions flooding through you. You can never outrun your own mind though, and finally, when the elevator doors close behind you, your panic closes in on you, smothering you in its loveless embrace.

Hours later, past the white hot anxiety that had burned through you, your emotions settle into one coherent feeling: outrage. You are lucky, she said… Lucky? How can you be lucky to be in love with a man who sedated you into spending time with him? You pace your hotel room disgusted at the insinuation. You know you should just go home, but you can’t face it yet.

Fuck this, you think, the walls starting to close in, I need a drink. Tidying yourself up and trying to make yourself feel pretty, you head to the nearest bar.

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“You’re so fucking hot,” the words confuse you - you’re not hot, he is: his breath warm and sticky against your neck where he leans in. You blink slowly, your eyes heavy and swallow, your tongue feeling too thick in your mouth. You realise, with painful clarity like a slap across the face, how drunk you’ve gotten and wonder when one drink at this nameless dive bar became eight, or was it more?

Who is this letch? This grotesque, sweaty man pawing at you? His hand is on your shoulder, the other gripping the back of your barstool, you can feel his tense knuckles grazing your back, the tendons like wires. With the same immediacy as understanding how drunk you are, you now understand you’re not very safe. This man, this determined man, has something about him that puts you on edge: his grip is too tight, his smile too wide, his actions too deliberate. You castigate yourself for flirting back with him, at the time it had felt like a harmless action to take your mind off Taehyung, Yideum and the whole mess, not the lead up to whatever this man is now expecting.

Deliberately, as he pulls back, you giggle, covering your mouth and deliberately smudging your lipstick. You rarely wear it, you’re grateful you did tonight. Laughing, you examine your stained fingers and touch your chin where the stain ends, “I have to clean myself up,” you say lightly, grabbing your bag.

“Don’t be too long,” he states, his voice low and much more a warning than the seductive tone he may be aiming for and it chills your blood. He squeezes your shoulder, letting his hand fall away, deliberately grazing your breast: you force yourself not to react as he winks at you, “I’ll guard your drink.”

It takes all the effort you have not to run to the toilets. When you get there, you hole yourself up in the farthest cubicle and take out your phone.

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Taehyung wakes from his doze instantly, the song emitting from his phone instantly recognisable. He squints in the darkness for the glowing rectangle of light and scrambles to pick up, speaking without thought, “Baby?”

“Taehyung, I’ve done something stupid,” you say shakily, your voice trembling, then you tell him about the drinking and the bar and how afraid you are.

Taehyung wants to tell you to send him your location and he’ll be there, but no, he thinks… Will you even want that? You probably want Minho or Jihoon and can’t get hold of them. Maybe Namjoon is home? So instead he says, “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Your next words kindle the dying embers of hope in his heart, “I’ll send you my location, would you please come get me?”

Taehyung smiles in joy and relief, already on his feet and heading to the door, “Leave the toilets,” he commands, “You’re not safe there, he might come looking. Head to the kitchens, or the back room, somewhere with staff, somewhere safe, and tell them I’m coming.”

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It doesn’t take Taehyung long to get there, and when he enters the bar, he spots the sleaze that had been hitting on you immediately. He measures the man up and wonders precisely how drunk you are, you are leagues above this toad. Following the nod from the bartender and your garbled text messages, he knows you’re in the kitchens and so heads immediately there, reading your directions.

He pushes on the swing door with more force than he intended, meaning you and the waitress you’ve been chatting to both look up. His eyes, wide with concern, meet yours hazy, tear-filled ones. Before he can blink, you’re off your feet and barrelling into his arms. He holds you tightly, your face pressed into his chest and kisses the top of your head, “You’re here,” you mumble, muffled by his hoodie pressed into your mouth.

“I’m here,” he confirms, “It’s ok.”

You just cry softly into him in response, “Shall I take you home?” he asks softly.

“Can’t face it,” you answer honestly, fishing your hotel key card out of your back pocket, “Please take me to my hotel.”

Taehyung does. He leads you out of the bar by the back door, thanking the waitress and drives you to the hotel. When he gets you there he hesitates until you ask him to take you to your room and again at the threshold. You knot your hands in his hoodie, “Please, please stay with me.”

“You’re safe here, baby,” Taehyung makes himself say, “I’m not sure I should.”

You look at him, dazed, confused but also vulnerable and you speak the truth as you feel it in this moment, “It’s so fucking stupid of me but I feel safe with you.”

He beams at you, the second clause deafening him to the first, “Then I’ll stay - whatever you want.”

You change in the bathroom as he strips to his boxers and a tee, obviously there’s only one bed and he smiles wryly at the trope before his heart sinks, of course there’ll be no romantic night for him, he feels stupid even hoping for it. With a heavy tread and heart, he trudges to the small sofa with the thin decorative blanket that lay atop the duvet bed, folding himself up, pretzel-like.

Taehyung doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable, so he faces the back of the sofa, away from you and the bed. He even pretends to be asleep when you emerge from the bathroom. You’re drunk still, your steps flat-footed as you try to move quietly to the bed; at the last moment, you divert and he can feel you standing over him, his heart begins to race. He can’t control the shudder as you run your index finger, your nail scratching him lightly, down his exposed spine.

“Taehyung,” you whisper softly, “Come to bed.”

He doesn’t move, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re drunk, in the morning you might regret waking up beside me.”

He hears you huff and then movement as you crouch beside him. This time it’s his gasp that he can’t contain as your soft lips trace the same line as your finger did, “Please,” you mumble into his skin before you pull back, he misses you immediately and it’s an ordeal for him not to flip over and pull you into his arms, “I know we’re not in a good place and I have a lot of thinking to do, but can’t we be friends for a moment?” you sound so forlorn that his heart aches with yours.

“I’m always your friend,” he promises, turning over to find your face closer than he expected. Your wide, teary eyes met his own gleaming ones and then your mouth is on his. He reacts instinctively, wrapping his arms about you and half-guides, half-drags you on top of him as your kisses deepen. Your tongue creeps into his mouth, shyly at first, then more demanding. He knows it’s a bad idea, but he has missed you and can’t hold himself back or bring himself to reject you when you two are so vulnerable.

His stiffening cock seems to act as an alarm bell to you, as you finally break away from him, seemingly shocked with yourself, “Taehyung, I- ” you falter.

“It’s not a good idea, I know,” he interrupts, saving you from your embarrassment, “Let’s just sleep, yeah?”

Helping you to your feet and surreptitiously adjusting his underwear, he follows you to bed. He lies on his back, arm outstretched and you immediately snuggle into the crook of his arm, one arm tucked between your bodies, the other on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his tee. Gingerly and with more caution than he’s ever used with you, he places his hand on your shoulder and interweaves the fingers of his other with your hand that rests on his chest, relief flooding through him when you hum happily and burrow into him.

He won’t sleep easily in this position, but you will, and that’s all that matters to him. He kisses the top of your head as your breath becomes more shallow and deep; he’s glad you’re relaxing but he won’t. Despite your call and your kisses, Taehyung feels more certain than he did before that this may be the last time he gets to hold you: he won’t waste those precious moments sleeping.

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Only a few hours later, you awaken, thirsty and head pounding. Taehyung releases your fingers as you pull away, immediately asking if you’re ok.

“’m fine,” you mumble tiredly, heaving yourself up and dragging your body out of bed to retrieve water and painkillers, “Hangover is hitting,” you explain as he mumbles sympathy.

Bathroom visited, pills taken and a hefty glug of water later, you return to bed, padding more gracefully than you did hours earlier, “Have you even slept?” you ask as he yawns widely, he just shakes his head.

“Silly boy,” you reprimand fondly, laying on your side, back to him, knowing how he likes to sleep, “Spoon me,” you demand.

You can feel his hesitance but he complies, and you lay still until his breathing evens out and his pouted lips huff little, soft breaths against your neck. More sober now, your mind races on what to do next and you force yourself to acknowledge that whatever else may be true, that Taehyung may be some kind of predator, that he abused your trust, that he’s troubled, that he’s lied… that you are nonetheless happiest in his arms.

Knowing that all the realities will have to be reconciled into one, new truth, you put them to one side, wisely or not, choosing to enjoy the moment in his arms.

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When he wakes up in the morning, you’re already showered and are bedecked in a fluffy hotel robe. You perch at the end of the bed, seemingly waiting for something.

As he rubs his eyes sleepily, you tell him breakfast is on the way and direct him to the shower. When he returns, clean and a little more alive, the food has already arrived and you sit with him on the tiny sofa, made even smaller by your fuzzy robes, eating croissants and fruit in a not-altogether-comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry that you had to come get me last night -” you begin.

“I’m glad you called,” he interrupts earnestly, choking a little as he swallows his food too quickly in his desire to reassure you.

Your instincts clearly get the better of you as you rush to him, concerned, water pushed into his hand before you rub his back gently. After a long drink and several shuddering breaths, he recovers himself. In an action-replay of the night before, you’re crouched beside him, looking at him in concern.

“I’m ok,” he smiles, his eyes watery, “Don’t worry.”

“I always worry about you,” you reply softly and you both take a moment to ponder all that those words could mean, looking into each other’s eyes in a mixture of hope, love and despair.

“I’m sorry,” he says weakly, looking away, feeling stupid the second that the words are out of his mouth; it’s by far too little.

His attention is drawn back to you by your small huff, unable to tell if it’s scoffing, exasperated or something else and yet again his eyes fill. You thumb his tears away, though his contented hum strangles in his raw throat as you move upwards, undoing his robe, and laying him bare as you, still wrapped tightly in yours, straddle his lap.

Shocked, Taehyung freezes, half-whispering, half-moaning your name, “Is this a good idea?”

You smile and he doesn’t recognise it at all; he’s never seen you so seductive, “No, it isn’t,” you purr and his cock twitches, “But I want it anyway.”

“Want what?” He teases, trying to sound innocent, an endeavour made even more difficult as you move closer and your bare thighs glide against his.

“You,” you say simply, ducking down to kiss his neck while his hands fist into your robe, his cock throbbing and twitching between you. Your kisses quickly become more fierce as you nip and suck the sensitive skin beneath his ear; he shudders pleasurably and soon his cock, hard and weeping, skims against you. It takes all his self control not to lift you, throw you on the bed and to sink inside you, but he knows you need this. You need to use him: he’ll let you.

Moments later, you pull back and smile, clambering off him. He watches as you tidy away the breakfast dishes, pushing the cart into the hall before you hang the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. As the door closes, you call to him without looking, “Lie on the bed please, robe off.”

He moves swiftly, shrugging off the robe and stretching out on the bed, slightly nervous and suddenly shy of his nudity. His trepidation grows when reach for his discarded robe, loosing the fluffy belt from it’s loops and approaching him. His breath trembles as you straddle him, raising and eyebrow with outstretched hands. He can do nothing but comply, offering you his shaking hands as you gently, but tightly, bind them and affix them to the headboard.

“No touching,” you whisper in his ear, biting on his ear lobe as you slide back down his body, taking a seat on his thighs, “Are you ok with this?” you ask, the real you, beneath the sexy bravado, peeking through.

He smiles reassuringly, “You can do whatever you want to me,” he promises, “I love you, I’m yours.”

Your eyes fill and he wonders if the moment is passing and you’re changing your mind. He knows what this is, it’s not really sex, though he’ll give you everything he’s got… No, when he looks at you he knows this is goodbye.

“It’s ok,” he almost whispers. You smile back, bright and real, and he knows he’s reassured you as you regain your confidence.

You lean over him and kiss his cheek, so gently and lightly he might have dreamed it; he smiles because, whatever else is troubling you, whatever else you plan to do, you still feel tenderness towards him and that’s all his broken heart could hope for. Taehyung knows he’s lost you, all he can hope for now is some sweetness in the bitterness of parting from you.

Your featherlight kisses and caresses continue all over his body, your fingers tracing circles on his clavicle, chest, hipbones and stomach. After a while, he realises you’re deliberately teasing him as he gets more turned on; you seem to be deliberately avoiding any area that might excite him more.

“Please,” he pleads desperately; you only smile softly in response. You continue your torture now, but allow your trailing fingers to skim his nipples, his cock, his balls and he wonders if this is somehow worse, to be touched where he needs it most but so lightly and without purpose. It drives him mad, and you shift more of your weight onto his thighs from your knees to keep him in place as he gently bucks his hips up towards you, aching for your touch.

“Stop it,” you warn, your voice low, “This is my party…”

He gulps and nods compliantly. His cock aches and everything you do makes his cock impossibly harder, his balls tightening. He focuses his attention on thinking how hard he’s going to fuck you when you finally cede control to him.

He sucks in a deep breath as you change strategy: now you only concentrate on his sensitive areas, sucking and nibbling at his earlobe as you tease his nipples, your fingers firmer and rougher with him than before. He realises now as he gasps, that before you were silent, but no you moan into him as you lavish attention on him. After what feel an eternity of more torture, you slide down his body and begin to roll his balls, tugging gently as you kiss his soft, flat stomach that trembles beneath the pillowy touch of your lips.

You seem to take pity on him when his moans turn to whines, and finally untie your robe, discarding it. His eyes drink in your naked body, his gaze so fixed on you that it’s a surprise when you finally grasp his cock, rubbing his throbbing head, beaded with pre-cum, along your slit before you lower yourself enough for just the tip to enter you.

“Fuck…” Taehyung moans, fighting with everything he has not to jerk his hips and fill you up. Then you raise off him, and he stutters in agony, “No, no, please, don’t stop…”

Ever generous, ever the kind, beautiful love of his life, you repeat the motion, again and again giving him all the joy of entering you and all the agony of you pulling away. He loves it and hates it but cannot deny that he’s never been harder in his life.

He watches, eyes glued on where you and he join as you slowly sink further on to him, sinking an inch and rising, then sinking a little more… It’s still torturous but the bliss of being inside you overrides it; your tight warm walls barely yield to him and like this he gets to stretch you out again and again, the warmth of you even more delicious from the chill of the room. He can’t imagine fucking anyone who isn’t you… A sob rises in his chest at the thought but is halted when you sink onto him completely, his cock filling you his tight balls pressed against your ass.

“Please don’t move,” he begs when your hands splay across his chest, “I’ll come...”

“Take your time,” you smile, rubbing his hips and he hisses through his teeth and tries not to blow his load - you’re not even fucking clenching, he thinks, and still he’s struggling to hold on, God he loves you and and your perfect cunt.

Several deep breaths later, he controls himself, “I’m good…” he assures, “Take me.”

You grin and begin to ride him at a slow steady pace, nothing special, just gentle movements up and down on his cock, occasionally teasing him by only tae the first few inches, but then riding it to the base where you pause: each time has him biting his lip as he tries not to blow his load.

He grins when, after at least ten minutes of riding him, you start to lose control yourself, fucking him harder, and stopping him from coming by letting him almost slide out of you before you slam back down. “I’m so close,” he admits, as much as he wants to come, he wants you to have your fun.

In response, you sink fully onto him, “Hold it,” you demand, before you stop riding him and grind against him, back and forth and with gentle circular motions in between. It’s the best he’s ever felt.

“Need to come,” he whines, “Please, let me…”

“Come for me,” you allow, not stopping your grind. He explodes within you as you clench around his cock, the thickest ropes of cum he’s ever released spurting inside you. The bliss and relief is earth-shattering, but strangely it doesn’t stop… usually it’s a few seconds of pure euphoria, but as you grind against him, those moments seem to spread out, his orgasm pulled along with the undulation of your hips.

He groans your name, louder and more needily than ever before, his hips stuttering as sweat beads his brow and upper lip as his orgasm itself becomes too much to handle. He can’t even speak, you’ve fucked him stupid.

You’re gentle though, you take in his pained expression, “Had enough?” you ask gently, and he nods meekly as you gently slide off him, careful not to hurt his incredibly sensitive softening cock, rolling off the bed and departing to the bathroom with your robe to clean yourself up while he swallows deep mouthfuls of air.

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Long minutes later, feeling clean again after the load Taehyung pumped into you, you cool your flushed face and smile at yourself, feeling proud of yourself for fucking him senseless. It’s then that you’re pulled from your thoughts by a gentle tap at the bathroom door, instinctively pulling your robe tighter around you, you call, “Yes?”

“Can I come in?” Taehyung asks meekly, and you can’t help but smile, wondering how long it took him to free himself from your bindings.

“Go ahead,” you say, washing your hands as a distraction from your racing heart. He enters the room and stands behind you, moving your hair and the neck of the robe so he can kiss your neck gently, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“That was something else,” he blushes as you colour in response, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you laugh, both of you strangely uncomfortable.

Your eyes meet again, “I want to make you come,” Taehyung states plainly as you gape a little in shock, “May I?”

You make a strange gurgling noise that makes him cock an eyebrow at you, and so you have to mutely nod, he grins then his grip on your waist turning you to face him before lifting you onto the counter and sinking to his knees.

He looks up at you with wide eyes before kissing your ankle, trailing soft kisses all the way up your leg to the top of your thighs, making you shudder and tremble for him. When he reaches the very top, he suddenly bites down harshly, causing you to cry out, and he sucks a massive hickie into the soft flesh, your core throbs, desire running through your body and wetness seeping through your folds. Smirking against your skin, he places a delicate kiss before he pulls you forward, his nose grazing your throbbing clit.

With broad strokes of his flattened tongue, he licks all around your folds, working his way inwards, deliberately teasing you as you did him. He licks all round, until he reaches our perineum and presses his tongue against you firstly, causing you to moan, surprising you when his firm, stretched tongue pushes into your vagina as he tongue fucks you.

You cry out his name as you grip the edge of the counter, begging for mercy. He complies, licking a broad stripe up your vagina and circling your neglected clit with his tongue. His cock is hard again and he’s too horny to torture you for long so soon he sucks your clit into his mouth, first flicking hip tongue rapidly and then nibbling. Then he begins to suck harshly as he penetrates you with two fingers. He curls his long digits as he fucks you, aiming for that sweet, spongy spot that makes you scream, pounding into you as you cry out, his lips almost numb from the onslaught he’s subjecting you too.

You chant his name in a mantra as your orgasm consumes you, bucking against his face then withdrawing in sensitivity as you come down from your high. Taehyung simply grins up at your dazed, blissed-out expression, licking his lips lasciviously. though, even in your heady state, you can see his hard cock through the folds of his gown.

You know time is running out and in your desperation you seek to turn moments into minutes and minutes into hours so you can hold on to him that little bit longer.

“Taehyung,” you say softly, “I need you inside me.”

He’s swiftly on his feet, undoing and shrugging off his robe before he unties yours. You wrap your arms around his shoulders as he grips the underside of your thighs, carrying your naked body back to the bed.

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Your arms can barely keep a grip of his shoulders as you seek to anchor yourself, getting lost in Taehyung and the pleasure of him pounding into you.

You’re past been being able to speak: you can only pant and moan and mewl variations of his name as he groans into you, similarly fuck-drunk and incoherent in his lust. He’s everywhere: his mouth sucking at your throat, one hand kneading your breast roughly, the other pressing your thigh into your body as his cock grazes your cervix, his strokes brutal and deep.

You cling to him, and realise you’re not anchoring yourself, you’re only being borne further from shore: you want to be lost in Taehyung, you want to be joined with him like this, always.

Again, he takes you over the edge and your spasming walls choke his cock, causing him to burble a strangled moan as he fucks you all the harder for it, your whole body shaking as he thrusts into you with all the he force he can muster.

You hands roam the delicate curves of his back, feeling the powerful muscles flexing there before your hand knots in his hair, bucking your hips up into him as best you can, clenching your walls around him as you come down from your high.

“Coming,” he finally grunts in warning.

“Fill me,” you beg. He does, thrusting deep, your bodies seemingly glued together, tight balls pressed to your ass as his hot cum spills into you. He moans, deep, low and throaty as you scream for him, coming again, your climax tearing through you.

Finally, spent and exhausted, you relax your tight hold on each other, Taehyung slipping out of you with a wince, and pulling you into his sweaty embrace as he you both pant weakly. He smooths your sweaty hair from your face, kissing your forehead as you both regain your senses.

Minutes later you shower together in tired, sated silence before you trudge to the comfort of the bed, climbing beneath the cum-stained duvet to fall heavily into each other’s arms.

You watch him as he sleeps. He may be done in, but his sleep is not entirely peaceful, his brow knotted and mouth twisting as he dreams uncomfortably.

You kiss his eyelids and stroke his soft locks, whispering soothing words of comfort in the hope it will reach his subconscious mind. Is this what he did with you? You wonder, and for the first time the thought doesn’t sicken you as you begin to try to understand how you really feel about him.

Your mind has sometimes been a troubled place, sometimes a light one, but always, no matter your mood, it races, always working, working, working, filled with thought and raw feeling: there was fear; there was panic; there was a loud critical voice always berating you and making you second guess yourself; there was a yearning for love but a terror of what it might mean; there was loneliness. There were all these things but there was also friendship, laughter, kindness and patience but nothing was ever enough to calm the furious beating of your terrified rabbit heart. But then there was him and your world was reshaped, reformed, rebuilt.

Your existence didn’t explode, the sphere of your days did not tilt on its axis because he came into your life. Instead, with wily tenacity, he crept up on you like the turning of the seasons. The burning heart of Taehyung surely and determinedly melted the icy box in which you contained your heart. It trembled within, like a little bird, but he could see its need through those glass-like walls and so he warmed his way in. Before Taehyung, you experienced life at a distance, keeping everything, even joy, at arm’s length; now your fragile heart, exposed in all its vulnerability, has learnt what it is to be consumed again.

You still know fear, anxiety and panic; those things will never, can never, leave you, but since Taehyung they have changed, their grip has not been so tight nor have you felt quite so alone. Taehyung has taken your heart and wrapped himself around it, building a bower for the two of you filled with hope and life. He is your spring, your fresh start, your new day, your sun-filled clear sky.

Once there was terror and a world clouded by your desperate need to protect yourself but then was Taehyung and then then there was wholeness; peace, joy and love.

Now, facing life without him, what is left?

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

It took an age for you to settle to sleep, but eventually you did, burrowing into his hold and smiling as, even in sleep, he wraps himself, sloth-like, around you. Sleep finds you then and pulls you into its depths, soothing your conflicted mind and repairing your aching body.

When you wake, hours later, the sun is low in the sky. You stagger from the bed in search of water, smiling in the orange glow of light at the sound of gentle birdsong in the last warmth of the day. Filling your glass at the bathroom sink, you wonder where to begin with Taehyung. You don’t know where you’re going next, but you’re certain that the path ahead is together.

Taking a deep breath through your nose, you return to the bedroom and realise for the first time that the bed is empty.

He’s gone.

Your heart races suddenly, but you know the bed was still warm - maybe he just nipped out or food or something? Then your name slaps you across your face: a folded note on hotel stationery on the narrow desk. You snatch it up with trembling fingers, stumbling backwards to sit on the edge of the bed as you begin to read:

“Thank you for being with me one final time. You are the love of my life. I love you so fucking much - I love you TOO fucking much to put you through having to break up with me. I know we can’t be together, I know I’ve lost you. I deserve that, but you don’t deserve the pain of having to do it. Thank you for loving me - being loved by you was the only real joy I’ve ever known. Thank you for everything you’ve given me, I wish I had been worthy of it. I love you and always will.”

Your silent tears turn to wailing sobs as you reach “Goodbye, Your Taehyung,” and again the room closes in on you.

You dress quickly and in silence. There is no bar needed now, no sleaze to flirt with, the only thought in your mind for some reason you cannot explain is the pull of that birdsong and the orange light at the close of the day: you have to reach it.

Panic doesn’t come now, only numbness and shock as you move, zombie-like, through the hotel and out into the street, wandering to the park where only yesterday or a thousand years ago, you met Yideum. As your feet meet the soft grass, you kick off your shoes, digging your toes into the soft earth and walk purposefully to the river beyond. It’s there that the birdsong is loudest, in the trees that line the curving waters. Your pace quickens as you hurry there, you don’t know what answers you expect or what relief you might find, you simply follow the urge driven by the emptiness inside you.

Ivy-strewn and crumbling, a low wall edges the deep river below. It may present a glassy surface, reflecting the branches above and the orange glowing sun, but beneath the waters swirl dangerously in frigid depths. Undeterred, you clamber on to the wall, dangling your legs onto the bank below, then you freeze, leaning forward. From the other bank a crane cocks its head at you, evaluating the interloper on its territory, its thin legs picking a careful path through the shallows.

You ease yourself backwards, slowly sitting up not to startle the bird when suddenly, and bizarrely, your shoes fly past you into the river below; the startled crane has only time for a scornful glance before it beats its wings and takes to the air just as your breath is knocked out of you. Arms close tightly around you in a suffocating grip, while you’re pulled back against a strong, firm chest containing a wildly beating heart.

“What the fuck are you doing?” shrieks Taehyung, manhandling you backwards and off the wall before he releases you, leaving the two of you staring at each other in shock.

Catching your breath, you turn the question on him, “What the fuck are you doing?” you accuse, “You walk out on me, then throw my shoes at me, then yank me about? What’s going on?” There’s no anger in you, just utter confusion as you take in his red, puffy eyes and tear-thickened voice.

He shakes his head, “No, no - that’s not what happened. I was sitting over there,” he gestures vaguely to a bench not far from where you kicked your shoes off, “Then you come in and kick your shoes off - moving like a zombie heading for the river ready to chuck yourself in!”

You frown, “Chuck myself in? What?”

“I saw you!” he cries, slightly dementedly, “You were leaning forward, planning it!”

You laugh then, a genuine laugh from deep in your belly, almost folding in half, “No, you silly sod,” you wheeze, “There was a crane, and I didn’t want to startle it… I wasn’t going to drown myself, you fool!”

“Oh…” he says, diminished and made small.

“Why’d you throw my shoes in the river?” You ask, still giggling as you look in the water to see that thankfully they’ve caught in the roots of a tree.

“To distract you,” he says from behind you, his tone sheepish and embarrassed, “So I could grab you in time.”

You face him, still smiling and even though your face is tear streaked and tired, you’ve never been more beautiful to him, “Taehyung,” you say, interrupting his reverie, “I’d like my shoes back.”

Pressing his lips together he nods and accepts his punishment. You retake your seat on the wall as he carefully climbs over and retrieves your shoes with the aid of a large stick that you pass him, your mouth twitching in amusement. When your soaked shoes have been placed beside you with a flood of apologies, he takes a seat beside you and you sit together in silence.

Eventually, blinking from the bright glare of the sinking sun, you speak, “Taehyung?” you ask softly.

“Yes?” he replies with the same tender trepidation, turning to face you.

“Can I ask something else of you?” you almost mumble, your hands nervously knotting together, nails catching in your skin as you avoid his eyes.

He places one large hand over yours to soothe you, but you don’t look up, yet neither do you flinch away and his heart is gladdened, “Anything,” he confirms. What wouldn’t he give you? His heart will always be yours even if you don’t want it.

You mutter something incoherently, tears running down your face; with his other hand he cups your chin and guides your face towards his, “Say that again ba-,” he catches himself, stubbing out the word he no longer has any right to call you.

Your lip trembles, but you manage to look him in the eye, “Please don’t leave me.”

He smiles in relief, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to, don’t worry,” he promises.

You sigh and cringe simultaneously, elaborating, “No, I mean, don’t break up with me.”

He frowns now, confused, “You were breaking up with me?” He utters, wondering what you mean… Do you need to be the one to do it? He breathes deeply, “I understand, I get it. You need closure, you need to be the one to do it. I’m sorry, I was trying to spare you it - but I get it. You do what you have to do.”

You roll your eyes now, almost amused, “That’s not what I’m saying,” you groan, “What I need is you. I’m asking you to be with me so we can work this out together.”

You thought that you had seen the full panoply of Taehyung smiles until this moment. The grin he offers you now is one of eye-disappearing heart-shaped pure joy and relief, “Really?” he asks.

“What we have, Taehyung,” you begin, “…I don’t want lose it because you majorly fucked up in the past. There’s a lot to do, there are things I’ll need you to do, but I want to do find our way through it.”

He softens, “I will do anything for you,” he promises, clutching on to your hands with both of his, “I love you.”

You kiss him gently, soothing his aching heart and racing pulse. In turn, he kisses you back, your own heart calming, the chill in your veins melting away, “I love you too.”

⍟ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⊛ ⍟

Weeks later, Minho, Jihan and Jimin sit on the far wall of Minho’s roof terrace drinking; Aera and Ellie are building up the fire pit; Jessi is setting up the grill whilst Hyejin prevents Namjoon from ‘helping’; downstairs Jihoon and Jiho are putting the finishing touches to their so-called ‘legendary’ barbecue skills, marinating meat, tofu and prepping veggies.

Minho gestures towards the seating area with a tilt of his beer, where you lean into Taehyung, his arm slung around your shoulders, his mouth pressing kisses into your hair as the two of you mumble together in your own little world, “Everything seems to be ok between those two now,” he smiles, “Though it was a bit weird for a time there,” he finishes with a pointed and searching look at Jimin.

Jimin holds his hands up, “I admit I caused some chaos for a while there, but it was necessary and it’s all worked out.”

“Has it?” Minho presses, “Because I heard he’s in therapy now and the three of you went sloping off to see his mother and all sorts of strangeness - I’m just looking out for her.”

Jihan, to whom Taehyung has confessed everything, nods, “Look, Minho, Taehyung fucked up in the past ok? He didn’t do any of the things Jiho thought he’d done, but he did some seriously shitty stuff. The people who need to know, know now and he’s working on himself. He loves her, he’s no threat to her - trust me.”

“Trust us,” Jimin reinforces, “We’re with him, every step of the way and we are keeping an eye on him too.”

Minho doesn’t like not knowing, but he accepts there’s probably a reason for it. His gaze lingers on the two of you, your outlines picked out in gold from the setting sun. He has to admit that whatever has happened between you has tipped the scales of your relationship: Taehyung is no longer the dominating force he once was… to Minho things seem more balanced somehow. There seems to be a solid fulcrum between you finally: a centre that holds you both steady. He smiles as watches Taehyung interlace his fingers with yours, the two of you settling together in harmony. Minho might not know everything, but he knows what love is and what peace is and how elusive both can be… as you and Taehyung try to secretly share a giggly kiss, he knows you two have found it with each other.

<<< Back to masterlist

A/N: This chapter ends the story and my time writing on Tumblr for the foreseeable future - I hope one day I have more writing to share. Thanks for reading - I’d appreciate you sharing your thoughts if you’d be so kind.

Finally, a big thanks to anyone who has read and supported my writing. I really appreciate everything you’ve said and done.

Love you all,

Ffion 💛

#taehyung fanfic #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts fanfic #bts smut #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #bangtanwhq #btswritersclub #minors please don’t read

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ask-james-madison-stuff · 1 month

Note

After the events with Dolley a few weeks passed

Caroline and James were at a convince store

James:

-I forgot something in the car I’ll be back soon ok honey?

Caroline:

You got it dad!

James smiled as he left Caroline stayed waiting for her dad until she noticed Josephine and Diane inside the convince store together. They didn’t see Caroline

Diane:

-So how was the meeting your mom had with your dead beat

Josephine:

-I dunno and I don’t care

*Josephine said siping some cold drink*

Diane:

-Uh huh well there has to be something in your past that’s must be interesting

Josephine:

-……

Diane:

-I understand if you don’t want to speak about but just know I’m always here for you babe

Josephine sighed:

- I've been through ten high schools

They start to get blurry

No point planting roots

'Cause you're gone in a hurry

My mom keeps two suitcases packed in the den

So it's only a matter of when

I don't learn the names

Don't bother with faces

All I can trust is this concrete oasis

Seems every time I'm about to despair

There's a convince store right there

Each store is the same

From Las Vegas to Boston

Linoleum aisles that I love to get lost in

I pray at my altar of slush

Yeah, I live for that sweet frozen rush

Freeze your brain

Suck on that straw

Get lost in the pain

Happiness comes

When everything numbs

Who needs cocaine?

Freeze your brain

…… Care for a hit?

Diane:

-Does your

Does your mommy know you eat all that crap?

Josephine:

-Nope she is too busy with work to even notice. When my dad abandoned mom I lived quite lonely

I learned to cook pasta I learned to pay rent

Learned the world doesn't owe you a cent

You're planning your future, My dear Diane,

But the sky's gonna hurt when it falls

So you'd better start building some walls

Freeze your brain

Swim in the ice

Get lost in the pain

Shut your eyes tight

'Til you vanish from sight

Let nothing remain

Freeze your brain

Shatter your skull

Fight pain with more pain

Forget who you are

Unburden your load

Forget in six weeks

You'll be back on the road

When the voice in your head

Says you're better off dead

Don't open a vein

Just freeze your brain

Freeze your brain

Go on and freeze your brain

*Diane put her hand on Josephine*

Josephine:

-Wanna try it?

Josephine said giving her slushie to Diane

But they didn’t knew Caroline was listening that whole time

"Alright I'm back-you alright hun?"

#hamilton #hamilton musical #ask blog #james madison #hamilton rp #asks open #thomas jefferson #ask me anything #send asks #role play

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elpida · 2 months

Note

[ JACKET ]: sender notices the receiver beginning to shake after an immensely distressing incident, and removes their own jacket to wrap it around the receiver’s shoulders. (For Sienna)

Sienna Venri always looked tired, because she was. She was constantly in this state of being prepared and exhausted, just how they liked her. Before the world went down she'd had basic training, and that in turn meant she'd had value when the whole world ended and became this, but at least this was.. something. She barely knew the outside but she did know damaged people, how to fix them, how to try to keep the ones that were still alive, breathing.

It was late, most people had gone to their homes but not her.. she'd barely been off shift an hour and fresh air seemed important. She'd sat quietly on her own, staring up at the night sky with a mug in her hand, perched on a log off to the side of the community area. She didn't really mingle with them too much and above all else, she was just incredibly lonely. She sat beside people and nursed them either to health, or to their death. Those were the harder nights, ones where she felt a pressing responsibility and guilt resting on her, like tonight. Nights where that guilt made it impossible to close her eyes and relax so instead she sat star gazing until the rest of the world was somewhat silent in her absence.

The thing is her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and in the cracks of her knuckles, under her nails, remained blood that she had scrubbed her hands raw trying to rid herself off. Someone had bled out on her tonight and there was.. nothing she could do about it. Right in her hands... her hands... the thought kept circling and then rather than staring up in a daze, she was staring at how her hands trembled. The mug in one hand was shaking so bad that the tea in it spilled out and onto her hands and sleeve until she dropped the mug. She was going to start to panic, it wasn't enough, her hands hadn't helped, her hands, her hands-... there it was again, circling in her head that her hands had not helped, they had hindered.

She was panicking, they'd mock her for it ridicule her, she was meant to perform great under pressure but now.. now that she had a moment to breath she was seizing. Her chest wanted to constrict and cave inward, someone died in her hands... it was all starting to go wrong, and then came the warmth. A gentle weight around her, a toasty heat to lean her shoulders into, a little comfort around her that let her lungs expand and the air flood in. She didn't know who it was until she turned her head and saw him. Rick Grimes. Now she helped a lot of people but she had never forgotten him. They wheeled him into her in terrible shape, god he'd been so week and all they'd ordered her was to 'keep him alive.' She wasn't meant to speak or help any more than medically required but when they weren't looking she'd speak calm words, hush well wishes.. and calm down each confused nightmare. Sienna didn't need to know him in order to break the rules just to offer him her compassion and now when she needed that same scrap of care from someone, she'd got it but what did it matter? He wouldn't remember her, he'd been unconscious for the most and all she had been was a silent, fleeting thing at his bed side.

"Thank you... Thank you, I'm fine, just umm..." she wondered if he recognised her voice, wondered if maybe he recalled how she'd take his hand and whisper that he was safe in her hands. It was starting to come back to her, now that her hands had slowly started to calm from their vicious shaking. She swallowed thickly, reaching down for the pieces of mug that had shattered and shuffled herself across a little. "Sorry I-.. I think my head was more in the stars than I realised." a nervous laugh left her when she looked back up to him and then to the little space beside her that her eyes gestured to. "Do you.." she wasn't meant to, they wouldn't like it. Friends that knew nothing, that's what they'd instruct her, keep them all oblivious to the things she knew. "Do you want to sit with me for a while? I'm not the best company but.. I do try to be better than four walls and silence."

#SUE ME OKAY #SUE ME #THROW ME INTO JAIL #I DID WHAT I DID #YOU KNOW I HAD TO #sienna&rick #he's like her star in the sky on a dark night honestly AND WHAT OF IT THEY'RE BABIES SDFKLGHSKLDFGJSDF G

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maccreadysbaby · 1 year

Note

THAT ENDING!!!?? I gotta know what happens 🥺😭

your wish is my commanddddd (also i kinda love them)

< prev part

next part >

DEMOLITION AND RE-CONSTRUCTION™︎

The day Logan left was the worst day of y/n’s life

It seemed like forever the four of them shared hugs and tears at the airport before he left for Santa Monica

Hesh was there, too, but the normal excitement he brought was nothing more than extra tears from McKade and Elliot upon realizing he was leaving, too

the car ride back home was silent, and while y/n cried silently in the front seat, they did so in the back, too

That night was excruciating. The boys went straight to their rooms and didn’t come out again. Y/n tried to have them come down for dinner but the door was locked and they weren’t responding

so, for the first night since she’d married Logan, y/n slept alone

the next day was a school day, but she didn’t make them go. She just let them sleep in

Elliot finally came out for food at about noon, and was pretty quiet, but McKade didn’t venture downstairs until almost four

there weren’t many words exchanged on the first day Logan was gone

he called y/n when he landed in California and told her communication might be hard, and it was

they only got to face time him like, once or twice a week, depending on what he was doing

And once the boys were done with the call he’d give y/n updates on the ghosts, about how Hesh was holding up alright but he missed home, about how Keegan got shot but he’s doing okay, how Kick was sporting a nice concussion and Merrick was waring himself out trying to keep all of them safe

after the boys got out of earshot was always when he let her know just how homesick he really was, how brutal it was fighting now that he had a family, how much more terrifying the thought of dying was now that there were people he would leave behind

it wasn’t often that Logan cried, but he did when he was on the phone with her

the boys started getting in trouble at school again, taking out their emotions on others, and y/n was not mentally prepared to deal with it

it caused catastrophic fights between her and the boys that always ended in slammed doors and tears

She tried to call Logan afterwards but on her worst days he never seemed to be available

The whole situation was like life was just laughing in her face

and to make matters worse, the projected time frame of Logan’s return was January

it was October

y/n was constantly in pain, whether that be the realization that her husband was facing death that very second or the fact that her sons were becoming two kids she didn’t even recognize anymore. Quiet, closed off, angry, irritable

And what hit her harder than all of that was the fact that she was changing, too

there are many stories of family members not recognizing a soldier’s new demeanor when they returned, shaken up from war, but what really broke her heart…

… was Logan even gonna recognize them when he got home?

what had been the most beautiful part of y/n’s life had been shattered all by one order given by one man

one order given by one man had turned her into a mess, had destroyed her sons, had sucked her husband back into the panic-inducing, personality-stripping world of war he thought he was done with

when had she given one order from one man that much authority over her life? The authority to strip away parts of herself and her children?

she decided, just then, that that wasn’t how it was gonna work. She and her sons were going to be the support that Logan had always been for them when he got home. They were going to be themselves, they were going to be his anchor, they were going to be what kept him grounded, reminded him of what really mattered because that’s what he was for them

she couldn’t let him come home to a destroyed family. She wouldn’t

so she went to work. She made the boys wake up for pancake Saturdays again, and made sure to launch one at their faces even if they got mad

she took extra good care of the chickens, taught the boys all the tips and tricks she’d learned off of YouTube no matter how many times they asked if they could go inside yet, she made them get outside, made them get fresh air, made them remember why they loved life before. After all, this was just a hiccup, and they’d be on the other side soon

She reminded them that their dad loved them, and that when he got home, he needed them, not the masks they’d put on or the shells they’d grown into

so, slowly, they started to heal. McKade and Elliot started to wake up by themselves for pancake saturdays. They wanted to come collect eggs before school. They wanted to be happy, to be free, to be the same kids Logan had left at home that Tuesday evening

although it was nothing close to normal, life regained its routine

The boys started doing better at school again. Although they were always a person short, family dinners were guaranteed, and y/n stopped going to bed wondering how many nights she could stand without hearing “good nights” and “love you”s

they called Logan as often as he was able, and spent as much time communicating with him as they could

even though he and y/n still cried on the phone pretty often, she was just grateful her tears weren’t as heavy as before

november passed quickly, and December, too

and on a faithful January night, as they all waited for their (sort of planned) weekly call with Logan, her phone started ringing

the three of them cuddled up on the couch with big smiles at the name they held so dear on the caller ID

But as soon as y/n hit that green button, her face fell, and her heart sank into her stomach

it wasn’t Logan on the screen, but Hesh. His eyes were red and his skin was pale and he looked… not okay

”hesh? What’s going on?” She questioned, pulling the phone closer to her face. He sucked in a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment

”y/n, boys… this is not how I wanted our next phone-call to go,”

#cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #logan walker x reader #call of duty logan #logan walker #hesh walker

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rosella-writes · 2 years

Note

happiest of Fridays to you Ro and happy HAPPY dadwc!! I know you're in the trespasser feels rn👀 so how about some Virelan x Solas with "the dead can survive as part of the lives of those that still live."?

So this consumed my evening, and wasn't something I had planned to write quite yet, but um... yeah? Have some Trespasser angst and eluvian smutte, I guess! This is where Tulin begins (as a surprise to everyone).

Pairing: Virelan Lavellan x Solas Rating: M for non-explicit sex and angste Words: 1565 For: @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“If I live,” Virelan gasped, “I’m coming to stop you.”

Solas’s eluvian-bright eyes flickered, then lowered to the hand that had all but blasted apart under the force of her repeated sacrifices. But he did not stand. He did not move away.

He put out an upraised palm.

“I know.”

Of course he would. They had always been this way — pulling, pushing until they drove each other mad. He knew her. He knew her inside and out, her every secret, her every shameful desire, her every guilty moment. Solas — for he never would be Fen’Harel, not really, not to her — knelt before her on the broken flagstones of their once great people and held out his hand. Not as a magnanimous god, but as the man she’d always known him to be.

And she hated him for it.

“Give me your hand,” he said, so gently she thought she might fly apart in rage.

But she obeyed him — Creators (shit) help her, she obeyed him. And the first touch of his hand in two years was enough to shatter them both.

He tugged it towards him — to cast his spell? to draw her closer? — and she saw his face tighten and the shield over his eyes drop. His touch was an instant balm on her hand, and where there had been only wrenching, tearing pain for so long there was suddenly nothing. The relief of that alone was enough to bring tears pricking to her eyes, but his proximity sparked another kind of relief, another grief she didn’t realise needed to be sated.

Suddenly it was everything at once — that familiar way he slid his fingers between hers, the way he looked at her, the warmth of him and the scent of him that still lingered in her dreams — that spurred her to do it. No fear of him as this ancient, unknowable being could squash the years-old instinct to kiss him when he was being difficult.

And he was being so, so difficult.

There was no world around her but for him — no massive shining eluvian, through which he’d try to escape. No ruined elven temple in the distance. No Qunari in the valley turned to stone. Just his hand holding hers, soothing the Anchor into nothing, and the betrayal of his pupils swallowing his irises whole — just as they did years ago whenever she made him wait, days and days and weeks and weeks, for her to touch him.

She choked out something — his name? she didn’t even know — and stumbled forward on her knees. He caught her — this is him, this is him, he’s here, he’s here — and slid his opposite hand to the nape of her neck.

It was as if no time had passed at all. It didn’t matter that there was strange armour under her hands, or that stones gritted under their knees, or that the Anchor was only kept at bay by his iron grip on her left hand. The way he guided her into a kiss was the same as it had always been — his fingers at her nape that then slid to her jaw, as if to guide it up and back to meet his kiss partway. Her mouth caught his as it always had, with a clumsy little bite at first with too much eagerness, too much urgency, too much anger.

It might’ve only been a kiss, if he hadn’t sighed a little whine at the back of his throat.

He was pathetic. He was an idiot. He was a cruel fool and he was here he was hers he was everything and she was in his lap, scrambling, pushing at his interlocked belts and buckles and complex armour until he fell back against the flagstones with her thighs around his hips.

She knew him. She knew him.

His grasp was constant on her left hand, holding her together, so she was forced to fumble between them at the fucking armour until something gave. All the while she kissed him on his mouth, his jaw, his throat, cursing him until her throat grew hoarse.

He didn’t speak.

“You don’t have to,” she was begging, cursing, “you don’t have to do it. They’re dead.”

He sobbed something out, but kissed her back instead of trying to go after the words again. His free hand clutched at her thigh beneath her kilt, kneading into her flesh.

“They’re dead and we’re here, Solas,” she ground out, drawing her teeth down his exposed neck. She bared more as she pushed his stupid fucking wolf pelt off his shoulder. She plucked at it at his waist until it fell free, then at the buckles holding his greaves in place.

“Here,” he murmured, “here.”

He helped her, still not responding but for smothered sounds and one-word encouragements. He allowed her angry, fumbling movements, ones that ripped and clawed, while keeping his own touch gentle and firm and sweet. Some unidentifiable emotion gripped her tight within her ribs and tried to strangle sobs from her lungs — anger, perhaps, or sadness, or —

“The dead can survive in our lives, Solas,” she stammered between kisses on his throat. “The lives of those of us who live. Haven’t I shown you that? Can’t I show you that?”

He didn’t speak, still — he just raised her left hand, held together by loose wraps of leather, and pressed her shattered fingertips to his lips.

With his greaves free and cast aside, scraping across the stone, the finely made mesh beneath moved like silk under her hands. They both gripped it and shoved down — he pushed her hands aside and reached into the slit of her kilt. He followed the line of her inner thigh to her scar with an expert touch, one that knew her — knew every inch of her body like he knew his own, perhaps even better. He found the scar that led to her groin and followed along it, as he did so many times those years ago, and pushed her smallclothes aside.

They’d been good at this, the two of them. Perhaps not on shattered cobblestones, clad head to toe in leather and steel, but at making love in the most awkward, roundabout of ways. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he was effectively pinned to the ground by her knees, or that he had only the rough surface of those stones to rest his head on — he just stared up at her with those wide, wanting eyes, her hand pressed to his mouth, and groaned out a helpless sound when she worked him free and sat back on him.

He kept the Anchor from flaring, as it so often did in times like these, and did not look away.

She hooked her fingers under his breastplate, her grip around that stupid, decorative belt on his chest — he always wore one of these, why did he always wear one of these — and told him how she felt in the only way she knew how.

Virelan did not deal in words. She dealt in action. And where she could not fully express her anger, her betrayal, her sadness, her yearning with mere words, she showed him instead.

He said he loved her — did he? could he really? — but it was her turn to be bereft of words. Even the accusations were gone. She just pulled until he propped himself up on one hand, chest so near to hers that she could have hugged him, and ground down into his lap.

Solas’s sounds were the same — the twist of his face was the same — the murmured words of affection were the same as they always had been, and that stoked that rage hotter, that betrayal colder, until she felt wrung dry by it. She didn’t know how she could come from this — an angry coupling on the ground, pinched by armour and feeling her knees scrape along the stones — but she did, in a slow wave of grief and seizing want. She clutched at his armour tighter and pulled until his forehead thudded forward against hers.

“I can’t change your mind,” she hissed, moving erratically and grieving the end of this already, “I never have been able to. I’ve never mattered —”

His breath caught. “You do.”

“Don’t —” she snapped, teeth gritted, eyes shut. “Just… give me this, before I have to throw my all into trying to kill you.”

His gasped sob would’ve been pathetic if she hadn’t also lost her breath. He just remained as close as he could physically get to her — her hand remained clutched in his, and he pressed it to his mouth again as if to silence himself. He closed his eyes.

Virelan lost track of the end. Solas held her in the aftermath, as if unwilling to let her go, but the Anchor was inevitable. Everything tilted as they parted, as if his departure was the destruction of her world already, and she dimly registered him shifting her armour and his own back into place. He cupped her cheeks with both his hands — hers was dissolving to nothing already, painlessly — and pressed a final kiss to her mouth.

“My love,” he called her.

As he disappeared through the eluvian, and she heard the one behind her open to allow her companions through, she could only register the ghostly feeling of Solas’s lips pressed to fingers she no longer had.

#dadwc #dragon age #virelan lavellan #solas #solavellan #dragon age inquisition #my writing #virelan x solas #lemon #ish?#yeah #trespasser #eluvian

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bunky-writes · 1 year

Text

World Past Six

Chapter 1:

”The Incident ”

The first thing I recall before ‘The Incident’ is waking up, it was a sweaty and awful awakening. It'd been the most alarming heatwave yet and no matter how many fans we used, it was like satan's foul breath had been blown all over Sweden.

Most nights were spent in bed or in front of the TV with fans desperately attempting to blast the heat away. And when you're young and poor, that's pretty much all there was.

I'd spent my entire life so far assuming I'd be taking over the world by the time I was 25. Little did I know the whole world would be destroyed by bombs.

Although I still have 6 years left so who knows? Maybe I will be the man who decides the fate of the human race. Or maybe I'll become the diplomat between humans and a reformed reptilian race after I spend a few years living with a whole bunch of aliens.

No matter what, I'd still better be having fun because I've managed to live longer than a lot could.

Since the day I was born, I didn't like school, most likely because I was an art kid, too busy writing stories in my head, envisioning paintings, and so forth.

By age 10 I'd already seen many conflicts on the news so I knew the effects of war and was terrified of another World War. I worked hard to get good grades, attended the right kind of classes, and pretty much did everything I could to prepare myself for the future and yet still stay happy. This was even though by age 17, the world was on the brink of a third World War. I always figured that if I didn't become a professor then I would become a writer. And if I didn't become a writer then I would find some other profession where I’d write, maybe a journalist. So I spent my last 2 years at school studying, but before I knew it my mom fell ill, deathly ill.

I had to quit school to look after her. I had no idea what was wrong. I didn’t dare ask mom or dad about the illness. I just knew that I was supposed to take care of her while my dad worked. It was a lonesome reality and I still remember being so frightened because I knew what was coming. The knock on the door eventually came and my father broke the news to us. I remember nothing but wails and a strong embrace. I felt like I was in the way of doing what I needed to do, I was in the way of the peace that was supposed to be coming.

The worst part is, I was angry, so angry, that my dad’s new wife had ’replaced’ my mom. I was angry that my mom just left me, all of us, alone to deal with this tragedy. How could she? I was always so convinced that my mom and I were in this together and now I was alone.

After a couple of weeks, I stopped crying, though. I don't know if it was because my dad never cried or that I was in the process of dealing with so much. I don't know. My stepmom was nice, too nice, I felt nauseous from the guilt for wishing she'd been the one to die instead of my mom.

I didn't blame my dad for what happened to my mom, but I did blame his lack of reaction. He was just numb, and I feared that his apathetic demeanor would shatter if I spoke up about mom. I felt enraged and abandoned.

I moved in with my dad and his new wife. He was working long hours and so he didn't spend a lot of time with me. The only time he did was when he took me out to eat or watch a movie. If I was at home alone he would tell me to go to school or work but he never seemed to care that much in reality. He was a indifferent man and I was intimidated by him.

I think he wanted me to become a better person than he was. He probably wanted me to have a higher career and become a doctor, or something, and to avoid being a secretary or a clerk or even a fast food employee. But then one day he and his wife left to visit Colorado for vacation, and I went with them. But while they went to explore the state, I stayed in the BnB they had rented and played video games all day. And that was when the shit hit the fan.

It happened quickly. All of a sudden my phone was going off, bombarded by notifications from local news sources. Bombs had been launched, from both USA and Russia. A war had begun. The one that everyone thought would never happen. The one that everyone had been hoping to avoid.

Suddenly I was in an Uber, heading toward the nearest bunker.

I had a choice to make. Would I save my family? My friends? Would I sit this one out and accept the consequences? Or would I fight for the future of my country? And I knew that only one of those options was going to save my life.

There was nothing left for me to do but flee. I wasn't a trained soldier, sure my dad had shown me survival tips and a few self-defense moves, but that wouldn't help anyone. I knew my dad and friends alike would've wanted me to live, there was no reason for me to go on a suicide mission.

I don't know why but there's a hole in my memory between me getting into an Uber and a scene from my nightmares unfolding. The car stopped, and the driver slumped over, bloody. I stumbled out of the car, the streets were dripping red. Mangled bodies, unidentifiable.

My face was probably pale as if I'd aged ten years overnight. There was fire everywhere, and people screaming. My skin was bloody, but I wasn’t the one hurt. My hands were covered in red. Every ten minutes or so I would flinch, startled by a sound. Seconds would go by before I would be able to calm myself to remember to breathe. My mind went blank. I didn't know how long I'd been stumbling around, but I knew I'd had to hide. I wanted to run. I wanted to wake up from a bad dream. But the worst part was the burned doll, abandoned, in a broken stroller.

I was no longer the person I had been. Instead, I was a weak, vulnerable adolescent.

I was running down the street, my hands were trembling. A man in a military uniform screamed for people to get inside the bunker, he grasped my arm and threw me in. Suddenly the door closed with a bang, and then silence. But not for long, the ground shook with the power of an explosion. The door felt hot to the touch, practically burning.

I sat down on the floor, or more like toppled, and attempted to calm my nerves. I took deep breaths, over and over again. Eventually, I looked around at the people who were at the bunker’s entrance with me. I flinched when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned around and saw the face of a middle-aged man, his face bloody and scratched, his clothes torn. I jumped to my feet, my hands shaking.

"Stay calm, we're all going to get out of this," he said, patient and somewhat monotone.

He had a thick southern accent, it would not surprise me if he was a farmer, he certainly had the build for it. He was like a bear, broody and towering over me and he seemed grim and stoic. Although not dangerous, his hazel eyes seemed kind. His blonde hair slightly hid his graying strands, he was probably in his mid-40s.

Although he seemed kind enough, I couldn’t let my guard down yet, but I had to play along. I looked down at the ground and gave him a weak nod.

"I'm…-he coughed, clearly uncomfortable- sorry for what has happened to you."

I nodded again, then felt an ice-cold shiver down my spine.

"My dad... he, he didn't make it, did he?" I asked, putting my hand on my chest, already starting to feel the hidden wounds that would never fully heal.

He shook his head.

"I’m the only man old enough to be your dad here. Sorry, kid"

My sight darkened, disoriented, and lost. I couldn't look at him anymore. I couldn't see anything. Just a black mist filled my vision. I could taste bile in my mouth, ready to escape. I was drowning, everything was distant and blurry. My lungs crying out for air yet refused to take a breath if I moved the whole world would shatter, and I’d plunge into a black hole, to be forgotten. To no longer feel or think.

"Are you okay?"

I heard a feminine voice say behind me. But I didn’t dare to turn and see the pitiful look in their eyes.

I wanted to say something, scream that I was not fucking okay, anything to reveal that I wasn't fine. My last family member was no longer alive and there was likely not even a fucking body to recover. And the last thing I said was something as indifferent as a hummed ”goodbye”. My heart was screaming and wailing, but I couldn't find any strength. I couldn’t utter those words.

"Yeah," I whispered.

#apocalypse #my ocs #ocs #original character #original story #post apocalyptic #idk bro #how do i tag help #world past six

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nyandereneko · 1 year

Text

Brittle

Word Count: 578

Summary: “They weren’t to be separated, there was no need to be, their natures weren’t incompatible, they were a comforting match, natural counterparts.”

Author’s Note: This is a simple emotive piece for Zhongli and Nova that highlights both the depth of their devotion to each other and just how shaken being separated has left them, although it's much more descriptive than plot driven. I’m planning on posting more pieces like this in the coming weeks, just little pieces based on one word prompts or something to help encourage me to post more lol. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

*****

Sometimes when his trembling flesh met hers, cautious fingers ghosting over the fine hair on her forearm, occasionally lingering at the elbow to trace the prominent joint, she seemed so terribly brittle; a timid, fragile thing ready to shatter in his grasp at the slightest provocation. Skin as delicate as silk was stretched over ivory bones and scarlet sinews, the essential fabric from which the universe had woven the most precious thing in the world to him into being.

Not brittle in the sense that she was weak, mind you, or that she couldn’t hold her own in a fight.

She was fierce and focused and methodical when the situation called for it, and he could feel his pulse jump any time he allowed his thoughts to wander through the plentiful memories of the instances where she’d showcased her prowess in battle. Swift, silent, striking like a seasoned predator as soon as an opening presented itself. It was a marvel to observe her engaged in any form of movement, and perhaps it was only natural to expect such a distracting degree of infatuation from the man who just couldn’t seem to look away from her in a general sense.

Sometimes he could swear a tear in the fabric of reality itself caught his eye in the sharp arc where her claws sliced the wind in the heat of battle; an unintended byproduct of her mystical nature? Or just a simple trick of the light, stirred up by the frenzied current of his preoccupied thoughts…

He was drawn to her as the earth entangles the moon in the pull of its yearning gravity. And the moon responds with a dance of its own, a series of repeating phases, a routine that the two mirrored in the unpredictable balance of their reckless, unshakable love. As tumultuous as their unpredictable future could prove to be, they were confident there were no circumstances so devastating that they couldn’t be weathered as long as they tackled them together. After being separated against their wills (and more than once, at that, much to their shared dismay) which only worsened as time stretched on in lonesome agony, there were few moments in the present that the overprotective lovers didn’t spend in one another’s company.

The next time tragedy struck, they’d be prepared. They’d be inseparable. They’d go down together or not at all, evolve or devolve in a synchronous rhythm not unlike the familiar beating of a breathing heart, no in between, no doubts, no hesitation. Nothing but the reassurance of the pressure of hands joined like two halves of a natural whole, something that was always meant to be. That was all the support they needed—seemingly insignificant, yet anything but for the parties involved. Nothing was too trivial between them, as it always should’ve been, as it always would be.

All that was left now was to defend their brittle bliss at any cost, just as he longed to safeguard the vulnerable soul he cradled in his sacred hold, nestling it against the divine vessel he called his own. They weren’t to be separated, there was no need to be, their natures weren’t incompatible, they were a comforting match, natural counterparts. So relieved to have finally found each other, and vehemently determined to maintain that bond no matter the adversity that stalked them like rabid rifthounds through the wilderness; ceaseless, starving, tenacious.

Not entirely unlike the state of the lovestruck pair’s ravenous, bottomless hearts.

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pretty-little-candid-blurbs · 9 months

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shattered minds pt2

Struggling in the Shadows

Weeks turned into months, and Spencer's depression showed no signs of relenting. The burden he carried grew heavier with each passing day, and (Y/N) felt her heart ache with helplessness. The BAU team continued to be a constant presence, supporting both Spencer and (Y/N) as they navigated through the darkness together.

Hotch arranged for Spencer to take some time off work, insisting that he needed the space to heal without the pressures of their demanding job. It was a difficult decision for Spencer, who had always found solace in the familiarity of his work. But he knew that the gruesome cases were taking a toll on his fragile mental state, and he reluctantly agreed.

The apartment they shared became their sanctuary, a safe place where they could both try to heal. It was filled with love, yet the darkness loomed over them like a cloud, threatening to consume them both. (Y/N) tried her best to be a source of strength for Spencer, but her own worries and fears began to take their toll.

One evening, as they sat together on the couch, (Y/N) mustered the courage to share her feelings. "Spencer, I'm so scared. I don't know if I can handle this pain and uncertainty. It's tearing me apart to see you suffer like this."

He turned to her, his eyes filled with sadness. "I know I'm putting you through so much, and I hate that I can't just be better for you. You deserve someone who isn't broken."

(Y/N) shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "You're not broken, Spencer. You're just hurting, and that's okay. We'll get through this together."

As the night wore on, they held each other close, finding solace in their shared vulnerability. Their love had always been a refuge, a place where they could be themselves without judgment, and in that moment, they clung to it with everything they had.

But the path to healing was far from linear, and there were moments of setback that tested their resolve. One day, Spencer had a particularly difficult therapy session that left him feeling more defeated than ever. He retreated to the bedroom, unable to face (Y/N) or the rest of the world.

(Y/N) gave him space but refused to abandon him. She knew that he needed her now more than ever, even if he couldn't express it. Sitting by the door, she leaned her forehead against it, speaking softly through the crack, "I love you, Spencer. You're not alone in this. I'm here for you, no matter what."

On the other side of the door, Spencer's heart ached at the sound of her voice, but he couldn't bring himself to respond. The darkness seemed to swallow him whole, and he felt like he was losing his grip on reality.

That night, the BAU team gathered once again at (Y/N)'s place. Their concern for Spencer had grown deeper, and they brainstormed ideas on how to help him. Emily suggested that they try alternative therapies like art or music to help him express his emotions in a different way.

Garcia, known for her tech-savviness, thought of organizing virtual game nights, hoping that laughter and connection might lift Spencer's spirits. Morgan, having faced his own demons in the past, shared his experience with therapy and encouraged Spencer to keep trying.

With the team's support, (Y/N) ventured into the world of alternative therapies. She bought art supplies, and together, they created a space where Spencer could express himself without words. Painting became an outlet, allowing him to release some of the emotions that words couldn't capture.

The virtual game nights brought moments of levity to their lives. In those brief respites from the darkness, Spencer smiled and laughed, his eyes briefly reflecting a glimmer of the person he once was.

But beneath it all, the pain lingered, and (Y/N) couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't doing enough. She sought advice from Dr. Tara Lewis, a trusted colleague and friend, who reminded her of the complexities of depression.

"Depression isn't something you can fix, (Y/N). It's not your job to 'fix' Spencer," Tara said gently. "Your role is to support him, to be there for him, but ultimately, it's his battle to fight."

Tara's words struck a chord within (Y/N). She had been so desperate to help Spencer that she had lost sight of her own boundaries. She realized that it was okay to feel overwhelmed and unsure. What mattered was that she loved him and was willing to be there, even in the darkest times.

As the seasons changed, Spencer's journey through depression continued. There were days when the weight of it all felt unbearable, and he would retreat into himself, pushing everyone away. But there were also days when he found glimmers of hope, where the darkness seemed less suffocating.

The BAU team remained a steadfast pillar of support. They took turns spending time with Spencer, offering friendship and understanding without judgment. They accepted that healing took time, and they were willing to walk this difficult path with him.

One evening, as the sun set on another day, Spencer and (Y/N) sat on their balcony, their hands intertwined. The sky painted in hues of orange and purple, (Y/N) found the courage to share her thoughts.

"I used to believe that love could conquer anything, that if we just held onto each other tightly enough, we could weather any storm," she said softly. "But now I know that it's not that simple. Love is important, but it doesn't magically fix everything. We have to learn to navigate through the broken pieces together."

Spencer turned to her, his eyes filled with love and gratitude. "You're right. It's not easy, and I don't know if I'll ever fully recover from this darkness. But having you by my side gives me hope. It makes the journey a little less lonely."

They stayed there, wrapped in each other's arms, finding comfort in their shared vulnerability. The road ahead was uncertain, but they were in it together, knowing that their love and the support of the BAU team would carry them through the darkest of times.

As the months passed, the shadows began to recede, ever so slightly. Spencer still carried the scars of his battle with depression, but he was learning to live with them. And (Y/N) stood by his side, not trying to fix him, but simply loving him for who he was, broken pieces and all.

Their love story was not one of fairytale endings, but of resilience, understanding, and acceptance. It was a testament to the strength of love in the face of darkness, and the power of human connection to carry us through the toughest of times.

And so, Spencer Reid and (Y/N) continued to walk the path of healing, knowing that the journey was ongoing, but that they had each other and the support of the BAU team to guide them through the broken pieces and into the light.

#spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer x bau!reader #spencer x reader #spencer fic #spencer reid fluff

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countlessrealities · 1 year

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Discussed starter for @vastayan--vigilante - Powder & Scar

Two weeks.

Two weeks since the night her whole life had shattered into a thousand, sharp pieces. Two weeks since her sister, the only person she had left in her life, had cursed and abandoned her. Two weeks of roaming aimlessly in the streets of Zaun, trying to survive. Two weeks of too little food and too little sleep.

And then there were the voices. Loud and distorted and yet still so very painfully familiar. They haunted her, echoing inside her head, no matter how much she covered her ears, no matter how loud she screamed. They never shut up, just as the flashes of those figures, crooked and with monstrous masks painted on their faces. They were always there, at the corner of her eye, whispering from the recesses of her mind.

They drove her crazy. They were her only company. They were malicious, cruel, mocking. They were the only constant in her now collapsed world. They polluted her reality, but at the same time they were the only things that felt palpable.

She hated them, but she didn't know if she could have held on without them.

Because you're a jinx! Mylo was right!

Powder hugged her knees a little tighter pressing her head between them. Both her clothes and her skin were covered in dirt, and there were several holes in her pants. The bruises she had gotten during her most recent fight over some scraps still ached, and so did her empty stomach. She had no idea of how long she could have gone on like that. And for what? The hope that Vi would change her mind and take her back?

The image of her sister as she had last seen her flashed in her mind. Her expression contorted in rage and sorrow. The words she had yelled. The sting when she had hit her.

With every day that passed without news of Vi, she felt more and more hopeless

Before she could spiral down deeper in those consuming thoughts, however, something else caught Powder's attention, bringing her attention back to her surroundings. The smell of something delicious, or at least edible. It was hard to tell when you were that hungry. Not that it really mattered.

Emboldened by the prospect of finally getting her hands actual food, the girl creeped towards the entrance of the dark alley she had been hiding in.

Once she had reached the edge, she peeked from behind the wall, her blue eyes quickly landing on a figure holding a paper bag. Whatever smelled that good had to be in there. The young man was much taller and his bat-like ears, together with his brooding expression, made him look threatening. Under other circumstances, she wouldn't have dared to approach such a menacing individual, but she had reached the point where starvation easily won over fear.

She quickly glanced around, spotting a small rock that she quickly picked up. Taking in a deep breath, she threw it towards the opposite side of the alley from where the stranger was, hoping to divert his attention, and then rushed out of her hiding spot.

She didn't dare to check if she had been spotted, and instead focused on reaching him as fast as she could, grabbing the bag without slowly down and trying to tear it out of his grip.

#[ threads :: Jinx ]#&& Scar #[ v. Just a girl with explosive dreams ; Powder verse :: Jinx ]#[ v. The life that could have been ; act 1 divergence :: Jinx ]#vastayanvigilante #[[ this took FOREVER sorry about that >.< ]]#[[ I hope it works !! ]]#[[ lmk if you need me to change something! ]]#[[ also this came out way longer than I meant for it to be x-x ]]

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anniexarmstrong · 1 year

Photo

Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that ANTOINETTE “ANNIE” ARMSTRONG is a FORTY TWO year old INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST that’s been in Chicago for TWO YEARS. According to the file, they are for mutants. That must be why they’re COMPASSIONATE and RECKLESS. If you ask me, they remind me of spools of red yarn, worn down spines of notebooks, and unspoken questions.They are affiliated with NO ONE.

BASICS

Name: Antoinette Marie Armstrong

Nickname(s): Annie, A, Nosey Net (family only)

DOB: May 17th, 1980

Age: 42

Zodiac Sign: Taurus

Sexuality: Unlabeled (?)

Traits: (+) Compassionate, wise, quick-witted (-) Reckless, nosey, single-minded

Occupation: Investigative Journalist

Family: Odette Armstrong (Daughter, 11)

APPEARANCE

Height: 5′7

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Blonde

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: American

Aesthetic:

Tattoos: None

Piercings: Double Lobes, Nose (stud)

BACKGROUND

tw: cheating, implied substance abuse

Annie Armstrong was born and brought up in Appalachia, rural Virginia. It was classic country living, growing up on a large piece of property. It was a quiet town where the best drama was whatever your neighbor was getting into that week. Annie was not immune to this, finding a ridiculous love of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Including listening in on phone conversation through the other line, reading through her older sister’s diaries, and participating in the rumor mill picked up by the Church ladies as she helped volunteer at the senior events her Mother hosted.

Most people found it endearing when she was young. The doe eyed Annie was soft spoken, and tended to blend into the background well enough that no one thought twice of talking in front of her. It just so happened that Annie used this to her advantage. No one caught wind of that for years.

Secrets start to change when you get older. What was once hearing the old Church ladies talk about who’s potato salad at the potluck had too much Mayo morphed into who was the town jezebel. Moreover, when her Father was the one who stepped out on her Mother with another woman. Nothing like that stays secret for long, especially not from someone like Annie who made a habit of sticking her nose in everything.

Things really started to unravel from there. Her Dad left town without much more than a halfhearted apology. He tried to stay connected for a few years, sending letters and birthday cards. They all went unanswered, usually burnt in the dirt pit behind her house before her Mom could see them. Eventually, all communication stopped, and Annie hasn’t heard from him since. He’s the one topic she won’t dig further into.

Annie will insist her Father leaving didn’t affect her. In fact, it improved her life, she’ll insist. But, really it didn’t do much more than shatter her trust in the world to have her best interest in heart. She was the only one looking out for herself and the best interest of those close to her. It doesn’t take a conspiracy theorist to believe that the things put out for the consumption of the masses are hidden behind a thinly veiled smoke screen. It was the obvious choice for Annie to be the one to try and strip that away.

Going into school for Journalism, Annie moved to D.C. after graduation with the naive notion that she could make some sort of difference by bringing the truth to the forefront. But, life was not so simple, and she found herself working watered down gossip stories of what was happening on Capitol Hill rather than exposing truths that truly mattered to her.

The only good thing that came from the whole ordeal? Well, at the time it seemed to be the man she met who was an intern in the senate. They were both young upstarts at the time, barely broaching 30 when it all started. Both frustrated with the system they approached with foolish intent to be the one thing that repaired the system from within, as if that were ever a real option.

He took it a hell of a lot harder than Annie though. His frustrations manifested in the use of substances, benders that had him disappearing for weeks on end, things that sent his mutation into a tailspin. Then, he would come back with promises that things would stick this time. Healthy habits would appear, and run strong for weeks only to be dashed out by some other factor, be it work or life.

It all came to an ugly finish when Annie got pregnant. Beau went on another spiral, but it was different this time. This time, he didn’t come home. He never came home. People told Annie it was just his true color showing, and insisted they never liked or trusted him. That their daughter was better off without him being in their lives, but she spent so much of her life without a father. She knew that wasn’t true.

Odette was born, and Annie took being a single mother in stride. But, the nagging of what happened to her boyfriend never left. For Nine years, she managed to focus on being a mother, and work. It was all she thought she needed to thrive. Eventually, curiosity took over, and, as nosy as ever, Annie did what she did best: She dug.

She was able to track him down to Chicago, but at that point, he seemed to fall off the face of the earth. But, Annie knew he couldn’t have just disappeared, she just doesn’t know where he could have gone. And now, with Odette getting older and showing signs of being a mutant herself, Annie knew she had to get to Chicago, and track him down. Even if she didn’t like what she turned up, she would have some sort of truth.

It was two years ago that she picked up Odie, and moved them to Chicago, and she’s still trying to pull at threads to get some kind of answers, though she’s not convinced she’s any closer to finding the truth than she was before.

FACTS

Annie’s daughter, Odette, is Eleven, having started Middle School this year. Annie’s entire world revolves around Odette, even more so than her work. (Her work is a close second)

Unbeknownst to Annie, her boyfriend is/was a captive of Kappa. Jury is still out on if he’s there and/or alive, willing to play with this a bit

Sexuality is fluid, and Annie rides that wave. Doesn’t really vibe with any particular label yet, still trying to figure it out

Odette is starting to develop her mutation, and Annie is very freaked out by it, only because she has no clue how to help her. She’s a non-mutant and from a family of non-mutants, her experience is by proxy only.

@forwardintros

#{ i cut off my nose just to spite my face ;; musings }#cheating tw #substance abuse tw #(very light and mainly implied)

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mvltisstuff · 1 year

Text

RIP 2 my youth - lumax.

summary: after the events of season 4, lucas has a whole new level of grief to deal with

lucas sinclair x max mayfield

the smell of antiseptics and cleaned bed sheets wafted to lucas’ nose. he sat quietly in the chair next to the hospital bed, gripping onto max’s limp hand. the mumbling of the doctors outside was silenced in his mind by the replaying of his experience of the last week.

having to witness his best friend, and the girl he loves, get brutally attacked. his little sister, erica, having to give up her innocent eyes to the violence of the upside down. his friend and mentor was killed, and his other best friend, dustin, would never be the same.

his innocent eyes were killed by the underworld. he and his friends could never be the same again after all this trauma, but they could try. and they would.

everything had changed in such a little amount of time. lucas had learnt to cope with everything around him and the situation he was in. he learned to face the alternate reality of the world he lived in at such a young age. he felt like he was forced into a world he never wanted to be a part of, and he felt like it was his fault for ever trying to fix anything.

now, lucas was staring at max. she had bruised eyes, a neck brace, and her face seemed close to lifeless. her diagnosed coma was just a matter of time before she fought through it, or succumbed to the afterlife. lucas would kill to know what’s going on inside of her head, but he didn’t have any fight left.

he woke up every day, 10:00 AM on the dot to visit her. he got dressed, ate breakfast, and his mother drove him down the intensive care unit to see his best friend.

ever since he met max, she was his king. now that she was in this condition, he tried to step into that position and he now had to fill both shoes. he wrote all his words down, because he wasn’t able to convey them across and say them to her. he felt stupid. he felt like an idiot for believing she would wake up when all the doctors and tests and scans told him otherwise.

on the next week of seeing her, lucas brought his crinkled notebook paper with him. he shoved it into his jean pocket and sat in the same chair as always. his shaking hand slowly pulled out the piece of paper and began reviewing the smudged pen.

“i’m not good at this, as you know. if you can hear me. um,” lucas paused, not knowing if he should bother to continue. “dustin’s alright. he’s been having a hard time with eddie’s death. he’s trying to hide it from everyone so he seems tougher, but he’s just hurting more. uh… hopper came back, with eleven and joyce, and will and mike. so we’ve only hung out once. he’s alive, max. he’s alive and he’s ok. steve’s good. he misses you a lot. we got school off because of the…” lucas realizes what he’s saying and makes up a lie again. “the earthquake.

lucas shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. “maybe when you come home, we can catch that movie sometime.”

his heart shatters a little, thinking about their missed date. he wanted it to be perfect, and his optimism took over his mind. not thinking about the aftermath that vecna would rain down on hawkins.

“i wrote you something. i didn’t build up the guts to say it, cause i know you’d make fun of me. you’ll make fun of me, but who really cares.” he shined a half smile, trying to make light of the pitch dark situation.

lucas begins with a shaky start of the letter. he reads it over and looks at max, her weak body on the bed with the small grains of fight she has left.

with a heavy sigh, lucas shoves the letter back into his pocket and takes out the book he’s reading to max. he reads the words on the page rather than words he actually means.

————————————————————————

laying down on his bed, lucas looks around his room. a few years ago, his young eyes would’ve seen new shiny figures, and silly dnd posters taped up around his bedroom. now, when lucas saw these things, he was a completely different room. his dusty figurines had lost their shine, physically and emotionally. his posters had become outdated and have become frighteningly close to a reality for the kids.

now looking at his situation, he felt the urge to tear down and shred all those posters. they weren’t an imagination anymore.

lucas stood up out of his bed and walked over to the biggest poster in his room. he grabbed onto the top and tore it down. the tape on the back was ripped off, and some of the chipped paint came with it. he saw the old colors of his bedroom and lightly grazed it with his fingers.

he stormed over to his bed, yanking out a cardboard box. the box was filled with old photos from holidays and summers with his friends. people like will, mike, dustin, his family. one in particular stood out to him.

————————————————————————

“steve can you look a little happier?” max protested.

“i’m taking a picture, max. not winning an award.” steve stood in his scoops ahoy uniform, awkwardly with the camera in his hand. “why do i need to look so thrilled?”

max had on her red, heart shaped sunglasses that sat on the top of her head. her ginger hair was waved and tucked neatly behind her ears. her pink cheeks were scrunched up in a light smile. her ice cream cone was dripping over the sides slightly onto her soft hands.

lucas stood next to her with his flowered button up over his white tee. his arm was over max’s shoulder. his bright neon shorts stood out at the bottom of the picture, showing the dirty sneakers at the bottom. his ice cream cup was to the side of his other arm, barely touched.

“he’s just mad stacey stood him up at enzo’s for bryan richards.” lucas whispered into max’s ear, making her grin shine in the bright lighting of the ice cream shop.

“hey! sinclair shut your mouth or i’m churching you triple for that scoop.” steve retorts back. lucas shakes his head in humility, and steve clicked the camera.

with a flash, the smiling picture of the two prints out and his handed to lucas.

————————————————————————

lucas started posting the photos on his wall, replacing the old game posters. he figured he didn’t need a game up there anymore, as it wasn’t as much of a game as it used to be. he covers up the chipped paint on his wall with the photos.

he sits back down on his bed with his eyes drawn to that one picture. he looks at his letter for max and rereads it and adjusts it until he thinks it’s perfect.

they protected each other, and even though they broke up, it was going to take a lot more to keep lucas away from her.

————————————————————————

“dear max,

i’m sorry. i never wanted to get you involved with this mess. when i was just 12, in middle school, playing a game in mikes basement, i thought of it as fiction. then will went missing, and i thought for a long time that nothing could be worse than this. i know you broke up with me, and i know you’re over me, but i should’ve known. i should’ve known something was off with you. i wish i could’ve helped you, but i know why you didn’t tell me. i wish i could’ve fixed it, but the tide went out and there’s no pulling it back in. it’s partially my fault. if you’d never believed me in the arcade, or if i never bothered to tell you, you could be here with me right now. talking and moving around, skateboarding and shit. i knew from the first day i saw you in the hallways that i wanted to go through this with you. i trusted you immediately and your strength was undefeated. max, i’d go through this a million times more to keep you out of this mess. the truth? i love you, max. i wish this was still an imagination. i wish i could shake myself awake and force myself out of this nightmare. this all still feels like a bad dream and i’m waiting for the day i wake up, come to your house, and we can hang out like nothing. as messed up as it sounds though, this mess and your situation has really opened my eyes wider than they’ve ever been. i’m done believing what the doctors have to say, because at this point, i’m done believing what anyone has to say about this shitty world. i need you, max. i cant go through this without you. so basically what i’m saying, vecna can bring down hell on us because he has nothing against us.

love,

lucas :)”

————————————————————————

lucas strutted his way through the hospital halls. confidently walking through the bright lights in his baggy sweatpants and hawkins zip up. he almost thought about getting rid of it now, because to him, hawkins is nothing but a lie at this point.

he stormed into max’s room like something had changed. it was all the same, besides her limbs were adjusted and her blanket had been pulled up, her brittle hands dropping over it.

lucas stood by her bedside, abandoning the chair next to it. he ripped the letter out of his jacket pocket and began to read it. beginning with another shaky, “dear max,” he clearly articulates every word as much as he means them. he gets halfway through to look at her, even though she looks still, except the slight rise and fall of her chest.

lucas finishes off the letter with a light, love lucas. he folds it up and places it onto her bedside table, nudging it under the bouquet of sunflowers. he looks back to see max, her expression different than before.

her nose scrunches up and down, forming small wrinkles on the bridge. lucas doesn’t think much of it, but he still makes note of it. her eyes twitch, and lucas gets more enthusiastic. “max?” he whispers, barely audible.

“max, hey.” he moves to the other side of the bed, gripping her hand. her iris’s rapidly move under her thin eyelids. “i’m here, max, lucas! hey, max!” he shakes it slightly, to not cause her more pain.

her bloodshot eyes finally open to reveal the blue shade of her eyes, surrounded by a flood of pinkish-white. her eyes move around the room frantically, her lips starting to move around the intubation. her eyes finally land on her one, lucas, and she rests her eyes a bit.

“max! you- you’re… i’m gonna call the nurse, max. holy shit!” he exclaims, abusing the call button on her remote.

one of the nurses comes sauntering in, not expecting anything. she looks around at max’s condition, looks down at the chart and looks back. her eyes widen and she comes closer. she presses a button on her pager and the doctors voice comes through. she mutters some medical terms that lucas doesn’t understand. surprisingly not yet, even though he’s been there every day.

the doctors come rushing in and another pool of nurses come in. “hey maxine, welcome back.” the doctor says, shining his flashlight in her eyes. lucas stands in the corner, completely star-struck at the sight in front of him. he’s scared, relieved, and all his emotions are coming together. “she’s breathing over the tube, i think we’re all set to take it out.” he sighs out. “i’ve never seen something like this. this young girl’s a force.”

one of the nurses walks over to lucas, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “honey, why don’t you step out into the hallway while they help her out?” lucas was ready to refrain, but he decides to not cause any problems. the nurse escorts him out of the room and to the chairs in the hallway.

lucas runs over to the public phone, dialing steve’s number into the phone. it rings and he frantically says, “steve! she’s awake! max, she- i saw her! she’s alive, steve!”

“slow down, sinclair. she’s awake?” steve yelps out.

————————————————————————

lucas sits in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, bouncing his leg and cracking his knuckles. he sees steve and dustin walking toward him like they’re on a mission. lucas shoots up and meets them halfway. “dustin! she’s up! she looked at me and- they’re taking her for testi-“

“hey, kid. calm down. it’s ok, we’re here.” steve says, patting lucas’ shoulder.

dustin sits down in the chair next to lucas and looks at him. “she’s really alive?”

“y-yeah. i think so, dustin.”

“jesus christ.” dustin whispers.

they wait, and wait. until one of the nurses is spotted by lucas. she walks over hesitating, “l-lucas?”

“yeah?” he stands up in front of her.

“she’s ok. we took her in for some tests. this is truly a miracle, we’ve never seen anything like this. she’s currently on ivs for medication and nutrients, but she’s awake.”

“can i see her? please.”

“yes, we can take you in a few minutes. she’s going to be confused, and probably scared, but it’ll help if she sees someone she knows and loves.”

his heart skips at the last sentence, but he knows he has to go in there. “oh, lucas.” the nurse is holding out a piece of paper. “this was on the floor of her room. do you have an idea of who’s it might be?”

“it’s mine. i left it there.”

“i figured, sweetheart. i didnt read any of it but i saw a name on there.” she smiles sweetly at him and directs him to the room.

he turns back to look at steve and dustin, who are now both sitting down. “get in there, sinclair.”

————————————————————————

lucas walks into the room, suddenly nervous. his anxiety was creeping up on him again, but he wouldn’t let it take control. this was his girl, and nothing was stopping him now. he was hesitant to walk in, but he stopped in the middle of the room.

a crackling of his name escaped max’s mouth. the rasp of her voice sounded painful, but all his anxiety evaporated hearing it.

“hey stalker.” max forces out, taking a few seconds in between each word. “nice letter.”

her voice flipped a switch in lucas. and after the tide comes back in, lucas is able to swim to shore.

and hearing her voice, he can breath again.

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