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cafemilk-tea · 8 months

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[SVT Record] EVELYN’s trip to LA | Time with Grandma Park #2X

❒ word count - 1.2K

🏷️ : @justmochi @ateezjuliet @itzy-eve @cosmicwintr @billboard-singer @kimhyejin3108 @cixrosie @enhacolor @allthings-fandoms @mingis-wrld @kmgfeels @peachyaeger @choihaneul @alixnsuperstxr

[ ] are on screen captions // BOLD is spoken in english

[(Starting the vlog off at the Farmers Market)] [(It’s a bright and sunny day in Los Angeles)]

“Carats, hello,” Evelyn smiled brightly at the camera with a wave, fixing her bangs in the viewfinder until she was satisfied with their placement, “I’m at the Farmers Market today with my grandmother and she’s all the way up there.” She took her sunglasses off and settled them on top of her head before flipping the camera around and pointing it at her grandmother, zooming in on the woman as she was several stalls in front of Evelyn.

“She always walks so fast that I can’t ever keep up.”

She zoomed out and turned the camera back on herself as she walked down the pathway, greeting each vendor as she passed by their stalls. It had always amazed her at all of the fresh produce and goods that were brought to the market every week.

“I would come here often with my grandmother when I was younger and she would always buy me such delicious fruits during the summertime.” The image of little Evelyn with her pink summer dress and pigtails, running down the pathway, picking out peaches and always getting a sample from the vendors flooded her brain.

She adjusted the tote bag on her shoulder as the weight from the produce inside weighed down on her bone, bordering on being a little too painful to bear for much longer. She made a face at the camera, widening her eyes with a smile before turning it around and pointing it down at the pavement as she walked through the market.

[(Protecting our artists’ feet)] [(Here’s a picture of Eunji instead)]

“Carats, look at the puppy!,” Evelyn practically squealed, tilting the camera up to show a small puppy walking ahead of a couple on a leash, “She reminds me of Winnie with her little legs and fluffy tail.” The puppy got excited and tugged on the leash, yipping and wagging her tail rapidly when she spotted something and pulled the couple along.

[(An animal lover at heart)]

“Speaking of Winnie, I wanna bring her along next time I travel,” Evelyn turned the camera back onto herself, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes, “Especially when we come to LA again so my grandma can finally meet her in person.”

She continued to ramble on to the camera until she had finally caught up to her grandmother, shouldering off the tote bag down to the crease of her elbow, allowing room for it to open. She watched carefully as her grandmother handed over the correct amount of change before handling the basket of oranges into the tote bag. They smiled at the vendor before heading down the aisle together.

“Gram, say hi to the vlog,” Evelyn made sure to keep the camera on herself to protect her grandmother’s privacy. A frail hand snuck its way into the view of the camera, dainty fingers fluttering in a wave.

[(A happy greeting from Grandma Park)]

[(A curious swan out in the wild)] [(She is one with nature)]

“My grandma works so hard on her garden every year for it to bloom like this,” Evelyn had the camera facing the garden, panning around the entirety of the space. Every inch was filled with such luscious greenery and an assortment of different flowers to bring in some color, all adorned with little garden trinkets sprinkled around.

[(What has caught the swan’s attention?)]

She crouched down next to a few stepping stones scattered throughout the dirt, pointing out a specific one to the camera. Embedded into the concrete stone was a tiny handprint left behind by a seven year-old Evelyn, painted what is now a duller shade of purple from sun exposure, the words ‘To: Grandma’ painted at the top in different colors and ‘From: Evelyn’ painted wonky at the bottom to match. Little gems and sequins decorated in between to fill up the extra space.

“This stone I made at camp,” She brought the camera in closer to be able to make out the words, “Look how small my hand was back then compared to now.” She switched the camera into her right hand, moving to place her left hand down beside the much smaller one pressed into the stone.

[(Eunji your hands are still small)] [(Let’s keep it a secret between us)]

Evelyn straightened herself up, pointing the camera over to the swing set pushed towards the back of the fence. “My grandpa built that swing set before I was even born. He was so happy to finally have a grandchild that it was first project.” She walked the rest of the stone pathway through the garden until she reached the grass, moving in closer to the swing set.

“He had carved his name and a little message into the wood,” She zoomed in on what was chipped into the wood, making sure the camera was in focus.

‘for my little bee, love grandpa’

“I even carved my name next to his with a pair of scissors,” She smiled at the memory, moving over so the camera could see the indent of her name, “I got in trouble for using my grandma’s fabric scissors to carve my name but-,” She turned the camera around to face her, crinkling her eyes into a wide smile, “She couldn’t stay mad at me.”

[(Eunji has been a little troublemaker since the very beginning, oh my)]

[(Ending the vlog with food)] [(Everything looks so delicious)]

Evelyn had the camera propped up on the table, angled up at herself as she ate her dinner. She cut a piece of her steak off and brought it close to the camera, pretending like she was feeding a baby as she opened her mouth in the background.

[(Open wide carats)]

A giggled left her as she bit the piece off the fork, doing a little happy dance in her seat. It was her favorite steakhouse to come to any time they’re in LA, so naturally when her grandmother asked what she wanted for dinner, of course this was on top of her list.

“Is it good?” Her grandmother’s voice came from behind the camera.

Evelyn hummed as she took another bite, mouth watering for more, “So good! I’m practically starving for another one.” She continued eating and playing with the camera every now and then, ending the vlog with blowing a kiss towards the camera.

[(Evelyn’s trip to LA ended very happily)]

#ficnetfairy #cafemilk-tea: evelyn #kpop addition #kpop oc #seventeen oc #idol!oc #14th member of seventeen #oc!idol #seventeen 14th member #fake kpop idol #fake kpop oc #fake kpop addition #seventeen added member #café.drabbles #evelyn.film

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honeyhobies · 9 months

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checking out miles42's room and oh, his lil hanging plant near the window.....

imagining the wealth of funeral flowers the morales family gets after his dad's death. miles can't stand them, he hates that they're the only pastels in the apartment and their scent churns his stomach.

worst though are the house plants they're gifted. intended to be low maintenance, great distractions, some bit of pretty life among all the grief. rio tries to take care of them at first; she likes the look of their painted pots and setting a watering schedule is easy enough. routines are good, and the greenery does make her smile when she leaves her bedroom alone in the mornings. but then she needs to take on more hours at work, and eventually they blend into the background of the apartment, forgotten.

miles refuses to do anything with them.

when their leaves turn yellow he plucks them off so he doesn't have to clean them off the floor later. when nothing is left but withered brown twigs he takes the pot out onto the fire escape just so he can hear the terracotta shatter when he drops it into the dumpster below. the plants start disappearing one by one, and the apartment slowly returns to what it was before—or at least, a poor imitation of it, where there were no greens of various plant life scattered about but a home still filled to the brim with his dad's life. miles starts climbing the fire escape higher, pretends that the shatters from this height are louder than the grief in his own heart.

it takes him four months of mami overworking herself to realize that there's a pot of ivy that still has green leaves.

it was shoved into the corner of the kitchen window that would've been a hazardous spot if his mom was actually using the kitchenware in the cupboard next to it. but she's barely been able to cook lately and miles definitely doesn't have the kind of skills to use what's in there, so the plant was left alone, miraculously thriving on the sunshine streaming through the window. miles only notices it because his abuela is visiting and he accidentally steps on a few leaves on a vine that's grown long enough to brush the ground when he's ushered out of her way during dinner prep.

his appetite vanishes. the phantom scent of sweet decaying lilies and carnations and all the other ugly pastel flowers chokes his throat. he thought he had finally be rid of all of them, and seeing this one still left standing rears something ugly in his chest.

it's his abuela who coaxes him away from grinding his foot into the leaves, smashing them into the tile, she who says that starving something of love will always be a terrible thing to know. all four burners on their stove are going, the oven has just finished preheating, but she takes the time to fill a cup with water, gives it to him, and compliments him on keeping this small thing alive, when funeral flowers are notorious for not surviving.

it's miles who quietly moves the plant into his room that night, and he learns the rights and wrongs about repotting, sunlight, and watering.

(and, at one point, pests. but he also learns how to overcome that, even if it was an insanely annoying experience turned inside joke with ganke)

the ivy had fared well enough on its own, but it's miles who makes it happy. his hands that make it grow thicker and longer and livelier, until he needs to start tacking its vines up along the window sills to spread its greenery around. this one tiny thing no longer tiny that depends on him, that has learned he will be good to it. he did that.

miles did that.

—

later, when designing his first prowler suit, the purple accents are for his mom, a subtle nod to her favorite color. because he's trying to bring good back into his community, stepping up to do whatever he can to forcibly relinquish some of the sinister six's control over his city, but he's also fighting for her.

and the green details—there's not as many, or as prominent as all the neon purple, but he feels they're just as important to add.

#i have. Emotions over the kid we saw for like two minutes max in this movie fldknlgknx #miles morales #miles 42 #prowler miles #<- what tags do we use for him jfc lol #clawcode #<- listen it's only implied but hear me out: clawcode in everything #and i personally think it'd be v funny for miles to have what he considers a catastrophic experience of Bugs In His Room #that ganke would treat as a “was the grink there” type of situation lmaoo #fringeposts #spiderverse #atsv

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silv3rswirls · 1 year

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Sea

Note: I had a vision, unsure if I executed it well, but here were are.

Warnings: reader is in a fragile state for ambiguous reasons, no romance, comfort

The sea: something you loved as a child, but had grown distant from in your recent years. Whether it was moving to the city, taking a job that hardly left you time for yourself or trivial visits to the beach with friends you didn’t have. Or the ex that didn’t like the sand and salty air, or the loved one that passed away and in some way took your love for the sea with them.

Whatever it was, being back left you feeling part empty, not brimming with joy or excitement. Somehow still just going with the motions as you let your bags clunk against the floor, the creaky screen door left open as you inched more and more into the house. It wasn’t familiar, you were renting it for the weekend. You needed time away from everything, time to just reconnect with reality. Lately, nothing in your life felt anchored. It was drifting, messy. You hated it.

It was gloomy out. Everything felt a shade of gray or blue as you let cabinet doors fly open and drawers bang as you searched the kitchen for anything to eat. Nothing, despite what the property manager had promised. You sigh, taking a moment to slow down and stand in the empty kitchen. You look at your hands and how they shake, and you roll your eyes. This was a bad idea.

You dump one of your bags out, watching clothes and personal items scattered across the floor of the entryway. You grab a few things; art supplies mainly, and stuff them into a canvas bag. You head out down old rickety stairs and rocky paths, the old beach house had seen better days, as had everything else in the seaside town. Not many people lived here still, its summers no longer held extravagant tourist passage in the summers. It was rickety and old, forgotten by most.

You were glad the property manager hadn’t lied about the bicycle in the shed you could use, you needed this. You bike down cracked paved roads and through gaps in forgotten fences. Grass and brush tickets your ankles and tiny purple flowers dot your vision as you start towards the beach. There’s a salty breeze in the air as the distant splash of waves gets louder. You ride up a path along the beach, heading up for the cliffs rather than the driftwood and trash-riddled sand dunes. You had forgotten this feeling of freedom, biking away from your troubles as if you were a teen again. Your hair brushing in the wind, and thighs burning as you struggle uphill and over rocks.

You closed your eyes for a moment. Everything felt okay now.

If there had been anyone around as a witness, they’d watch you race up there. Throwing your head back now and again, as if you were running from some imaginary monster. They’d watch as you looked back again, going far too fast and getting tripped up on a stray bench. You fell hard, your leg twisting off the bike, your skin scraping the peddled dirt as you struggled to recompose yourself.

You sit there wallowing in your fall, and you start to cry. Heavy tears thick down your cheeks and catching the curve of your chin, down your neck. The fall didn’t hurt, everything else did. Why were you even here? To paint the sea you told yourself. But what a joke, you hadn’t painted in over a year. Your brushes and paint tubes had tumbled over the path, scattered as you look at them helplessly. Was coming here even a good idea? Running away from your problems? You keep your head lowered as you cry and cry and cry.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there wallowing, but the sound of someone’s bag dropping on the ground not far from you brought you back to reality. You look over, sniffling as the young man stares at you for a moment. “You fell?” He asks, “I think…” his words trail, his arm buried in his bag, “here.”

He hands you a small bag filled with bandages and other first-aid supplies. You take it wearily, and when you look up after tending to your scraped knee you notice he’s collected the fall art supplies. Holding it tight in his arms, asking permission to go into your bag to put them away.

“I thought I was the only one here” he comments, handing you your things and helping you up. You feel heavy, not wanting to get up.

“Me too” you sigh, rubbing your red eyes and trying to shake off the tears.

He helps you pick up your bike, though you insist you don’t need help. You’re both heading up to the cliffs, so you go together. Walking side by side and pushing your bikes along. You don’t talk much, the both of you are just going on your ways. When you get there you sit down on the edge of overgrown grass and sandy cliffs. The sun is hidden behind clouds, the waters gray with a sparkle as waves lap below you. His name is Namjoon, you learn. Though you don’t get a chance to share yours.

“Are you here to paint it?” Namjoon asks, looking out as he stands a bit behind you.

You shrug, “Maybe.”

“Isn’t that why you're here? You’re an artist here to paint the sea, right?” He asks, surely that was the only reason he could give you for coming to such a forgotten corner of the world.

“I’m not really sure why I’m here.” You admit. A big wave comes and you close your eyes at the feeling of water droplets hitting you. “Why are you here?”

“To write,” he says confidently. “It’s easier to write here sometimes. “It’s peaceful isn’t it?” He comes to sit with you. “When things are too much, and my head just won't stop racing I come here to escape it all.”

“Escape” you repeat. “I guess that’s why I’m here too.” you purse your lips, there’s something melancholy about the sea. As much as you tried to lie to yourself and claim it felt like you were a child again, it didn’t.

Namjoon gets up and inches towards the edge, the wind picks up near there. The waves are loud, and heavier as you watch him take it in with closed eyes. His hair was ruffled by the wind and his arms were open. He looks at peace. Slowly your paint is pulled out and a page in your book is opened. It’s painful to drag the brush over the paper, but you do so anyway. The sight of him is pretty, you want to capture it. You wish it was you up there, but you couldn’t muster the energy to get up. So you settle to watch him. It’s like he forgets you’re there, it’s just him and the sea and the endless lap of freedom the waves bring. You paint an array of dreary colors muddied down. You weren’t sure when he’d leave, or when you would. What would happen after, or if you’d be healed by the time you got back to the house.

You supposed it didn’t matter.

Sometimes escaping isn’t so bad.

tag list: @aris-ink

#namjoon imagine #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon comfort #bts x reader #bts imagine

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perplexingluciddreams · 6 months

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Old phones!

I ask mum and dad to have all old phones and dad bring the box! I love to play with these as a kid (just pretend, don’t really turn on). A lot have missing batteries or charger cables or is just broken/dead. But some I get to turn on and charge and work! It is funny that the very very old Nokia phones still work but the much newer Samsung ones is completely dead.

[image description: a chaotic picture of many old phones, some smartphone, some flip phone, some with buttons and only tiny screen, all scattered on the floor. There is a box with a mess of cables that is partly in the photo at the edge. End ID.]

I find cute kid pictures of me (and my sister, but I don’t post those), here is a few of just me. It is a bit funny that so many things is the same, like my posture! I hold my hands the same positions and same hypotonia (low muscle tone) posture in the third picture still today. (It looks like exact same as picture you get on Google when you search “hypotonia posture” and it is cartoon image of a child sitting like me in third picture 😂).

[image description: Ezra at about four or five years old, sitting in car seat with pink long-sleeve top with big purple spots, bumblebee over-ear headphones that have yellow colour with black stripes on ear parts, and chunky bead necklace. Picture is very zoomed in and pixelated, because it is from old Nokia phone. End ID.]

[image description: very zoomed in and pixelated picture of young Ezra sitting with his hands up at shoulder height and wrists floppy so hands bend in towards each other. He have a bit of popcorn hanging out his mouth. He is wearing a pink short sleeve top. His teddy bear, Marmalade, sits on his lap and there is a pillow behind him with blue bubble pattern pillowcase. End ID.]

I still have those bedsheets!! On my bed right now, in fact. They are so soft and I love them. And of course still have Marmalade, but he is a bit older looking now!

[image description: very zoomed in picture of young Ezra sitting in slouched position, with hands together in between his legs and feet pointing downwards because his toes only just reach the ground. He is wearing a pink flowery top, grey leggings, and pink shoes with Velcro straps. His hair is shoulder length tied back in a low ponytail with a flower clip at the side. His head is turned away from the camera, and his back is very curved because of his slouched posture. End ID.]

I remember these shoes vaguely. I think they were sparkly.

[image description: young Ezra, about five or six years old, eating a hot dog with ketchup. He is holding it in a napkin. He has pink butterfly face paint, and is wearing a pink short sleeve top. His hair is messy and windswept and has a blue clip at one side to attempt to keep it tidy. It is not tidy at all, and one piece of his hair is almost in the ketchup. End ID.]

[image description: a very pixelated image of a very young Ezra, about three years old. He is wearing a long denim skirt, pale purple long sleeve top, and a flowery headband to hold back his hair. He is kneeling on the ground next to a bookshelf, and tilting his head with a slight smile, biting his bottom lip. His hands are clasped in his lap, holding something that is not clear in the picture. The image is extra unclear because of the light from the window behind. End ID.]

Those are the cutest pictures I could find, there is more but that is only what I want to share.

Unfortunately when I go through one of the phones that used to be mine, I find old pictures and things that is scary and upsetting and I get very scared. Mum have to come and help calm down. It remind of bad memories and make brain very loud. I need to go and change it and delete things (like old wrong name, and bad pictures and videos with bad people or at bad place or at bad time in my life) from that phone at some point, but not today, too much overwhelming.

#image #described #snapshots of my life #words from my head #old tech #technology

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positronicdream · 8 months

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Fizzbin's Fabulous Cabin, part 2

Continued ramblings about the house I built in the Sims 4 as my bard's Magnificent Mansion!

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

✨

You may have observed that the shape of this house is... incoherent. Horrible design! McMansionHell would rip me to shreds! Well, there are a few good reasons for that:

For the DnD characters, the exterior of a Magnificent Mansion doesn't actually exist. The only way in or out is through a magical portal, so they'll only ever see the interior.

For the above reason I prioritized the design of the interior and put the exterior last. For example, windows are placed according to what looks good in each room, not what makes sense outside.

A weird, eccentric plan is in character for the kind of mansion a gnome like Fizzbin would create.

Having justified the horrible shape, though, I still felt the need to make it look as presentable as I could. This took some effort.

✨

The roofs...

Anyone who's ever built in the Sims knows the nightmare that is roofing! And I had made it even worse for myself by putting in not one, but four round glass roofs (to add a luxurious touch to certain rooms). I slapped a square gabled roof on the very top, propped up overhangs with columns and filled in some small in-between spots with flat flooring. Any exposed rectangles on the floor below got half-gabled roofs, but there were a couple places in the end that simply couldn't be properly roofed.

When that happens, my go-to is balconies. They're great! They can be any crazy shape, and they can "roof" an exposed floor below without needing complete coverage themselves! But I was confliced about having to use them here. As I mentioned earlier, Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion only allows one entrance and you can't go outside. Does a balcony count? DnD characters are prone to jumping off balconies, and then where would they be? Still, I put furniture on my balconies to make them look pretty and I counted their floor tiles in my square foot budget.

I painted the exterior walls in two colors of clapboard (the purple one is custom content), and stone for the arboretum. The lower parts have rich brown columns and trim, and the upper end has white. I stuck ivy on the walls, and scattered flowers and giant mushrooms around the yard. Even if the residents can't go outside, they should still get a nice view out the windows! (I also made sure to place this all on a lot with no road or other houses nearby. It's in Brindleton Bay, if you're wondering.)

Now I'm going to show you the worst part of this build. One of the round glass roofs overlaps and clips with the main roof. I covered it up with a big chimney. Did you notice it before now?

✨

Next: First floor!

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5)

#the sims 4 #dnd art #magnificent mansion #the rising loons

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637lemonbelle637 · 10 months

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Tamayo x Yushiro

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The forest was lightly littered with sakura petals that danced through the soft wind and fog. Tamayo stared in awe at the surrounding forest. It was bright, glowing with fireflies scattered along the path. The moon let off a beautiful shine in the night sky.

Tamayo was sitting peacefully at a small bench in the middle of a group of cherry blossoms. Her hair was wonderfully done, braided with a flower tucked behind her ear. Her kimono was a gorgeous lavender and her eyes were still the same breath taking pale pink and lavender fade.

She waited quietly in the small forest, until she heard rustling from behind the trees. She tilted her head and saw Yushiro emerge from the forest. "My lady.." Yushiro mumbled bowing his head. Tamayo smiled and scooted slightly to the side on the small bench. "Yushiro." Tamayo greeted.

A few days before, Yushiro had requested that he see Tamayo in that very forest before their fight with Muzan. Tamayo was happy but also heartbroken. She had not yet told Yushiro of her plan for the battle and she couldn't bare to think of his reaction when the time did come and she was to die.

Yushiro smiled and sat next to her on the small bench. Tamayo heard him take in a deep breath and start to speak, "My lady... I wish to tell you something." Yushiro turned his body towards Tamayo and Tamayo did the same. "Well, I am all ears." She replied waiting for him to start again.

Yushiro took a deep breath and gave her a bright red rose. The thorns had been picked off and it's petals were vibrant and lively. Yushiro fiddled with his hands, his thumbs rubbing softly over each other. He finally began to speak after a moment of silence.

"Lady Tamayo. You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I dream night and day of spending all of eternity by your side. You have given me more chances then I deserve and a wonderful woman like you deserves more than the world itself can provide, no you. You deserve the universe in your angelic hands, you deserve everything." Yushiro stood up as Tamayo stared in slight shock.

Yushiro kneeled down on his knee in front of her and took her hand with a soft smile on his face. "My lady. There are never nights that don't glow by your soft light. There are never moments warmer then your touch. There are never sights more beautiful then your face. I cannot offer you much. But I can offer you my love, dedication, and strength. For you, I'd give anything and everything."

Tamayo stared in awe and Yushiro. His words sent a fluttering warmth through her body and his hand in hers was a comfort she could not describe. "Oh Yushiro.." She smiled and leaned down giving him a gentle kiss on his head. "I am so happy to have you by my side. To have someone as great as you beside me brings me a joy I could never put into words."

Tamayo stopped and then smiled again. She pulled her hairpin from her braid. It was the light purple hair pin with a smooth bead and flower attached to it. "If anything happens Yushiro..." Tamayo mumbled remembering her plan that would result in her death. "Take this. To always remember me." Tamayo set her hair pin in Yushiro's hands.

Yushiro looked distraught at the thought of loosing her and for the first time in years, he felt tears fog his eyes. He gripped the hair pin in his palm and nodded. Tamayo stared and lowered her body, wrapping her delicate arms around Yushiro. "I don't deserve you." Yushiro mumbled.

"Yes, you do." Tamayo answered.

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

Yushiro stared at the canvas. A beautiful woman painted carefully with precision and detail. Her eyes almost looked real. Yushiro set his hand on her face. The other hand gripping a hair pin of light lavender color. The painting pictured the woman sitting on a small wood bench in a forest of cherry blossoms. The scene in the painting seemed awfully familiar but he couldn't place his hands on when or what the moment was.

He vaguely remembered a confession but that was all. Yushiro felt a yearning for the woman he painted. An extreme longing. But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't remember her to well. He could remember her face, her kindness and of course through the hair pin he owned, her faint scent.

But her voice and the memories he had of her, were all drifting farther and farther away. There were nights he screamed at himself for forgetting and nights where he cried at his paintings side hoping and wishing that the women would wrap her arms around him again and pull him into a warm embrace. He stared at the painting once more. Her eyes almost staring directly at him and her smile soft and sweet. He felt tears and a chocked back sob bubble up in his throat.

He suddenly felt a shiver down his spine as he had remembered. A shocked revelation that had been hanging on the tip of his tongue for years. He quickly took a purple paint and painted on the corner of the canvas a name.

He felt himself want to cry more as he spoke is a shaky and sad voice, clutching the hair pin tighter than before.

"Tamayo..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WAHHHHHHHHHH Yushiro and Tamayo's story is so sad. Just the fact that he has to paint Tamayo because he already forgot so much about her. The pain he must go through every night and everyday. I just can't. It breaks my heart...

#demon slayer #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #tamayo #yushiro #demons #kny fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #sad #cry over this pls #cherry blossom #sakura trees #lady tamayo #hairpin #paintings #Sad yushiro

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a-supernatural-writer · 2 years

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A Mixtape For You Pt.2

Summary: Ella Barrett witnessed the past year when Will went missing. Hell, hard to avoid when Ella is the only empath of Dr. Brenners experiments. Maybe it'll give her a helping hand when it comes to understanding the new bad boy from California; Billy Hargrove.

Word Count: 2,533

Notes: I'm loving the way this is going. I hope everyone enjoy. Also side note, Ella and Charlie are korean but their parents aren’t and there is a reason for that which will be explain in a few chapters.

Warnings: language

Billy Hargrove x FemOC

Previous Part Next Part

Ella tapped her newly painted seafoam green nails against her desk as she bobbed along with Kyrie by Mr. Mister playing on her record player.

It was early in the morning and she would be heading downstairs from her bedroom to sit with the rest of her family to eat breakfast. Though, she did like a little time to herself in the morning.

She fished out another domino from her tin box, connecting it with another domino that had the same amount of dots on it. She smiled in satisfaction as she was almost done connecting all of them.

Ella shivered a little as the breeze blew through her open bedroom window, blowing her sheer curtains around. Her room was a mixture of greens, blues and purples, boxes of dominos scattered everywhere along with random mixtapes that all had different labels. Her walls were covered with band posters from all different genres and the only thing on her wall that wasn't covered was a mirror that went with her dresser.

With a knock on her door, Charlie opened it, still dressed in his sweatpants that he wore as pajamas every night, "Breakfast is ready. Dad made cinnamon rolls."

"Coming." Ella said as her brother walked away. Deciding that she was going to head out after breakfast, she slipped on her boots that she wore the day prior.

She wore her boots with a black and blue striped t-shirt crop top, a short black denim skirt with black sheer tights. She fiddled with the gold coin necklace that she had around her neck while she grabbed her bag that had all her supplies, walkman and the mixtapes that she made for Tommy and Carol.

Ella turned off her record player and shut her window before heading down the stairs to eat breakfast with her family.

Ella smiled when she saw her mother sitting at the table. She lifted her hands and started motioning them as she talked, "Morning, mom."

Her mother, May Barrett, smiled at her daughter and motioned her hands but not speaking as she did so, "Good morning. How did you sleep?"

May looked completely different from Ella and Charlie. May had long wavy blonde hair with freckles covering her skin and baby blue eyes. She wore a bright yellow t-shirt that had some kind of artistic rendition of a sun on it, wearing a long blue flowing skirt with small flower designs all over it, multiple beaded bracelets and rings and of course, was barefoot like usual.

Ella sat down at the table, smiling when her dad, Cedric, placed a freshly baked cinnamon roll in front of her, frosting and all. Cedric had dirty blonde hair that was almost as long as May's but cut off a little bit past the shoulder, hazel eyes and he was starting to grow a short beard. He wore a pair of denim jeans that flare out at the bottom with a plain white button up short sleeved shirt, and a pair of black suede boots. He shared the same amount of bracelets and rings as his wife and he ruffled the hair on the top of Charlie's head as his son sat down.

"Good. Stayed up a little late to get mixtapes done." Ella signed with her hands to her mother before digging into her treat for the morning.

May smiled and started signing to Charlie as he was eating his breakfast as well, "I heard a new family moved into town. They have a son and a daughter. Have you met them?"

Charlie nodded, letting his fork clank on the plate to answer her, "Yeah, Billy Hargrove goes to our high school, but I haven't seen the sister."

Ella rolled her eyes at the mention of Billy, munching on her sweet. Cedric noticed and patted his daughter's shoulder amused, "Don't like this Billy kid huh?"

He sat down next to May and poured everyone at the table a glass of orange juice as Ella scoffed, swallowing her food. Ella whipped her mouth with a napkin and tossed it next to her plate, "He's an ass."

May gave her daughter a look, "Language, honey."

Charlie snorted, earning a glare from Ella. Ella sighed and apologized, "Sorry, but I'm not wrong. Guy was flirting with every girl in the school and acted like he owned the damn place." She signed and let her hands fall onto the table.

Cedric hummed while taking a sip of his drink, "Seems like an ass to me." That earned him a slap from May on the arm and Cedric just chuckled.

May shook her head fondly. She could never understand the need for swearing.

Ella nodded, looking down at the half eaten breakfast on her plate. With a sigh she wrapped it up in a spare napkin and threw her bag over shoulder, "I'm gonna head out early, Tommy and Carol want their tapes before first period and I want to get a spot close to the school. You good with that, Charlie?"

Charlie waved her off as she headed to the front door to grab her leather jacket and car keys that were hanging on hooks, "You good. I'll see you at lunch okay?"

"Yep!" Ella poked her head into the kitchen, "Bye mom, bye dad." She signed and then headed straight out the door with her belongings in hand.

She slid into her car, placing her bag, jacket and her half eaten breakfast in the passenger seat. With a smile she started up her car and turned up her radio as she left her home.

Ella hoped today was going to be a better day.

When Ella pulled into the school and parked her car, up until that point in her life, she thought her family had some of the nicest cars in the entire town. Everyone drove pickups or sedans, nice conventional cars. Boring cars in her eyes.

But when a camaro came into the parking lot with Def Leppard blaring through its speakers, she was proven wrong.

Ella pulled the keys out of the ignition as said camaro parked next to her. She grabbed her belongings, her breakfast long gone and eaten, and threw on her leather jacket that acted more like a coat since it reached her knees.

She also put her headphones around her neck and shoved her walkman into one of the pockets of her jacket.

She stepped out and her brows shot up in surprise as none other than Billy stepped out of said camaro. Though she did tilt her head when she saw a young girl with long red hair exit the car as well. She didn't stay long, flying away on her skateboard towards the middle school just on the other side of the parking lot.

Ella only guessed that she was Billy's little sister, though the two didn't bother to say goodbye to each other or even spare a glance. Yikes.

Ella adjusted her bag on her shoulder when Billy noticed her. He took a drag of his cigarette he had dangling in between his lips, smirking as he looked over Ella's car and Ella herself appreciatively, "Doll, nice car. Your daddy gave you that?"

No way did a girl like Ella get that car on her own. Not something that good.

Ella glared at him. She wished he knew sign language cause she would be signing some very colorful words to him. She shook her head and flipped him the middle finger. Truly a dick of the highest order.

She turned her heel and headed towards the school. He chuckled, tossing his half finished cigarette and yelled out to her, "Oh, come on, doll. Maybe if you told me I wouldn't assume."

Ella continued forward, ignoring his cries. He can wait. He can wait forever cause there was no way in hell was she ever going to speak a single word to him. Hell would have to freeze over first.

She was ready to snap her pencil.

Chemistry was soon becoming her least favorite class and it was the first one of the day too.

Reason why? Billy would not stop pestering her.

After walking away from him in the parking lot, she was able to get paid in full for her services to Tommy and Carol. They were happy to say the least, she was just thankful that they or the rest of their little group that was with them didn't say anything to dampen her mood. If anything they brought it up when Tina brought up the idea of Ella DJing at her Halloween party she was planning next month.

Of course, the smile she had on her face was replaced with a frown when she entered her chemistry class.

With a huff she repeated what she did the day before; pulling out a sheet of paper and writing on it.

Billy grinned. Pushing Ella enough got something out of her, even if it was only on paper. It was better than her glares and silent glances. Certainly better than being ignored.

'Is there a reason why you are so keen on me, Hargrove? Isn't there a line of girls just itching for your attention?'

Billy smirked, writing his response and sliding it back to her, 'But none of them got a car like you. How did you get it?'

Ella licked her lips at that question and tapped her pencil on the table a couple of times, hesitating. She loved her car, she just didn't like how she got it.

'It was a gift from someone. Not my parents, just someone. So drop it.'

Billy raised a brow at her words. Who the fuck would just give a car like that to someone? 'Okay, doll. I heard you like music.'

Ella rolled her eyes. Yep, he brought it up. 'Yeah, so?'

'So, what kind of music do you like?'

Ella thought about it for a moment. She liked all kinds of music, yes she was more partial to the alternative scene, rock was definitely up there for her, oh and club music too. She furrowed her brow as she wrote down a quick list.

Billy was impressed. It was a small list and she even added in a little note saying that it was only a small amount of songs that she listened to. A good handful of songs that he was into were on it and a few that he never even heard of.

'I like a girl with good taste in music.'

Ella huffed, pretty much shoving the piece of paper back to Billy. 'And I would like for you to leave me alone.'

"Is it good?"

Ella gave a thumbs up to one of the techs, her entire turntable and mixer on and all set up. She was in the gym again, helping set up for the pep rally that was happening at the end of the week first thing in the morning.

If anything, she was in charge of setting up all the sound systems and making sure everything worked. That and even though Ella didn't have a lot of friends, she did have a connection to the cheerleading team; Chrissy.

She was sweet, and definitely more easy going than most of the cheer squad. Chrissy was probably Ella's only relatively popular accantiance. She never really called her a friend but she was kind to the pink haired girl.

Ella smiled when she thought back to the very beginning of the school year. Chrissy came up to her with a big smile, having already known each other and talked a few times, and asked her if she could possibly put a couple of songs together for their beginning of the year pep rally routine.

Chrissy has been nothing but sweet to her, how could she possibly say no. She didn't. Damn sweet, sunshine Chrissy wormed her way in.

And she just had to set things up in the last period cause nobody wanted to stay after, nor did anyone but the cheer team was gonna use the space after school. Which meant setting up while the guys were playing dodgeball in the gym.

Her eye twitched; she didn't know why shirt versus skins was such a thing but apparently Billy just had to always be on the skins team.

Ella bit her lip; Billy's muscles every single time were highlighted by the sweat on his skin and god that chest. He was really sexy.

A whistle blowing made her jump and the coach let all of them have a quick break before they started another game.

Taking deep breaths, Billy sauntered his way over to her with a towel in hand, wiping away the sweat on his face. So everyone who talked about Ella wasn't lying to him. Billy soon found out throughout the day that Ella was more than just DJing for parties or making personal mixtapes, but she was also a big part of school events across the board.

This boy just does not listen does he? Ella played around with a few of the switches, testing them out and hoping Billy got that hint that she wasn't giving him the time of day.

"Nice set up, doll." Billy smirked, standing across from her. Ella looked up at him and she never even noticed how tall he was. She was a tiny thing, only 5' 4".

Ella smiled a little at the praise, standing a little bit straighter and nodded in appreciation. If there was one thing other than her car that she took pride in, it was her music and her equipment.

Billy tilted his head a little in amusement. Ella still wasn't talking to him but he got a smile, even if it was a small one. He threw his towel over his shoulder and leaned forward, hands resting on either side of the table, "Gonna grace us with your talents?"

Ella groaned and without even thinking she started moving her hands without saying anything, "No you ass. I'm just setting up for the pep rally on Friday morning."

Billy watched on confused as all hell, "What the fuck was that?" He sneered which earned a glare from the girl.

"Sign language, dude." Charlie walked up to them, noticing his sister start to sign to someone who wouldn't even know a single gesture.

Billy straightened up and looked back and forth between the two, "Sign language?" Why did they need to know that? It was different, that's for sure. Kind of cool, actually.

Charlie nodded, "Yeah. She said you were an ass and that she's setting up for the pep rally Friday morning."

Billy snorted and looked at Ella who had her arms crossed, "Friday morning? Never thought I'd be going to anything at this stupid school. You changed my mind." Billy just smirked when Ella rolled her eyes.

Charlie rolled his eyes as well. He patted Billy's shoulder, "Come on, man. Flirt with my sister when I'm not here. I don't want to puke."

Ella glared at her brother and flipped him the bird to which he returned as he walked back to his team.

"See you later, doll."

She flipped him the bird too.

#Spotify #stranger things #stranger things oc #billy hargrove x fem oc #billy hargrove x oc #fem oc #female original character #a mixtape for you #x reader #empath #original male character #mind reading #oc x oc #female oc x male oc

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bunnyrhe · 2 years

Text

Rich Caregiver Jin X Ocelot! Little Reader

Summary: I did another one to this as a stand alone fic. I know you guys really liked it.

Warnings: none, just you being pampered

Over the water of the river, the first brilliant act of the sun's ascent was beginning. In another hour or so the water would ripple and turn brilliant sunflower yellow in the noonday sun, but for now there was something light, innocent and invigorating in the peach morning hues.

The Galleria was immediately surrounded by an artificially made forest with all manner of verdant grass and flowering and fruit bearing trees. The white cherry blossoms were in season, letting out beautiful old-fashioned flowers in great romantic clusters in cream and the palest pink blossoms with dark glossy leaves. Through the breaks in the canopy, brilliant purple and orange tulips bloomed in flower beds making the ground below a patchwork of colours.

Beyond the gated community the Galleria Florêt offered, loomed the Seoul city skyline. At the height of the forty-fifth floor, one only sees the top. It seemed to move discordantly in a wave with random skyscrapers at the crest and smaller flat-topped buildings at the trough. The streets moving through the cities like slate grey rills and rivers.

This was easily the most desirable property in the country.

Appa always thought he looked glorious in single colour suits and outfits and before he met you, his home reflected it. Now, he had a personal vendetta against monochrome. He began buying buildings just to change colours to make a more vibrant festive space out of pastels or whatever colour of the rainbow you liked that day. He single-handedly was changing the face of one of the upcoming economic capitals of the world to make a bouquet. There was a Forbes magazine issue that discussed it with him, he let you shred it to practice using your claws.

Jin named all the buildings on the skyline like a lullaby for you, holding you to his chest in your baby carrier. "That one is JinHit entertainment, Appa owns that blue one…and that green one…and that one too Cub, that one's a trading company. And appa owns those two yellow ones. That? Oh that's a plane. No Appa has a jet, Cub they're very different. "

The floor to ceiling windows in the living room created a panoramic view, letting today's spring sunshine in. It caused all the Easter lilies and white orchids in the living room to bloom richly. The thick heavenly aroma imbibed the morning breeze. The earth and the grass clean compliments to the saccharine air.

You were rolling around in a state of pleasurable inactivity in your bed. The day was perfectly breezy and bright, making it feel airy and almost fancy free. Only Appa could make a Monday feel like Sunday morning. You were on your pink pumpkin shaped cat bed he tucked under the coffee table. He got the softest blankets to roll around on and it was placed in the warmest spot in the room where the sun directly hit. Jin didn't go out to work today, taking time away from the hospital to stay at home for you.He was expecting a few deliveries from Lagerfield and didn't want to miss them.

The large flat screen taking up most of the wall was playing Clifford the big red dog on tv for you while you nibbled your raspberries Appa laid out. It was such a treat to eat the fruits one at a time and see the picture on the dish-the blue paintings on it. It was a part of a dynasty collection Appa got when he was obsessed with collecting art a while ago that he loaned to MOMA. He had a few Matisse scattered about the house, George Condo's and Prince's in storage rooms somewhere. He preferred the black and whites of you two. His favourite was a black and white of you two where he smiled down at you timidly inspecting a skull. Hybrid art was a rare luxury commodity and Jin refused to loan these to any museum.

"Cub? My cub? Can you come here for a minute, " Appa called you over to him, squatting and patting his chest. You walked over cheerfully on all fours, ears flopping happily crossing the Persian rug.

"Here's my pretty girl," he kissed your head, picking you up softly, "I missed you my Oce-little," he giggled at his own joke.

Jin's hair was longer, pulled up in a ponytail but a lot of strands were loose, his hair wasn't long enough yet to be in an up-do. It beautifully revealed his neck and drew attention to his broad strong shoulders. He was wearing a silver dangly pair of earrings and silver bracelet with three daisies in a row each missing a petal. Your collar has the missing three petals remastered in white gold and yellow topaz.

His grey sweatpants hung low on his hips,showing his Balenciaga undies. You huffed hooking your toe claws into his waistband and trying to climb up his chest,satisfied when you could no longer see his tacky fashion fad.

Appa was cooking at the stove, clearing down the adjacent counter for you to sit with him. He stirred the black bean sauce for the ramyun, in another pan searing salmon. It smelled like something divine- salty, starchy and richly flavoured. A taste of comfort in the ramyun and luxury in the thick fish filet. The steam beckoned you to draw closer, a thin curling wisp of aromatic delight. A tiny pink ceramic pot simmered on the low back burner-angel milk!

You meowed happily licking Appa's fingers, holding them between your paws, nibbling gently.

"Aww my loving cub, Appa will give you all the kisses. Show appa your toe pads," you sat on your hind legs showing him your pink toe beans, paddling them back and forth. He giggled, giving you high fives. He hummed happily not seeing any discoloration or scarring in your toe pads since the contractor ripped out the hardwood and installed soft carpet instead. Only the kitchen and bathrooms were tiled and he barely let you in there without him. It was far too dangerous, do you want Appa to have a heart attack? No let Appa carry his cub it's just not safe for a baby to do things for herself she needs her big strong Appa to carry her…. Nonono no nicky nacky way let Appa help you into the tub for bath time…let Appa help you wash your paws yes I know you groomed already but Appa got you a new strawberry bathwater that way we smell the same baby!

"So precious baby, and show Appa how you catch your tail,"

You swiveled in circles, nomming into your tail happily,"aren't you the cutest cub! The cutest cub in the whole wide world! Oooh! Cub's bottle is ready," he poured your warm milk into a baby bottle carefully," let Appa plate his food and then he'll feed his cub, okay?"

He sat you in the dining room with your bottle of angel milk. The curtains opened automatically anytime the light turned on, the beautiful modern chandeliers lighting up the space. He held you in his lap,giving you your bottle, feeding himself with the other hand. "I love you my Cub,eat up so you'll be nice and strong for Appa."

Pt3.

Taglist: open ✅ Ask to join Rhe's taglist @cinnamonspicedreader @soft-teddybear @importantnickelcloudfish @urluvl @cherrystaehy @choi-kim-misuki @sophiayoongi-hyung @chubbynadnad-blog @nlost21 @nothingeverdies @lady-amethysta @xanny91 @jvinnv @bokuatsubro @rosquilleta @shiverrick @hearts-4-yoongi @namutits @snowyydayys @maddiejo112 @kenkozsgf @kimahnjung98 @sunshinee0-0 @frinnabibi @guess-whos-now-a-mood @ejspencer14

#bts little reader #namjoon x reader #bts yandere #bts #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #yandere bts x reader #yoongi x reader #jimin x reader #bts x hybrid reader #bts hybrid fluff

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nationalharryleague · 3 years

Text

In the Long Green Grass

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: the fluffiest fluff with husband!harry

Word count: 2K

A/N: Hi everyone!! Merry Christmas to all that celebrate!! this is my Secret Santa (run and organized by the lovely lu (@meetmymouth) gift to the sweetest angel who walks among us miss hasibi (@peachybloomss)!!! I hope you enjoy it my love!!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what everyone thinks in my ask! Thank you so much for reading!!

***

You were stirred by the sounds of the waves crashing against the cliff outside the home as the early morning sun streamed in through the windows. A small huf and whine left your lips, always one to ask for just five more minutes in bed, before you climbed from underneath the warm plush blankets and your toes hit the icy and worn wood floors beneath you.

The buttery yellow sunlight thwarted your plans to fight yourself back to sleep for those last few moments, prompting you to reach out your arms in a longing stretch. You released a light and sleepy hum of surprise when your arm hit a tiny furry body, and not the arm of the man who loved to sleep late in the bed beside you. Peeping one eye open, you made eye contact with Piper, Harry’s small jet black cat with glowing green eyes who was laying next to you, curled up on sheets that still held the indent of his body in them.

Piper wore a face of annoyance, obviously blaming you for interrupting her precious beauty sleep, and her eyes followed your body as you forced yourself out of the bed with one goal: find Harry.

Harry had a habit of disappearing, especially in a new place where there was just so much to explore. He was a wanderer (and an aquarius); always on the move, carried along by a thought or idea he just couldn’t resist. It was hard for him to sit still, a trait he probably picked up after tour after tour after tour, never allowing himself the luxury of rest or relaxation after it was never allowed to him. That was why you had insisted he needed time away from the city, finding a perfect spot in a small cottage that sat on the edge of a cliff along the ocean with a back garden full of sweet smelling flowers and tall cushony grass.

You tiptoed carefully down the spiral staircase that lovingly let out groans underfoot, still rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, into a kitchen that looked straight out of a fairytale. It was small with moss green cabinets and large bay windows that filled the space with light that kept the seemingly hundreds of plants in the house happy and thriving. A cool ocean breeze came in through the open windows of the small breakfast nook, bringing along the scent of a fresh pot of coffee that sat on the butcher block countertops like it had been waiting for you to wake all along. While you felt a jump of excitement within you for the coffee, it still hadn’t been what (or who) you were looking for, even though you were very glad you found it.

A sweet cup of coffee was thoughtfully prepared in a tea cup you had found in the cabinet with small wisteria flowers painted around it’s rim. You knew Harry would poke fun at your cup choice if he were there. “Tea cups are for tea,” you could hear him say, perking up the edges of your mouth into a gentle smile as you sipped it carefully. But the flowers reminded you of the beautiful wisteria tree that flowed in the wind and scattered it’s petals all over the back garden; you just couldn’t pass it up.

It took you quite a while to find him, even with the new found caffeinated energy running through your system. You had run into the two other cats at the house, both rather chubby tabbys named Jack and Gus, that called this back garden home on your search and you obviously had to say good morning. The two rubbed themselves up against your legs, begging for a scratch behind the ear and a bit of attention, and you obliged. Who were you to deny them of it?

The garden the cats got to call home was a dream. It was filled with every variety of colorful flower imaginable and blanketed in a sweet air that always hovered over the space. Your favorites were the small peachy blooms that smelled of sugary perfume. A stone fence ran the perimeter of the yard, a white picket fence in the middle opening to a swath of overgrown grass that swayed in the wind on a hill. If you squinted, you could see the house of the couple you were renting the cottage from, but they were far enough away it felt like you were the only people around for miles.

When you spotted a Harry-shaped hole in the tall grass up the hill, you had a sneaking suspicion you had found your missing husband.

The tall grass squished beneath your feet as you climbed the hill, creating a soft padding below, and the long blades tickled against your bare legs as you made your way towards him, still only dressed in one of his perfectly worn t-shirts from the night before.

“There you are,” you hummed happily when you reached him, standing above him as he layed in the grass. “I thought that I lost you.”

He looked like a renaissance painting as he laid in the grass that was dotted with small pink and purple wildflowers. His curls had gotten a little longer during his much needed break and they splayed out around his head in delicate ringlets like a halo. The light from the still rising sun bounced off his slightly dewy skin, giving him a glow that lit him up even more than usual. Stubble danced across his cheeks and jaw, framing his perfectly pink lips that held a gentle smile as he looked up at you from the ground. And his eyes squinted slightly, shielding his pupils from the ever growing brightness of the sky, creating delicate little wrinkles around his sea glass green eyes that looked so vibrant in the light.

A worn book that you hadn’t seen before, bound in dark green leather with gold detailing, sat on his chest; Poems for Lovers: A Collection was embossed delicately across the cover.

“You’ll never lose me,” he mumbled up at you, a gravel in his voice like it was the first time he had used it that day. You had been married for almost two years and had been together for five, but your cheeks never failed to redden when he spoke sweet nothings like that. “Good morning, angel,” he said softly, reaching his hand up for yours.

You moved to place your hand in his, but ended up only linking your pinkies together in the process; a light tug from the man below you signaled for you to join him on the ground. You couldn’t resist, sitting yourself down with your legs crossed in front of you on the slightly damp ground next to him, pinkies still locked together.

“Morning,” you greeted. “I missed you in bed. Piper isn’t much of a cuddler,” you chuckled while absentmindedly playing with his fingers, twirling his wedding band.

“She’s not very nice, is she?” he smiled, opening his eyes fully to meet yours as you strategically moved your body to block his delicate eyes from the sun. “I’m sorry my cat’s a bitch,” he joked. “She still thinks she’s my number one girl.”

“I tell her I’m sorry that I stole her spot in bed all the time, she never listens. Won’t even have a civil chat with me about it,” you teased sarcastically.

Harry let out an enthusiastic giggle at your words; it was high pitched, and came from his belly in loud bursts of air. His cheeks scrunched up and forced his eyes closed because he was smiling so wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes once again. His laughter was infectious and you couldn’t help but join in.

You two must have looked insane, sitting in the grass in a field in the middle of nowhere just after dawn, laughing like idiots. But you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Well, a few more hours of sleep wouldn’t have hurt.

As your gigges died down, you turned your attention to the book resting on his chest. “You ditched me in bed for a book?” you teased, letting the remaining laughter escape your body.

“I couldn’t sleep and I found it on one of the bookshelves. I thought it would be nice to read in the grass and watch the sun come up.”

“You should have woken me up. I could have thought of a few things we could have done to tire you out.” A smirk played on your lips as you tapped your chin, pretending to think, as you watched his eyes grow in amusement from your innuendo.

“You looked too peaceful sleeping. Also, drool and bedhead don’t really turn me on if I’m being honest.” It was your turn to react to his teasing.

Your jaw dropped in feigned offence and your finger flew over your shoulder to point back at the cottage. “I can go back if you’d like your privacy,” you said incredulously and with dramatics, until a few chuckles broke through and your resolve softened once again.

“Oh no no no,” he spoke with a grin, “come here,” moving the book and tapping his chest for you to rest your head on. You turned yourself around to lay yourself on the ground, placing your head on his chest and listening to his steady and calming heartbeat.

“How are your poems?” you asked, referencing the book he was now holding in his hands.

“They are very good. I’m glad I found it.” His voice reverberated under your head as he spoke, and you rose and fell softly with his breath.

“Read me your favorite.”

“Okay,” he began, thumbing through the pages as he held the book above both your heads. You listened as he let out a small “ah, here it is,” before he dramatically cleared his throat. “You might remember me talking about this one already, but I love it.”

You knew he loved it before he even began reading anything. He loved his poetry, especially when they were about love. Harry was a hopeless romantic at heart, often saying to you and interviewers “I just love love.” He loved falling in love with you and becoming a team, just as much as you did with him.

“It’s called The Wait,” he spoke gently, his voice taking on a deeper and more enunciated quality. You recognized the poem immediately, as it was the one referenced on his pants for the Vogue cover shoot. He had dedicated it to you then, and was doing it again now in the grass. “It seemed like years before I picked a bouquet of kisses off her mouth and put them into a dawn-colored vase in my heart,” he began. He spoke slowly and smoothly with the consistency and sweetness of honey. “But the wait was worth it,” he continued. “Because I was in love.”

You couldn’t help but think of your own story as he read. He had chased after you for years, with you always insisting that he was your best friend and you were afraid to ruin that. But gradually, your best friend became your lover, and your lover became your husband.

“I like that one a lot too.” You spoke softly and with reflection. “It reminds me of us.”

“That’s why it’s my favorite.”

You two layed in the grass for hours, not a care in the world, as he read from the book. Every poem took you two on a journey into a love story, one that for the two of you only existed on the page, but told of a very real love that couldn’t have been dishonestly written.

But with how you felt in the moment, with the joy and loving warmth you felt in your belly, you were sure you could write a million poems about the love you had with him.

Thank you so much for reading!! Reblogs/feedback mean the world!!!

#I hope you like it honey!!!!#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #Harry styles Drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction fanfic #one direction #meetmygift2020 #my writing #harryandhockey

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after-witch · 3 years

Text

White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Title: White Picket Fence [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve been with Kai Chisaki for three years. Your life is quiet and cozy and soothing. But what do you do when you realize you want more?

For request: Anonymous said: i love the way you write overhaul!! may i request more of him, please? what would he do if reader develops stockholm syndrome and wants to do the things which normal couples do, even wants to marry him or have kids? thank you!

Word count: 2200-ish

notes: yandere, stockholm syndrome

You should really ask Kai to get a new sofa for his office. His current one, the leather one which used to be shiny and pristine and rather intimidating for someone used to sitting on ratty chairs pilfered from curbs, has definitely seen better days.

The seats are lumpier, now that you've spent years--3 years, one month, 3 days, but who's counting--in his life, sprawling on the sofa. Reading, napping, doing endless hobbies. Snuggling, when he was in the mood. An endless parade of legs and limbs, pillows and books, growing tiny scratches etched with your fingernails that you sit on to cover them up.

His entire office has your touches, now. The blanket you asked for last Christmas, a big fluffy bright purple affair, is draped over the back of the couch. He keeps your framed embroidered pieces on his desk, because--you assume, but he won't confirm, because he thinks it will hurt your feelings (it won't!)--he can easily stow them away when he has meetings to hold. You don't embroider much, anymore, but it was fun to take on a new hobby.

Kai is kind like that, to give you new hobbies to do. He doesn’t even mind when you get bored of them and move on to something else.

Your books are not as easy to stow away in case of guests, you think. They're scattered here, there, everywhere. In stacks, on shelves. You know there's one stuck under the sofa but you didn't really like the first book in the series and you've decided it should stay put as a result.

Bookmarks, some handmade, others handed over by Kai as a gift for this or that, sticking out of the well-worn pages. Once, you snuck on YouTube during your highly limited, highly precious tablet time (earned, as it were, over the past 2 years) and stumbled on a DIY for making resin bookmarks stuffed with trinkets, glitter, flowers, ink. You’ve yet to broach the subject with Kai, because one, it would mean admitting you snuck on YouTube but two, you don’t think he’ll let you work with resin. But, still. The seed has been planted and when it sprouts, you’ll get the nerve to ask him.

Your sleeping bag is in the laundry, wherever the laundry happens to be, but on colder days you like to spread it on the floor and have reading or hobby marathons while he works. It's childish, but he humors you. He always (mm, no--usually--he did shoot down requests for the dog, the cat, the fish, the rabbit, and the lizard) humors you. You appreciate that about him.

And you appreciate this moment, right now. You're curled up on the sofa, half of the soft blanket in your lap to keep you warm. A book is in your hand, something new from the best-seller list that Kai brought home in a tidy store bag. He brings lots of gifts, and you appreciate every one of them. Although Kai does make you declutter every month. If you didn’t, your room would be simply stuffed with gifts. You don’t begrudge him this, since he lets you keep anything that’s especially precious to you. It’s a fair trade--you’re precious to him and he keeps you, after all.

He's typing away on his laptop, the sound so familiar that it's practically white noise, and you sit on the couch and read. It's quiet. It's comforting. It's... domestic, really.

And it makes you sad.

Lately, sitting in Kai’s office--these quiet moments, these nice moments, just make you sad. You don't know why. Things are good right now, but you just feel weighted down, heavy. Lost and bored and aimless.

But it shouldn’t make you sad that you’re enjoying a new book. Maybe you’re sad about something else. You can’t remember having a bad dream. The outfit Kai picked out for you this morning was cute enough. You didn’t stub your toe getting into the tub. Kai didn’t tug on your hair when brushing out the knots. So… what’s wrong?

You turn your attention back to your book, trying to shake the feeling, shake the obtrusive thoughts that sometimes find their way to the surface now and then. But the words don't want to leap off the page, weaving a story in your mind that takes you into someone else's life and narrative and world for a few precious hours.

And here, again--you don’t know what’s wrong. It’s an interesting enough book, as books go. It's a domestic novel about domestic squabbles, a husband and wife who are 15 years and 3 children into their marriage; living in the pristine suburbs, tired of working and parenting and painted fences and tired of each other.

Maybe the book isn't clicking because you can't really relate. You would never get tired of such things, you think. To have a fence! Oh, to have a yard. Or maybe even have little children, with lives to manage and nurture. Wouldn’t that be nice?

You don't have those things. No--you can't have those things, can you? Your world has been shrunk down to a few rooms. Your bedroom. The bathroom. Kai's office. The clinic. You've made those rooms cozy and comforting. With things and time. But how could you have a toddler, a fence, a dog that barks too much in these limited walls, in this limited life?

And… how could you have any children running around when Kai has never expressed an interest in that sort of life with you. Oh, you've kissed. A few times. The memory of them makes your cheeks hot and you squirm, just a little, on the couch. You like to take those kisses with you at night, under the covers. But it's never been more than kisses, than light touches, than holding hands or feather-light strokes of your neck.

He's never gone further, never so much as asked. You also take this realization with you at night, though by morning the thoughts are gone. Now, in the daylight, they hit you hard and you can’t sleep to make them go fuzzy and grey.

Does he not want you in that way? You're not a virgin, and you don't know if he is, or isn't. But you thought you were attractive enough to... want. You kissed, he did kiss you, he does still kiss you now and then, but why not something more?

Maybe you were ugly. Maybe he felt pity for you. Maybe the kisses were just to keep you from going stir-crazy inside these walls and this life that never went anywhere. He was never going to want anything more than occasional touches, was he? And this was going to be your life, embroidering and reading and fussing about sleeping bags until you were old and grey and useless. A life wasted, a life slipped through the cracks. Your chest hurts and you wish you could fall asleep to make yourself stop thinking.

"(Y/N)? What's wrong?" Kai asks, keyboard silent, laptop humming.

Oh. You've been staring ahead this entire time. You feel cool tears wet on your cheeks. You do this sometimes, drift and stare and cry, and never seem to realize it. So you wipe your cheeks, and you smile. You don't want to worry him. He has so many things to worry about, things he won't tell you, because he knows best--you couldn't hope to understand his work. You are too naïve and kind, and he's got what your 90s-era self help books (you had a phase for reading them last January) call "street smarts."

When he doesn't resume his work, you try again. "It's nothing," you say, light and airy. "I was just thinking about a book."

Instead of typing, he shuts the laptop and your stomach immediately feels like it's going to float away. No, no, no, you've distracted him. He said he had a lot to do today, he said that! Why couldn't you just read your book and be good. Now he'll be upset and distracted and worried and it's all your fault.

You instinctively move over to make room as he sits down on the couch. You don't want to look at him, but you don’t want to not look at him. So you force yourself to smile, force yourself to look--not too happy, but, pleasant, and keep your eyes focused on his shoulders. He rests his hand on top of yours. You look up at his face--it’s only polite, it’s only kind--and the instance your gazes meet you immediately crumble. You cry. Ugly cry, the kind of crying you really hate to do. His look of surprised concern makes your heart twist. You really are bothering him.

But you have to know.

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Your voice is soft and hoarse and aching. Through your tears you see his look of genuine confusion, surprise--and even something sadder, something akin to hurt.

You want to explain. You want to explain how you've just realized that you'll never have kids and a nice big yard and he'll never come home from work to a good meal and kids running on hardwood floors to greet him. You'll never have a wedding with a fancy dress and tasteful invitations. You'll never argue with neighbors about your dog getting into their yard.

You'll never learn to cook anything more than the shitty microwave meals you ate before you met him, because you've never even seen a kitchen in this place despite being here for years. You’ll never have any of it, except what you read about it books. How do you explain that you’re jealous of a bitter, old married couple because at least they had a life together?

The hand resting on top of yours squeezes and you finally feel the blustery courage to let it all spill out. The words come tumbling fast and thick and laced with a froggy hoarseness.

"Why can't we have a normal... a normal life? I can't have," you swallow, and take a shuddering breath. You're open, you've learned so many lessons to be open with Kai, but expressing these thoughts makes you feel queasy. What if he gets mad?

“I can't have kids and a big yard and a dog that the neighbors don't like, because I'm here, in these little--these little walls and little rooms, and how can we have kids if we're not married, and how can we be married if you've only kissed me a few times? Why don't you want to be with me? What's wrong with me?"

You're hyperventilating now, and there's an old tingle that you've suppressed, the fear and rage and helplessness that once made you scream and throw and punch walls. You think about the book under the sofa and hate it so much for being there. You think about your embroidery sitting prettily on Kai’s desk and you want to rip out every single thread.

You think you really break open, about to grab something and just destroy it, when suddenly Kai’s gloved hands are on your cheeks and his mask is gone and oh, his lips are on yours and is that tongue you feel--it is, it definitely is--and he’s never kissed you like this, deep and warm and soft and wet.

He pulls away and you’re dumbfounded and you must look dumb, too, because Kai wipes away a stubborn line of drool on your bottom lip and chuckles, low and light. He leaves the ugly, thick tears that have stained your cheeks.

“Do you really think I don’t want to be with you?” His thumb strokes your lips and the seam of the glove tickles and sends a hot thrill shooting down your stomach. “Do you think I haven’t imagined our… future?”

His touch is soft and his words are soft and his gaze is familiar and comfortable; the look that makes your stomach do fumbles, the look he gives you when he’s letting you know that you’re being silly again.

“I… I don’t know,” you say, your shaky breath ghosting over his thumb. “It’s just--”

He presses his thumb on your lips and you quiet down, and you listen.

“I’m waiting until you’re ready. You know that I know what’s best for us, what’s best for you, don’t you?”

You nod.

“Then you know that we will have all those things--” you ignore the voice inside you, so small and silly now, that’s insisting you-won’t-you-won’t-you-won’t--- “but only when you’re ready.”

He smiles, and you smile, because you know that he’s right. You wipe away your own tears and grin, sheepish and feeling so ridiculous for having a fit right in the middle of the day like this.

You let yourself be tucked in, let Kai drape the soft blanket over your legs. He presses a kiss to your forehead and your lips tingle with envy. You watch as he goes back to his desk and sits down, as he replaces his gloves and his mask. All is well, all is back to normal.

Kai starts typing, and you let the white noise soothe you as you pick up your book and flip open to your bookmark. Maybe tomorrow you’ll ask about the resin.

#yandere overhaul #yandere #yandere kai chisaki #overhaul x reader #afterwitch writes #he is SUCh... an asshole

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strange-lace · 3 years

Text

Misunderstandings

I HAVE FINALL MADE CONTENT FOR MY SPIDER MONKIE AU! And SURPRISE, it’s angst!

Despite his best efforts, MK knew that he was a terrifying image to humans when he dropped his glamor. He loomed over most people due to his size, lower body plated with a dark exoskeleton with long legs which were sharp enough to impale someone without much effort. MK had tried to make it look less intimidating by painting bright little doodles all over his lower body. Soft and precise strokes decorated his exoskeleton with a couple of noticeably lower quality, lines shaky and uneven as if done by a beginner. Yet they were the ones he treasured the most. Particularly the large purple and orange hourglass symbol dead center on his spider abdomen.

"Am I doing this right sweetie?" She asked, long black hair pinned back to keep it clean yet it was still stained with streaks of paint. The same can be said for her worn robe, the faded fabrics speckled with rainbow flecks of paint. Her lips were pursed in concentration as the paintbrush shook in her hands.

It was certainly an image of the feared Spider Queen that few had the luxury of seeing and living to remember it, MK being one of them.

"Yeah mom, you're doing great. Try focusing on where you want the brush to go instead, it'll help smooth out your strokes," he suggested, having to contort a slight bit to see what she was doing. She followed his advice and happily finished the symbol.

"There! Now everyone will know to fear my little spiderling the moment they lay their eyes on him," Spider Queen cooed, putting the paintbrush away to pat MK on the head, accidentally staining his dark hair with the purple and orange paint which had gotten on her hands.

MK held a brief smile at the memory before letting out a sigh.

Unfortunately, bright colors and cutesy symbols could only do so much against the large collective fear of demons, especially big ones with fangs and multiple legs. Which he was unfortunate enough to find out when fighting a demon who's whole speciality was glamor magic and could see right through him.

"That must be uncomfortable, squeezing yourself into such a small form. How about I give you a chance to stretch your legs for a while?" The demon said mockingly and before MK knew it, he was enveloped in a cloud of shimmering dust. Suddenly, everything was a lot smaller to him and MK was left to clumsily stumble as his two legs became eight without warning. He squinted as the world was now a lot brighter through his four eyes, colors even more vivid than before to the point it nearly gave him a headache.

Yet it all only registered to MK when he heard people start screaming about a giant spider demon.

“Oh no…” He whispered to himself, wincing as his vision cleared only to see civilians running away from him. And while he understood why, it still felt like a stab to his heart to see people terrified of him. The hurt quickly became panic once he hit what felt like a blockade to his magic, preventing him from re-activating his glamor.

MK was stuck like this for the time being.

“This can’t get any worse,” he hissed, freely skittering through the now empty streets now that he wasn’t at risk of accidentally stepping on someone. He was instantly proven wrong when he heard the twin sound of motors headed right him and MK had to dodge quickly to avoid getting hit by Mei’s bike head on and from Pigsy’s truck from crashing into one of his legs.

It just got worse.

"Alright demon, might be best to give up now-!" Mei froze mid-boast, face going pale underneath her helmet. She was soon joined by Pigsy, Sandy, and Tang who looked at what had her so shaken and their own confusion quickly transformed into their own individual shows of shock. Pigsy looked genuinely sick, Tang didn’t seem to be breathing with wide eyes behind his glasses, and Sandy’s entire being seemed to bristle as if to make himself look even bigger out of self-defense.

It dawned on MK once he saw they were all staring at the staff still clenched in his clawed hand.

That he was still holding while in his true form. Which wouldn’t look out of place as part of the Spider Queen’s forces, skin now covered in purple fur and eyes a dizzying bright green. And was still wearing his easily recognizable orange and purple jacket and headband now draped around his neck from the chaos.

MK now realizes that this did not paint a good picture in his favor.

“I… can explain,” he stuttered, wincing at the sound of his own voice: hoarse and deeper to his own ears.

He had no way of explaining this.

“What did you do to my boy?” Pigsy was the first to break the silence, eerily calm yet everyone could tell that his rake was close to snapping with how tight his grip was. Following behind him, everyone else’s shock and horror morphed into rage and MK felt his stomach tighten further and further in fear. Tang’s eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses with a stillness to him that made you fear he would strike at any moment before you could react. Sandy’s entire demeanor had changed in a way that made MK understand Pigsy’s past descriptions as him being a feared warrior.

And Mei?

Well Mei’s entire being was wreathed in green and vibrating with barely restrained wrath.

MK stumbled back on his eight legs, feeling incredibly small in the face of his family’s anger despite towering over them.

They didn’t know it was him. As far as they knew, he was just another demon.

He didn’t know if this was better or worse for him.

“We will not repeat ourselves, demon: What did you do to our kid?” Tang demanded with a glare as sharp as knives. MK soon found himself surrounded, breath turning shorter and shorter as his family came closer and looked ready to tear him apart if it meant getting the answers they wanted. Yet he could only see the image of the calabash copies of his family and mentor pouncing at him to prevent him from escaping, countless nightmares of them successfully trapping them in his “perfect” world weighing on his spine.

So it was only natural that he panicked when they all descended upon him as he remained silent, throat closed up in sheer anxiety. It had happened so fast but before MK knew it, he had bound them all in web cocoons without even meaning to.

Yet he took the opportunity while they were struggling to free themselves to go for the most logical course of action according to his panic-ridden brain: run away, far and fast. He didn’t even know where he was going, all MK knew was that he had to make himself scarce around the city until he could finally use his glamor again. If he wasn't sick from panic, he could almost laugh at the image of himself struggling to balance all eight of his spider legs on the staff as he pogoed through the city.

So it shouldn’t really have surprised to find himself on the beach of Flowering Fruit Mountain, the monkeys scattering away in fear at the sight of him as he created a small crater in the sand.

The following silence was deafening, allowing his thoughts to continue to run wild without anything to focus on. He only faintly realized that tears were running down his face as the mountain breeze gently blew against him, as if trying to offer its own form of comfort as he spiraled.

MK couldn't stop seeing the faces of his loved ones, his family, as they looked at him with such hatred and rage. He tried to keep reminding himself that it was only because they didn't know it was him, as far as they knew he was a random powerful demon who managed to get their hands on the staff. But tell that to his heart, which felt like it was genuinely breaking into pieces. The pain was enough to put MK to his knees, choking on his tears and grip on the staff tight enough to make the joints of his exoskeleton-plated hands ache.

"Kid? You here kid?" MK didn't even think, he found himself scrambling towards the familiar voice of the Monkey King, desperate for comfort. Sun Wukong grunted as he found his arms now full of a panicked spider demon but was able to adjust his footing before he could lose his balance. He let out a sigh of relief, no longer struggling to hold since he had lifted far heavier people in his long life. Questions died on his tongue as the sound of muffled sobs entered his ears, his successor’s face buried in his fur as if wanting nothing more than to hide from the world.

“What happened bud? You wanna talk about it?” MK was silent for a moment before he gave a garbled response in the Monkey King’s fur. “Sorry, what was that?”

“A demon messed with my glamor, leaving me stuck like this and they saw me. They didn’t know it was me and they saw the staff and they thought… they hated me,” he rambled, a fresh round of tears leaving his four eyes. Wukong remained silent but silently walked towards his home, MK still in his arms.

“Oh kid, I’m so sorry. You know that they wouldn’t be that way if they knew that it’s you. But that definitely explains why Pigsy called me, threatening to eviscerate me the moment he saw me if anything had happened to you,” Wukong gave a smile at the wheezy chuckle MK let out at the image of his boss and father figure calling the Monkey King just to rip into him. Yeah, that sounded like Pigsy alright. “I think I can fix up whatever that demon did to your glamor. Then you can hang out here for a while, if you want, before going back home. That sound good bud?”

“Yeah… sounds great Monkey King,” MK answered before letting out a yawn, now left exhausted now that the anxiety and panic has leaked from his system with the presence of his other father figure mentor there to comfort him. Wukong gave a chuckle, gently placing MK down on his couch and putting on Monkey King: The Animated Series without a second thought. Seemingly realizing that he was no danger to them or their king, the monkeys quickly began to use MK as their personal jungle gym without any fear. That seemed to do the trick, as he was now chuckling at the sight of the little monkey’s looking at the doodles on his exoskeleton with curiosity.

Wukong watched the scene before him with a warm look in his eyes before it quickly hardened as he slipped out of his home for a moment. Pulling out his phone, he gave a deep sigh to calm himself before tapping to call a very specific number.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A velvety voice answered upon the third ring.

“A demon severely messed up the kid and I figured you’d like to… return the favor,” he answered, voice dead serious.

The line went silent, the echoes of enraged hissing barely audible in the background.

“What did they do to my baby?” Any hint of playfulness was gone in the voice, the Spider Queen enraged to know that someone had harmed her son in such a way to make the Monkey King willing to contact her.

“Messed with his glamor and the others saw him, nearly attacked him thinking he was a demon that had managed to get the staff. He’s fine physically but he’s an emotional mess. All the kid was able to tell me was that they specialize in glamor magic. Think you can work off that?”

“Of course I can, what do you take me for?! But… is he alright?” Wukong smiled, almost quipping about her getting soft over the years but she could very easily call him a hypocrite.

“I have him with me and have everything under control. Just do what you do best S.Q. and I’ll keep in touch, ‘kay?” Everything about him was casual yet the look in the Monkey King’s eyes was nothing but fire that promised he would have burned whoever harmed his kid without mercy, if he wasn’t “retired”.

“Of course, might as well make use of your “retirement” after all. I’ll make sure to make our… displeasure to that foolish demon evident for the both of us. Take care of my spiderling Wukong, otherwise I will figure out a way to make you mortal to end you.” Despite her tone, Spider Queen was only half serious since she knew ending the Monkey King would make MK upset with her. And the last thing she wanted to do was lose her spiderling after searching for him for so long.

“Sure you will S.Q., I totally believe that. But until later, see ya!” Wukong said before hanging up, satisfied but antsy which was typical after every occasion he spoke with the Spider Queen. Walking back inside, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of MK now fast asleep with the monkey’s cuddled around him.

Totally worth it.

#lego monkie kid #monkie kid #mk #sun wukong #spider queen #pigsy #tang #sandy #mei #spider monkie au #my writing #fanfiction

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ging-pegger · 3 years

Text

A SECRET GARDEN 💐 muriel

alrite campers due to popular demand, i present to thee: Muriel fluff <3

recently, muriel had taken up a new hobby. this much was apparent. he spent much less time in the hut, and was up early in the morning, coming back occasionally to check in, get something to eat, and then, he left again.

it peaked your interest, to see him so involved and engaged in something, yet not to express what it was. although, you weren't a stranger to the silence, the two of you often shared moments filled with it.

muriel wasn't a man of many words, yet somehow, he was the most passionate man you knew, always finding ways to ensure you know he loves you, and putting his own fears aside to stand by you when you need him most.

if there was a new interest in his life, you wanted to be part of it; after all, he was always participating in your hobbies with you.

waking early that morning, you fixed breakfast for the two of you.

this was the best time to ask.

"muriel...?"

the man grunted in acknowledgement, eyeing you over the top of a crude coffee mug; in which he was drinking the bitter liquid from.

"i want to go with you today."

"eh?" he cocked a brow, he didn't seem to follow.

"y'know... wherever you've been going lately!! if it isn't too much to ask or intruding... i'd like for you to bring me along..."

"oh-" his face turned hues of pink and scarlet, his eyes darting away. he was a bit embarrassed. "yeah... you can come... if you want..."

his voice had lowered significantly , just barely louder than a whisper.

after breakfast, muriel cleared the table, quickly washing the dishes before getting his cloak [paired with the lovely hunter green scarf you treated him to shortly after your first meet] and waiting by the door expectantly for you.

"oh. we're going now?"

a nod.

following suit, you grab a light jacket, heading out of the hut with your lover.

soon enough, you reach a small clearing in the woods, two beautiful green bushes block your path.

just as if you were in a fairy tale, muriel moved the branches and leaves apart, as if they were luxurious curtains.

looking around, your eyes were complimented by an abstract array of colors, fruits flowers and vegetables alike; all lively and flourishing in this secret haven.

"woah..." was all you could manage.

his toned face now flushing pink once more, was painted with a look of surprise. "you ... like it?"

"of course i do... it's beautiful!" you stop to look at a vine, twining up a hand made teepee from large tree limbs he had found lying around, beautiful purple flowers bloomed around them.

as you continued walking down the path luscious fruit bushes, scattered with jewel like berries lined the pathway.

plucking one of them off and popping it into your mouth, a smile tugged at your lips. "Mmm..."

"you did all this yourself!?" you turn excitedly, muriel stood, it was apparent he was proud.

"yes..."

"this is amazing... you've really got a green thumb- huh?"

"i suppose you could say that...." he tugged at the fabric of his scarf as you picked a medley of more fruit to snack on as you continued further into his safe haven.

passing through more bushes, you ended up in a small designated area, with apple and pear trees lining the perimeter.

beside a shallow pond, was a bench, a bag of dried corn sat next to it.

"come... sit." muriel's lips twitched, he was fighting a smile.

"you really worked hard on this place huh..."

"ive been working on it for years actually..." he grabbed a handful of the feed and threw it into the pond, a large white and orange fish was now just below the surface, opening its gigantic mouth to consume the gift that muriel had bestowed to it, soon joined by a few others.

"it's... really nice. i like it." you look at him, genuine and sincere.

"you don't think it's weird...?"

"of course no-"

BAWK BAWBAWBAWWK

the sudden noise caused you to about jump out of your skin, muriel began to laugh.

"it's alright... it's just one of my neighbors." what could only be described as a giggle came from the man, as he approached the bird, picking it up and bringing it back to the bench.

"I think she might be hungry." you feed the chicken a berry from your hand , as it pecked in search of more.

"i think so too..."

it was suddenly clear why muriel spent all his time here. it was a beautiful place.

#muriel #the arcana #muriel x apprentice #muriel x reader #the arcana mc #muriel x mc #muriel fluff #the arcana fluff #fluf #the arcana drabble

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Seconding the 'mob guys watching over Chris for Paul's suggestion!

CW: References to murder/mob organization stuff, references to parental death, grief, referenced past whump of a minor

Every Tuesday at 9 am, just like clockwork, Sean Malley lumbers into a coffeeshop nestled into the corner of a flat featureless strip mall. Contrasting to the pale concrete nothingness of its surrounding, the little coffeeshop is painted a warm, rich brown along the exterior, with heavy platers spilling over with purple and yellow flowers every few feet until Sean reaches the door.

It’s a welcome bit of individuality along this ring of small strip malls and larger big-box stores kept out of the city proper by a pile of zoning laws too draconian to fight. He’s been coming here for ten years now, more or less, and has seen the little coffeshop through its earliest days struggling for business right to now, where he feels reasonably certain he’ll be dead long before they close this place for good.

He moves inside, the light immediately warm and slightly dimmed. The scent in the air of freshly roasted coffee beans and baked goods. The cannolis they sell came from him, Sean’s proud of that - his wife had a favorite recipe and he’d given it to them after she passed, hoping for one batch for the service. They’d just kept making them, having one ready for him when he popped in, and... well, they’ve sold them ever since. Even call them Christa’s Cannolis, handwritten in cursive on a little placard. She’d have been tickled pink, he thinks sometimes, to see it.

One of his knees comes and goes as it pleases these days, giving his step a bit of a shuffle-scrape. He’s smiling, though, and humming as he goes.

Life is good for Sean Malley, all things considered.

Truth be told, he hadn't actually expected to live this long. Keeping close to Conor and his family had paid off in the early days - just as his instincts had kept him safe when the Garden erupted in in-fighting, too. When the Clean-Up happened, during the Garden’s most vicious in-fighting, Sean had seen half the men he’d watched start as snot-nosed dumbasses taken out one by one, clearing the way for Conor’s fucking grandson to make his play for power.

Those kids who’d run lookout gigs and then moved on to guard duty or work with the cargo coming in... one by one those kids-turned-adults, with families of their own, had been removed from the picture. Fifteen, all told, a bloodbath stretched out over six months - sixteen, of course, if you count how Paul’s murder went all wrong.

The one comfort had been watching Conor’s grandson lay the groundwork for his own comeuppance the whole time - promising favors for loyalty and then killing the ones he’d promised those favors to. That’s no way to start yourself as leader, and... well.

Trash had been taken out, in the end. Riley Higgs had gotten rid of the poison - and the poison’s friends - and his crew’s a damn sight better than Conor’s grandson’s people had been.

Riley, for one thing, understands that an organization like the Garden works, in the end, on trust. On being a family.

Don’t kill your family without a good damn reason, now do you?

Now Riley... he had a good reason. And Sean had made sure Riley Higgs knew a few very important facts that kept him on the man’s good side, and very much alive when the dust settled.

Even if he had did have to live with a bum knee. And back. And his hip’s started twinging every time it rains...

"Morning, Mr. Malley!" His favorite barista calls out, giving him a wave from behind the counter. She's a pretty thing, just cute as a button. Probably in her late twenties but when you’re as old as Sean is, everyone looks like a child playing pretend.

Still, it always brings a bit of sun in the old man's day to see her bright pink hair before he ever takes his seat. He always tells her she should move on from here, do something with her life other than serve old men their coffee and watch them while away the hours.

But I like it here, Melody always replies, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. I like our regulars, too. Besides, this place pays better than the job I’d get with my actual degree.

"G'morning to you, Melody!" He calls back, moving to have a seat in his usual spot, sinking gratefully into the plush armchair by the bookshelf in the corner. His favorite coffee table book, a heavy thing full of photos of World War II, is already laid out on the side table next to it, bookmarked where he’d left off last week. "Busy day, today?"

Melody is already heading his way, coffee in hand just how he likes it, one of Christa’s Cannolis on a small plate in the other. Sean’s doctor has been on him about cutting out sugar, and he’s done it just about everywhere else, but he still has his cannoli on Tuesdays. Christa had been so proud of herself when she’d mastered that recipe...

"Not really,” Melody says with a shrug, breaking into his thoughts. “Just the usual morning rush and a couple college kids, wandered outside but they left their drinks, I figure they’ll come back. One of 'em looks like he got mauled by a real weak bear."

Sean feigns surprise. "Oh, does he now?" He takes a sip of his coffee and sighs happily. "Not too hot. You had it out already, didn't you?"

"I saw your car pull into the lot," Melody says, giving a little it's nothing gesture. “I knew you’d be in, so I kept an eye out for you.”

"You're a doll, Melody, and this place would be lost without you." He presses the twenty-dollar bill into her hand, and when she protests, he shakes his head, adds another ten, and closes her hand firmly around the cash. "Take it, take it. I'm an old man on my own, who've I got to spend it on, huh?"

"You're not that old, Mr. Malley," Melody sighs, an old song and dance between them. “You’ve got grandkids who could use it, too, you know.”

"Ha! Trust that my grandkids never want for anything, Melody. Besides, live the life I've lived, and sixty feels like eighty-two. Go on, then. Cilly'll be along in a bit."

He sits back to drink his coffee as she heads back behind the counter, watching through the front window the cars that pass along the highway, the scattering of people getting in and out of their own vehicles in the parking lot. It's a perfect, and perfectly normal, Tuesday morning. Just like any other.

A perfectly normal Tuesday where one creature of habit makes it a point to get a quick look at another.

A flash of red catches his eye, and he frowns, watching a bright red Northern cardinal alight on the bench placed outside the shop, preening one wing briefly and then seeming to look towards the lot.

Sean follows its gaze, silently chastising himself for being so utterly taken by a simple bird, but... Northern cardinals are more or less unheard of around here, especially in the city. This one seems to cock its head in his direction.

"Someone," He mutters to himself, "is a bit lost."

There's a peal of laughter, as the door opens, the little bell on top chiming to announce them, and there they are.

Two young people walking inside, heads tilted together. One of them has thick, wavy black hair, one of those haircuts the younger people like so much now, shaved on the sides but long on top. The younger guys in the Family wear their hair like that now and then.

Sean thinks he liked it better when everyone kept things neat and tidy, but times change, and the Garden can't stagnate just because an old timer's got opinions. Riley’s take is he’d rather is people look like they could be anybody anywhere, and Sean has to admit the kind of haircut he’d like to see would stick out like a sore thumb.

Both of them are wearing all black head to toe, the black-haired one in a tank top and baggy pants, a large yellow lightning bolt on a cord settled just below their collarbone. Honestly, if he gets past the hair thing, they’re cute as a button, too.

Really, though, he’s not here because of them.

He’s here to get a good look at the young man walking in beside them.

It’s funny - it’s been nine - ten? - years since he last saw Paul Higgs alive, the day before he and his sweet Ronnie were gunned down in their own home in the night... but tears still prick at the corners of Sean’s eyes when he see the ghost of Paul in his son’s narrow face.

There’d been a joke when the little one first came into the world, that somehow Paul and Ronnie had put together a child where her genetics simply skipped out entirely. He’d been a little clone of Paulie from the start, and he’s different as a man than he’d been as a child lining toy cars up at their feet in the warehouse on Saturdays when Ronnie needed a break.

Sean pulls his phone out, idly scrolling - his daughter had helped him to get Facebook and a couple other things besides, including some kind of app that had his favorite card games. He pretends now to be fascinated by something he sees, but in truth he pulls his camera up and starts recording.

“It, it, it could change everything,” Paulie’s boy is saying, breathlessly excited, hands moving through the air in a blend of gesture and general happiness. “You see? Everything! Make it, it, it-it safer, make... make things better.”

“I know, I know,” The other one replies, deep voice warm and thick with love, and Sean sighs, missing his Christa now more than ever. He consoles himself with a bite of cannoli. “I already told you I’m in, Chris, okay? I’m going to help you. You don’t have to sell me on it.”

Tristan ducks his head with a shy smile, and boy if he isn’t Paul’s spitting image in that, too. Paulie hadn’t smiled much, not like his kid does - maybe that’s what he got from Ronnie - but in a smile like that, well... you could see where he got it from. If you’d known Paul, of course.

Which the kid didn’t, not anymore.

“It could, um, be dangerous though.” They’re barely audible now as they go back to where they left their still-steaming drinks, sitting down on a nearby couch. “Nat’s worried. And, and, and you know Jake-”

“Chris, you could walk across a crosswalk when the light starts blinking and Jake would still worry about you,” The other one teases. Sean knows their name, but right now it won’t quite come to mind, lingering on the tip of is tongue, never quite landing. “It’ll be public, yeah-”

“Telling everyone who... who, who I am.” Tristan starts tapping his fingers on his pants, a peculiar finger-twist-tap-tap-tap gesture that Sean once knew as well as anyone, when the boy was small. But it’s the words, with a hint of nervousness lining them, that get his attention. “The... the whole world’s going to, to, to to-to-... to... to know about Tristan Higgs.”

Now that gets Sean’s attention. He cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and starts a new one. It takes work not to sit up, or drop his cannoli, or in some other way give himself away.

He knows, then?

How?

Sean looks down at his phone, looking over the scar on Paul’s boy’s forehead, the only remaining evidence of what had been much more visible the first couple times they’d seen him out after it happened. Sean and Cilly had figured maybe a fight - people get into them, really. Paul wasn’t exactly gentle as a lamb, and why would his boy be?

But now... he wondered. His instincts told him the two were related, and of course he knew from the time they’d worked with WRU pretty closely under the table that those memory things they did sometimes failed. Sean had done a fixer job once for someone whose pet had recovered memories too fast and killed a servant in a panic...

“Oh, Paul,” Sean murmurs. “What’d your boy do, hm?”

“I’m, I’m going to to to t-... to tell everyone who I am,” Paul’s boy is saying, leaning forward and taking the hands of the other one in his own, squeezing them tight. “I’m... will, will, will you come with me? When, when I... so someone’s there?”

“What? Holy shit, Chris, go to the Olympics? With you?” They inhale and exhale, blowing some hair from their eyes, and smile. “You should take someone who knows more than I do about all that stuff, Chris, take Jake, or-”

“Jake has has to stay here. To, to protect the house. But... will you come with me?”

Sean cuts the video, sends it to Riley, and this time adds a message.

Olympics are in Chicago this year. What’s Paul Jr. planning?

He feels eyes on him and glances up to find Tristan looking over at him, an expression of uncertainty on his face. Sean’s been watching him for years, popping up in places, the way you sometimes see the same faces at the corner store, the mom-and-pop, a coffeeshop like this one. Now, he watches Tristan look him over, knowing he’s familiar but not knowing why. Part of him, with a pinprick of an old, old grief, wishes Paul’s little boy would recognize him now.

Most of him knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

Tristan looks away, and goes back to talking, but his voice lowers and now Sean can’t quite pick up what he’s saying beyond a few scattered words. He gets a couple photos of the lovebirds with their head together, sipping coffee, and sends those on to Riley, too.

Job done, he settles back to finish his cannoli and drink his coffee. Tristan and-... Laken, his name suddenly supplies, only an hour after he’d started trying to remember it - get up and leave, Tristan’s arm around Laken’s waist.

Good for the kid, Sean thinks, with a smile. By this age Paul had an elementary school son running around, but you know, it’s good to take your time on these things, and it’s nice to see that all the shit they’ve had to stand back and watch still wraps up nicely into Paul’s boy living a pretty nice life indeed.

His phone dings just as Cilly enters - right on time at 10, like clockwork - and he glances down to open the message from Riley.

I’ll get one of our guys to look into it. This might give us the out on the business I don’t want to be in I’ve been looking for. Kid looks good, looks like Paul. Family genes run deep.

Sean greets Cilly, even older than him but a sight more spry, and glances out the window. The bird’s gone from the bench, of course. The day is bright and shining.

In Laken’s car, they’re halfway back to the house Laken shares with their roommates when Chris suddenly sits straight up. “Mr. Malley,” He breathes out, green eyes widening.

Laken jumps - he’d been silent, preoccupied and in thought - and nearly jerks the car into a curb. “Damn, Chris! You scared me. What’d you say?”

“The old guy, in, in, in the the the the-the-... the coffeeshop, who kept looking at, at me.” Chris rocks forward, hands on the dashboard, his eyes staring ahead but not at the road, they’re looking far ahead... or behind himself, back in time and not space, when and not where. “His name’s Mr. Malley. I, I, I knew-... my dad knew, my, my, my dad, my dad-”

He winces, the headache splitting him apart, and Laken hits their turn signal, pulling into the parking lot of a generic fast food place, swinging into a parking space and turning to look at him.

“Chris? You okay?”

Chris’s face has gone pale, cold sweat breaking out. It still happens, sometimes, and when they lean over to touch his shoulder he flinches back from them, instinctively.

Laken exhales. “Okay. Ride it out, Chris. Let the memory go if it’s hurting, it’ll come back to you. They all come back now.”

“No! No, I, I, I want-... Mr. Malley knew my dad, I went to-... work, with, with him sometimes, his his his wife babysat me, I... I know him. I knew him. I knew-” He turns to look at them, and they fight the urge to try and touch him again.

Not yet.

“Do you... do you think, think, think he knew me?”

Laken swallows. “I don’t think so. Wouldn’t he have said something, if he recognized you? If he was your dad’s friend? Are you absolutely sure that-”

“Yes, I’m, I’m sure. I know it was him. I, I, I know, he, he, he gave me me me Dinotopia books... for Christmas one year...” Chris jerked in a breath and let it out again, hands going up over his head, folding himself in half until his forehead rested on the dashboard, pressed to the cool molded plastic. “He, he, he, he came to their funeral, he hugged me, he said, you’re too young to to to to have to lose so much, and everyone said-... everyone said stuff I hated but but but not him, he said, he said-”

“Chris, please, don’t hurt yourself doing this-”

“He said grief gets worse before it gets better, and and and and he said-... he said... he said don’t let anyone tell you that R-Ronnie’d want you to to to be strong, she’d want you to scream your head off if you want to, your dad’d be proud if if if if-if... if you told us all to go to hell, and... and and and and it felt like he was the only person who who who knew them at all that day, everyone said, said, said stupid things but not him, not-... not him and not Mr. Cilly, not-... not my Aunt Jo, not anybody, but he-”

Chris chokes on a sob and when Laken throws their arms around him he melts into it this time, crying against their shoulder, the two of them uncomfortably arched over the center console and the gear shift.

“It’s okay,” Laken whispers, running their fingers over the slowly growing fuzz of his hair. “It’s okay. Let it ride, Chris. It’s okay.”

“He, he, he was my dad’s b-b-best friend-... Why d-didn’t he, if he saw me, why wouldn’t he-... I s-see him all th-the the the time, why doesn’t he know who I am?”

“Maybe he’s like Akio,” Laken says, and feels him trembling under their touch. “Maybe he’s always thought you were dead.”

“I w-was,” Chris whispers “When I, I, I was Baldur. When I was training. When... when I... was good. I was dead.”

“Chris-”

“I was dead,” Chris says, and they kiss his head, helpless to think of anything else to do. “When my p-parents died, I died, too. Mr. Malley made m-me feel like I I I wasn’t. Why didn’t he kn-know me? Why didn’t a-anyone know I was alive?”

“I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.”

“Hurts,” Chris whispers. “Why, why, why didn’t anyone help me before she she she-... before I was-... why didn’t anyone help me?”

Laken’s own eyes burn, and they draw circles on his scalp with their fingertips. “I can’t answer that,” They say, low and soft. “I’m sorry. But you know you have people who can and will help you now.”

For a while, Chris’s only sounds are sobs, and Laken can only make soft soothing nonsense noises and feel like shit that it’s not enough.

“Ev, everyone knew she-she hated me,” Chris whimpers, and sounds younger than he ever has, and Laken wants to throw a punch or scream and they can’t do either, only sit in the car and glare at people who look in as they walk past. “Everyone.”

“Chris-”

“Everyone knew, why, why, why why why didn’t they stop her?”

Back in the coffeeshop, Sean and Cilly are in the midst of an argument about a baseball game that happened 30 years ago when his phone rings. He holds up one finger and picks it up, lifting it to his ear.

“I have a job for you,” Riley says, with his cheerful hint of brogue. Funny, to remember that this part of the family only came here a few decades ago. “It’s a job I know you’ll enjoy.”

“Watching Paul’s boy is my retirement gig,” Sean says amicably. “You know I don’t do the dangerous stuff any longer, Mr. Higgs.”

There’s a silence. “I’m going to do some looking into what you sent me. But in the meantime I need to give you a job, and you’re going to do it.”

“And why is that, Mr. Higgs?”

“Because you’re going to want to do this.”

“What is it, then?”

Another pause.

“I want you to find Joanne Botham.”

Sean thinks of the dour, angry woman who had ignored Tristan in his funeral suit, gathering mourners around her while she sobbed over Ronnie’s loss, Ronnie’s own son alone on a couch staring off into space until Sean himself had sat down and told him, don’t let ‘em say your mom’d be proud of you bein’ stoic today, kiddo. Ronnie’d want you to scream if you felt the urge.

The kid had looked at him like he’d been given water in the desert, a starving man offered a bowlful of broth. Mr. Malley?

People will say a lot of real stupid stuff to you today, Sean had said. His eyes had gone to Joanne Botham, and Ronnie’s sister’s icy glare when she looked at her own nephew had made his blood run cold with anger even then. Likely in the future, too. But you just remember Paul and Ronnie weren’t saints. And they’d never want you to be, either. I’m sorry for your loss, Tris. No one on God’s earth has loved their kid like yours loved you. Should’ve seen his face when he told us your mom was pregnant with you. Could’ve lit the world with all the sunshine there.

A clap on the back, a whispered thank you, and that had been the last day Sean Malley had ever seen Tristan Higgs alive.

Until, of course, Riley had told him there was a boy living in a pet liberation safehouse who looked remarkably like Paul. Until, of course, Riley had shared that he’d known Tristan Higgs was alive all along. Until, of course, Sean had been told he couldn’t make a move because WRU was protecting all the players who had stolen his friend’s kid.

Until... now.

“Mr. Higgs?” His voice drops, and Cilly sits up, alarmed at the sudden change in tone.

“You heard me. Find Joanne Botham. I have a feeling we are about to get the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

The phone goes dead on the other end, and Sean slowly sets it down, finishing his second cup of coffee in a gulp. Then he looks at Cilly, and starts to smile.

“Riley’s got work for us,” He says, and when Cilly’s eyebrows raise he doesn’t wait for him to ask for more. “Don’t worry. You’re going to like it. Finally get to do what we should have done ten fucking years ago.”

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump , @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump

#whump #speak out arc #chris the strawberry blond romantic #emotional whump #grief tw #referenced parental death #referenced past whump of a minor #referenced murder #memory loss #memory recovery #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #hi made myself cry during chris's part towards the end wheeeee

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inb4belphienaps · 3 years

Text

crying over spilt milk

warnings: none word count: 2285

“Truth be told, I’ve been having these dreams. Dreams almost of another life, a past life perhaps. One that I’d lived and seen and breathed through at some distant point in time.”

I read over my words, holding the letter in my hands.

“They are, by far, the most intricate and detailed dreams I’ve ever had. Usually, I don’t remember them. But these…these feel too real, too specific, too thought out to be anything except something akin to memories of a bygone era.”

I recall a few of them with some difficulty. That was always how dreams worked, like trying to grab mist with your bare hands and having nothing tangible left as evidence.

“Shall I confess?

They have now become a source of entertainment for me, having increasingly rooted themselves in my mind, to the extent that I find myself looking forward to (for lack of better phrasing) the ‘next installment’.

It’s bizarre, I’ll admit. How eager I am to get to sleep as soon as the clock shifts from afternoon to evening, when the hour hand turns to six and I wonder if I’ll see him again…”

as you slowly float back up to the surface, the first sound that hits you is the singing of birds. their bright and cheerful chirps filter in with a hint of irony. though they're pleasant, quietened by the curtains hanging over the windows, it means that it's still rather early.

there's a chill in the air and you turn over under your duvet, tucking your feet in further towards your knees, eager to keep the warmth on your skin. and yet, you open your eyes, not needing to blink any sleep from them. oddly enough, you're more awake than you'd thought. whatever dream you'd been having is far from your mind as you bask in the scattered sunlight dancing on your walls.

such serenity ignites a type of mild excitement in you. and with that in mind, you will yourself to get out of bed.

you draw back the curtains and glance outside, looking out at the landscape, where the sun is shyly peeking over the hill. dawn is only just breaking and as you open a window, a gust of wind greets you, sending a rush of floral scents your way.

you can place notes of rose and lavender, and maybe honeysuckle too. the scenery is beautiful, and you lean against the ledge to admire it. clear skies and waves of green, dotted here and there with reds and pinks and yellows. there's a calmness to the color and vibrancy. something you hadn't stopped to feel in a long time.

it stays in the background. while you pour yourself some tea and sit down for breakfast, and when you turn on the radio to the crooning of some ballad you can't quite place. and even as you set about doing the laundry, humming every now and then to a tune only you seem to know.

the basket you use is one you've weaved yourself (in an attempt to be impassioned by a new hobby). it's small and sturdy and it does the job. you wonder whether it'll last you, hoping that if it breaks, it'll at least do you the favor of waiting until it's empty.

though it doesn't take long, you're startled to see the sun in the sky as you step onto the gravel path, basket in hand. it seems to stare down at you and wink as clouds roll overhead, creating capering shadows on the field as you start hanging the wet quilts one by one.

a couple of bees follow you around as you go about your business. and when you stand still to breathe in the smell of freshly washed linen and admire the warm glow cast on those sheets by the light, a butterfly flutters past.

it brings with it the distant ring of a bicycle bell. you look to the east where a man in uniform comes riding up the hill and the smile on your face could bring shame to the flowers lying near your feet.

"good morning", he says, slowing and stopping a foot or two away from you. he tilts his cap and you note the way in which his fringe barely covers his right eye.

"good morning", you reply. "it must be exhausting having to make that trip every day."

he laughs. it's sweet.

"i don't really mind."

in his hand he carries a metal basket and neatly arranged inside are six glass bottles full of milk.

"how many would you like today?", he asks, and you have the urge to tell him you'll take everything he has to offer. but of course, you don't say this aloud.

"just the one, please."

as he picks up one of the bottles to give to you, you swallow your spit and gesture towards your house. the shadows continue to dance above it, making it seem fluid despite its usual rigidity.

"can i get you something to drink? a coffee, perhaps?"

he appears taken aback, eyes widening a fraction before he smiles, and you feel your heart leap into your throat.

"i'd like that very much. a coffee sounds great."

you momentarily freeze, having expected him to refuse your offer. and then you're taking the bottle of milk and your basket back inside as he follows after you. you turn back to him as he enters and the sheets you'd hung flail slightly behind him, almost like a set of wings.

"cream and sugar?"

"um, no. but could i trouble you for some ice?"

an iced americano, you think. placing your basket on the floor and leaving your bottle on the kitchen counter, you busy yourself with preparing his beverage.

"my name is belphegor, by the way. i think you should at least know who it is that's been delivering you your milk."

you pause, having taken a mug out of the cupboard, and meet his gaze. his tone sounds a little indignant. were you simply being sensitive?

"it's a pleasure to officially meet you, belphegor."

the both of you exchange a shared laugh (the sudden bit of formality is embarrassing). he's the first to look away, breaking the eye contact that has goosebumps erupt on your skin. hm, perhaps you were overthinking things. only, the problem is that you're not sure you have any ice in the fridge.

"were you listening to music?"

"yes- oh", you say, confused at the static that greets you. "the program must've finished."

he glances at the radio and then at you. in your bid to locate the instant coffee you have, you don't notice.

through a strange coincidence, you find it sitting pretty on the top-most shelf of the pantry. you frown, wondering if you'd placed it there by mistake.

belphegor is about to open his mouth to speak again when he sees you reach upwards, fingers brushing across the jar mere centimeters out of your grasp. you're on your toes, leaning forward, barely balancing as you try your hardest to take it.

the man remains silent, watching you with a detached type of curiosity.

darn shelves, you think, as you stretch as far as you're physically able. still, the glass slips from between your fingers and you resort to stepping on a sack of flour. right as you grab it, the corner of the sack slides out from underneath your foot and you gasp, knowing all too well how this was going to end.

but there's a hand on your shoulder and a solid chest against your back, and a pleasant voice in your ear that suggests otherwise.

"so much trouble for a coffee."

his breath tickles the nape of your neck and you twist around to thank him, unprepared for the amused expression painting his face. from here, you can see every freckle, every eyelash, and every stray hair left untamed by his cap.

"you okay?", he asks, too close and quiet. too intimate that you forget yourself for a second.

"i'm...i'm fine."

those furrowed brows of his make you think twice and you place a hand to his chest, marveling in its warmth. you can feel his heart beat. it's steady, unfazed by whatever silly accident had happened just now.

"thanks", you mutter, swiftly removing yourself from his arms (firm and inviting). "i'll uhh...i'll make your iced americano, shall i?"

he doesn't say anything as you take a spoon and measure out the ground powder. and the silence lingers as you bring a pot of water to the boil. your thoughts, however, are that much louder, that much more pronounced. you were never one to invite strangers into your home. why was he such an exception?

"you can stop staring."

belphegor chuckles and you hate the fact that you can't ignore it. his laughter, it twinkles, and it has you looking at him all over again.

"i was keeping an eye out for you. in case you decide to make a habit of falling while i'm here."

you scoff, opening the fridge door to remove the ice tray. six cubes blink up at you and you ease three out, popping them into his mug in rapid succession. it's a tad violent and some of the coffee sloshes out onto the counter.

"thank you for your concern. but it's really not necessary."

he walks towards you, and you remain fixed on his bowtie, hoping to avoid being trapped by his alluring purple irises.

"if you say so."

and he takes a sip. and you find a cloth to wipe the spilt coffee with.

"it tastes good", he says. "maybe i should ask you to make me one every morning."

"tough luck", you reply, glancing at him as you clean. "i'm afraid this is the last of my hospitality."

besides, you didn't have it in you to continue acting an utter fool around him. something about his self-assuredness serves as the antithesis to your nervous energy, fueling it further to the point that you're doubtful about whether he'll return tomorrow.

"is that any way to talk to your knight in shining armor?"

oh. nevermind. that question makes you want to slap the handsome smirk off his face.

you give one last swipe of the counter, as if to stand your ground, and straighten up. yet it only leads to disaster.

the lonesome bottle of milk that you'd put atop it, comes crashing down onto the tiles, spraying its contents along every surface and scattering glass shards in its wake. the knot in your stomach tightens and you refuse to acknowledge the man who hasn't budged an inch.

he clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"what am i going to do with you?"

as you stoop down to gather the glass, he mirrors you.

"i can-"

"it'll be faster with the two of us."

apparently, it's your turn to watch him. you slow your movements as you focus on his hands, how meticulously they pick up each broken shard and how conflicted you feel about him doing as such. in your daze, the edge of a particularly sharp fragment digs into your thumb and you flinch.

"fuck-"

he reacts before you do, tossing the glass he's holding into the bin and taking your hand in his to help you remove the fragment.

"this might sting", he mutters. that was the last thing on your mind. did this man have no sense of personal space?

the fragment is tossed out with the rest of what used to be the bottle and you're about to reluctantly thank him for a second time until he's bringing your thumb up to his mouth.

"wh- what are you doing?"

he suckles gently on the cut, putting a stop to the bleeding, and you're rendered speechless. when he speaks, all you can think about is his lips.

"can't you be more careful?"

"not with you here, no", you say, finally admitting to the reality that was beginning to suffocate you. you can't pay attention to anything other than him.

"figured it out, have you?"

"figured what out...?", you ask, leaning in as his voice drops to a whisper.

"you have a crush on me."

you stare, perplexed, and you tear your eyes away from his mouth to look at him. there's a secret lingering in his facade. of words unspoken and confessions kept hidden. what does he know?

"prove it", you mumble, perfectly aware of how ridiculous a demand that was.

except he obliges, closing the gap between the both of you and meeting your lips with his own. they're soft and as you snake your hands around his neck, his cap comes loose, falling to join the mess on the floor.

neither of you care to address it and he pulls you back up, hugging you to his front and wrapping his arms around you. it's intoxicating. bitterness lingers on his tongue and there's the faint taste of cigarettes. but you're kissing him like someone starved. or perhaps someone parched.

sparks fly beneath your eyelids and rouge caresses your cheeks. (or was it the ghost of his palm against them?)

there's a need, an intensity to the way he grips you and the way clenches his jaw when you tug at his hair. you match him blow for blow, digging your nails into his shoulder and moaning softly into the kiss.

when you part and rest your forehead against his, you're not the only one who's out of breath.

"belphie", you whisper and the look on his face is a mystery in itself – surprise and longing, haphazardly hidden behind a mask of indifference.

"thank god i brought another five bottles with me, huh?"

#yeah move along it's another belphie piece shut up #obey me au #obey me writing #obey me fluff #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #belphegor x reader #belphegor x gn reader #my writing 🐇

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