#it scares him. but he wants to be ready to leave these journals behind for his sisters to find

[drakrite]

Also I finally figured out why Raihan would journal so much of his adventures / explorations.

Because since he dies young, around his mid 50s, he'd want to leave his journals for his nieces and nephews when he's gone. So they learn about him through his life, through his passion, and learn history alongside him, so they could know exactly who their uncle was

#yes this is sad but. it makes sense bc he knows he has the genes that hold the same condition his father had #it scares him. but he wants to be ready to leave these journals behind for his sisters to find

[thereadinggremlin]

Guarded Hearts pt 3

Summary: You find out Azriels your mate but you start getting the could shoulder from him after he returns from a mission.

Authors Note- Ok. I did it. Finally finished my first ACOTAR fanfic. I have ideas for more but if anyone has some send them my way. Anyways. Enjoy

As the shadow dissapeared and you heard Rhys’s voice you knew you were out of time. You started to grab your stuff for a quick getaway, not that you could winnow but you could fly pretty fast. Figuring he’d be there any minute you decided that leaving out the back door would give you a few minute head start. That idea was shattered as he showed up less than 30 feet away from you, for a moment you just stood there looking at him and then you shot to the skies, your stuff be damned.

You had some idea of where you were going but what you really needed was to just get away from him. Everything you were feeling was too much. Why would he send his shadows after you, he didn’t care, he made that evident in the way that he has ignored you for the last month. You had been up here for awhile before he probably even realized that you weren’t around.

You spent one spare second to look behind you and there he was hot on your heels and trying to catch up to you and then you felt a tug. You didn’t know your sheilds were down for that long unless…

You shit straight up knowing he would follow, you stopped and waited, as he appeared tou yelled to him “How long?” The hot tears pooling in your eyes.

He just stared at you, not saying anything, when you focused on the bond you felt a mix of sadness and happiness and knew that these were not your feelings.

“I will let you know when I’m ready, if you ask anyone or send your shadows after me, you will regret it.” You said as you flew away and left him there in the cold air with nothing but the feeling of betrayal and hurt coursing through the bond.

He didn’t know what to do. After you left he returned to the cabin and looked around, your books and other belongings still scattered all over the place. He started gathering all of them up to take them back home, he knew you wouldn’t return here since he found you but he did think that having them in your room at the house of wind would be better.

In your collection of books he found a notebook, it seemed like a journal or diary and it seemed you had started it just before you apparently left home. He dropped onto the couch to start reading and he closed off the bond again, he didn't want you to know he was snooping and he was too scared that if he didn’t guard himself all his feelings would go down the bond to you.

As he started to read, his heart fell into his stomach. He didn’t realize that his actions had hurt you so much, he thought he was protecting you. He didn’t want to rush you into the bond but apparently all he did was push you away.

He got halfway through the notebook when he saw one of your few entries since you arrived at the cabin

“Ive been at the cabin for a while and everyone’s left me alone, which is good, but I can’t help to think of Azriel has noticed if I left or not. Regardless of how he’s treated me recently I still love him, I can’t help but love him and right now, I don’t know if I like how I feel about it. I know he’s my mate but I can’t keep taking the heartbreak.”

He dropped the notebook. You knew. You knew and you never told him. He couldn’t get mad because he had known for a long time too. He was cursing himself from guarding the bond for so long, he could have avoided this whole thing if he just stopped to talk to you. He picked up all of your stuff and returned to the house of wind, he needed to make a plan and try to get you to forgive him.

You flew until your wings ached, the lake you always loved was quiet and serene. You always came here when you needed to think it was a secret spot only you and one other knew of. You didn’t get much time to yourself before he showed up.

“So you wanna talk about it?” Cassian drawled out.

“Is there really any point” you stated flatly “And how did you know if even be here?”

“Well I was around when Azriel was questioning Rhys and when he left I knew if he found you this would be the place you’d escape to” he gave you a small smile “I’m surprised that you beat me here honestly, I thought you forgot about this place.”

“I could never. This place is so peaceful, I just haven’t had the time to fly out” you said with a sad smile. After bad missions you and Cassian would come here to let the steam out, fight, cry, or just sit there quiet. After he found out Nesta was his mate the two of you sat here on the waters edge for hours while he just sat there and thought about her.

“You know he loves you” Cassian said taking you out of your memories. Startled you just stared at him “yeah I figured you didn’t know, he’s loved you for a long time”

“He’s my mate.”

“I know.” She looked at him, surprise cascading across her face.

“How did you know?”

“I’ve known since it snapped in place for him. I picked up on the little changes and all the glances he passed your way. Dudes whipped.”

You were baffled. Azriel felt the same and knows of the bond. So many emotions were coursing through you and your one thought was to tug on that string of warmth that you’ve felt in your chest. When you tugged on the bond, you were created with nothing but cold and darkness.

“What if I messed it all up?” You ask your friend.

“I can guarantee that you didnt. Rhys has been threatening me to come back and get that man under control because he’s acting strange and his shadows are no where to be found.” He paused as he looked at you “Leta go home, you don’t have to talk to him about everything today but at least try to slowly let him in.”

All you responded with was a nod of your head. You didn’t know what you’d do but you decided that you’ll find out once you see him in person.

The flight back to the house of wind was a quiet one, you and Cassian landed in the balcony outside of the dinning room thinking nothing much would be going on. As you both started to walk in you noticed that all your favorite flowers were delicately decorating the dinning room, it wasn’t too much but there were little touches here and there. You froze as you hear the familiar footfall of a certain shadow singer, they stopped abruptly so you know he noticed you.

Before either of you could say a thing Cassian cleared his throat “So are you just gonna stare at each other or……”

“You better leave them alone or I’m gonna beat your ass during training tomorrow” you heard Nesta yell from the hallway. A small smile graced your face as Cassian shrugged and left the two of you.

“I’m sor-“

“I’m so sorry I have been an asshole that was never my intention, I don’t want to push you away” Azriel blurted cutting you off. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything and I wanted you to make your own decisions, you’ve turned into such a strong female that I never wanted to dim that or make you feel less because I think you deserve the world”

He was talking so fast it took a minute for your brain to catch on to what he was saying. He’s noticed everything and remembered it, and liked you more because of what you accomplished.

“Take your shield off of the bond.” You stated flatly. You needed to know if what he was saying truly matched how he felt. “Take your shield off and then we can discuss it all.”

Within an instant you felt everything; love, worry, agony, hopefulness. He truly wanted this life with you. As you looked into his eyes they matched all the feelings you were feeling down the bond.

You slowly started approaching him, staying slow as to not scare him but he still stiffened his back not knowing what you were going to do. You stood right in front of him looking up at his eyes and feeling his breath mingle with yours, you were both breathing heavy with anticipation. You leaned up and kissed him on his cheek.

“There’s a lot we need to talk about” his eyes sank a little as you spoke “but I really want to figure this out with you. Just don’t keep anything hidden from me, you know you can just talk to me.” You finished with a smile on your face.

Azriel smiled instantly at your words and before you could process it he picked you up and spun you around. As he was holding you he leaned in and kissed you. You were very surprised at the immediate affection from him but you weren’t gonna fight it because you had been dreaming of this day since you met him.

As he set you down he pulled back and was about to apologize but then he noticed the blush on your cheeks that spread to your ears. “We can talk about everything and anything you want.” He said instead

“Oh really? Then how about you tell me how it went back at the camp I grew up in when you were there to settle things.” You asked with a mischievous look in your eyes.

“Ok anything but that” Azriel responded with a chuckle, and it was the most beautiful sound you ever heard.

Maybe you two could get over this and have a beautiful life together and by the cauldron you sure hoped so.

Tag list: @crazylokonugget @kalulakunundrum @mp-littlebit @hnyclover @nickishadow139 @isa1b2h3

#fanfic #azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #angst with a happy ending #azriel angst #first fic done

[barefoothighlander]

duality (18+)

alright here’s the third and final part of ghost x mean!reader, the committee has voted, get ready, this is pure filth and I regret nothing. this can be read as a stand alone or apart of the fic.

warnings: mdni (18+), general violence, dub con, smut, use of afab pronouns, unprotected p-in-v, rough sex, oral (fem+male rec), grinding, edging, ruined orgasm?, teasing, mention of blood, knife play, spit play, mention of scars, slight throat fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, slight sub!ghost (i had to), mentions of death, angst

prev part

Ghost couldn’t sleep that night, he was used to neglecting sleep for various reasons, nightmares, injury, field ops, but this reason was different. After seeing the medic for his wound, he made his way straight back to his room, not bothering to grab dinner or talk to anyone, his mind was a mess, he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He had finally gotten you to let down your guard a little, to allow him close to you and he fucked it up, he fucked up everything cause all he could focus on during the mission was you, your skill with your weapon, the way you easily took down pairs of men at once. His mind races with images of you, your narrowed eyes and stern look, the way you’d stare daggers at rookies who interrupted your work, he didn’t understand why he was so attracted to you, sure you were pretty and he hadn’t seen many pretty women on base but coming across a beautiful woman never made his heart stop before, but the way you carried yourself, the fact that you took no shit from anyone, including him, you were never scared.

Ghost was rarely truly fearful, in the battlefield he never feared the enemy nor the loss of his own life, any semblance of fear dying the same day his family did, in its place a burning rage, the same rage that festered in you, it called to him. He never knows what to say to you, always acting on pure instinct when you’re around, he cursed himself for days after your first kiss, believing that it would just push you further from him, but it didn’t, that same desire came to grow inside you as well. When he does sleep, he dreams of you, simple mundane things like watching you train, seeing you reading, one time you caught him daydreaming and his heart dropped, the way you glared at him he swore you could read his mind, he wished you could read his mind, maybe then you could understand a fraction of what he felt for you.

Ghost wasn’t a man of many words, he also wasn’t a man to act on impulse or emotion, most people thought he had no emotion, but you saw him behind the mask, you could see through the Ghost and that terrified him.

He sits on the edge of his bed, mind replaying his mistake, the look on your face as you plead with him for help, your tear-stained face as he held you in his arms, he wanted to make it stop, to apologize even if you didn’t want to hear it, he needed you. He mulls his options over in his mind, he knew you were mad at him, to what extent he wasn’t sure, he had to come up with some excuse that was better than “It was an accident”, he spends hours writing in his journal, the white pages being the only proof of how he felt about you.

You’re in your own room, seething in anger, happy that the burn in your eyes and throat had stopped, you weigh your options, you never wanted to see his stupid face again yet you yearned for him, every cell in your body wanted him, you had to get away somehow. With a deep breath, you leave your room and walk towards Price’s office.

Ghost looks at the time, 2:43, 2 hours he had been sitting alone with his thoughts, not doing anything, just thinking, he’s angry with himself for hurting you and he’s angry with you for leaving him, he opened himself up to you, you saw what was in his writings and wanted to stay with him, you know him more intimately than anyone, and you left him. He’s furious, his anger boiling, it has no starting point, no traceable beginning yet it overtakes him, and he marches his way to your quarters.

He doesn’t even think to knock, he doesn’t want to give you the option of shutting him out, he strides in scanning the room for you but you aren’t there, he checks around your bathroom, no sign of you, your clothes are thrown over the floor, your bed unmade, the only light in the room emitted from a small lamp on your desk, he thinks over where you could be at this hour, the gym doors are locked, same as the mess, and there’s no way you would’ve simply gone for a walk. He decides to wait, sitting at your desk, eyes scanning over a few books you had laying around.

Ghost sits alone for 30 minutes before you walk in, your eyes are watery but you aren’t crying, as soon as you see him the tears vanish, your face heats up red.

“What the fuck are you doing in here” You bark

“Where were you” He stands to his full height

“Get out” You grab at his arm to throw him out but he stands stern

“Not until you talk to me”

You laugh, “There’s nothing to talk about, you fucking tear-gassed me and almost got me killed”

“I’m sorry”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it Simon, get out” You stand to the side to allow him a path to leave, he moves forward toward the door but instead of opening it, he locks it.

“I just want you to understand”

“I don’t want to understand, I want to never see you again”

“You don’t mean that”

You’re at a tipping point, one wrong move away from throwing punches

“If you meant it you wouldn’t have kissed me”

You stop, you know he’s right, “It means nothing anymore”

“It does to me” He places an apprehensive hand on your arm looking down at you

“Take the mask off”

He freezes for a minute, standing in front of you before he reaches up to lift the balaclava from his face, he watches as your face doesn’t change, no sign of disgust, no sign of love. You reach a hand up, tracing a scar on his right cheek, you touch burns his skin as he leans into it but just as quick as he feels it, it’s gone, your hand back at your side like it never moved.

“I don’t know what these feelings are, but I can’t ignore them,” He says, “I’ll tell Price to take me off any missions with you if that’s what it takes”

You shake your head, “It’s not that simple”

“Then tell me what to do, you just push me away and nothing gets better”

“You’re the one fucking up all the time” You point a firm finger at his chest “I can’t trust you anymore”

“Let me earn it back”

“What’s done is done”

“No, not yet, not for us” He grabs the sides of your face, pulling you into him as your lips crash together. You pull back for a breath, body operating without your mind as you move him back into the chair and straddle him, your lips meeting again. The kiss is violent, both your pent-up emotions surfacing in the wake of the others touch. His hands roam your body before you grab them in a tight hold, keeping them beside his legs, his movements stutter, he needs to feel you, you crawl off his lap, kneeling in front of him as your fingers move to take off his pants, he watches in question, raising his hips slightly to help you take them off. You move closer, hand palming over his growing erection as you kiss at his thighs, stopping to bite down as you feel the muscle tense and his cock twitch, removing his boxers you fan light breaths over his length, teasing and licking everywhere but the place he wanted most. His tip is red and leaking as you continue to tease, listening to the way his breath hitches anytime your lips come close, he reaches his hands to hold at the back of your head but you grab his wrists, keeping them away.

“Please” His cock is throbbing as you stare up at him, sticking out your tongue and licking at the precum on his tip, he moans from the contact. You continue licking up the liquid till your tastebuds are overtaken by the salty taste, opening your mouth to allow his tip in, he does everything he can to not thrust into your mouth as you bob lightly. Your hand moves to trace the thick vein on his shaft as your mouth moves further down, coating him in a slick layer of saliva.

You take more of him in, your hand working along what you can’t fit as you open your throat to allow him deeper, his grunts echoing above you as you work him. You work your way down to his base, nesting your nose in his pubic hair as he curses, his tip prodding the back of your throat causing tears to well in your eyes, you pull off him with a pop, directing your attention to his balls, stroking his shaft while your tongue swirls around one.

“Fuck, I’m so close”

You return your lips to his cock, and you feel his balls tense, his breaths staggering,

“M’gonna cum”

Before he gets the chance you remove all remnants of your touch, 

“Fuck wait”

You glide your thumb over hi reddened tip, watching as his cock releases a gush of warm liquid over himself with a smirk,

“What the fuck”

Your face drops, “Call it revenge” you say standing up.

He rushes towards you, pinning you against the wall,

“That wasn’t very nice”

“Never said I was”

He laughs, reaching into a shirt pocket to pull out a small knife, bringing it to your chest as your breath hitches, eyes daring him to do it. Instead, he grabs the hem of your shirt, cutting it in two and giving him a full view of your breasts, he reaches a hand to palm at them, teasing the blade down your sternum as it draws a prick of blood, he watches as it drips between the valley of your breasts, staining the band of your pants.

“Wouldn’t wanna get these dirty” He says, grabbing your pants to tear them down, leaving you in just your panties, he runs the flat side of the blade over your hips, moving to press the cold metal against your core before using it to cut your panties off, watching them fall. He stares down at your heat, your arousal evident. He leans in close, his breath ghosting over your ear,

“Practically dripping for me love”

You turn your face away and he grabs your jaw, forcing your focus back on him,

“Teasings all fun and games till I do it to you huh”

He reaches down to cup your sex, running his fingers through your folds,

“Looks like I was right”

His hand comes up to his face as he sucks two fingers into his mouth, tasting your arousal,

“And so sweet too”

Reaching his hand back down he inserts two fingers, pumping into you slowly as his thumb toys with your clit. You curse yourself silently for the moan that escapes you, your sounds going straight to his cock as it hardens.

He curves his fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside you as he works his thumb in tandem, his movements bringing your climax to the surface, as the band inside you is just about to snap, he feels you clench him and removes his fingers. You’re left breathless, angry.

“Revenge”

He uses his leg to sweep behind yours, causing you to fall on your knees in front of him, his hardening length right in front of your face as his hand cups your jaw, the other stroking himself.

"Open"

You keep your mouth shut while he glides his tip across your lips, dissatisfied with your response he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking it back so your neck cranes up at him, your eyes staring daggers.

"I said open your fucking mouth"

Eyes locked on him you slowly part your lips, flattening your tongue and sticking it out for him to run his swollen tip over the muscle, you can taste the remnants of his previous orgasm, the salty flavour dances over your buds lighting a fire in your lower stomach. He holds your jaw and pushes himself in, you gag around his length as he buries his head deep in your throat, tears prick your eyes as you struggle to breathe. He pulls himself out, letting you catch your breath before thrusting back in, gaining a steady face as he fucks himself into your mouth, you reach a hand down to play with your clit but he stops you, removing himself and using the hold on your hair to pull you up.

"So fuckin needy, little slut"

Your arms move to push at his chest but he grabs your wrist, pulling you toward that bed, twisting your body and pushing you so your chest is flat against the mattress, your cheek pressed into the material. He uses his weight to pin you, keeping you stuck between him and the bed as his hardening length grinds against the swell of your ass.

"Think you can tease me, that I'll let you get away with it"

"Fuck you" You spit, writhing against him, his hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open before he shoves two digits in, you gag at the intrusion, you spit soaking his fingers and he removes them, gliding them between your folds, teasing your clit as you clench around nothing.

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting his full length into you, pushing you further into the mattress as a deep grunt escapes his lips. He sets a brutal pace, pulling all the way out before slamming back into you, the stretch of him leaving you breathless, it's not enough.

"More" You plead

"You think you deserve to cum?"

"Yes"

"Gonna have to do better than that pretty girl"

"Ghost please"

His arms grab under your waist flipping you, the sudden movement taking you by surprise, trying to catch your balance as he grabs behind your things, pressing them to your chest and attaching his lips to your clit. You release a loud moan, hands reaching to grab at his hair while he eats you out, the sensation is heavenly, the firm press of his tongue against your swollen bud brings you to the edge and you cum, he sucks your clit into his mouth and hums, the vibration increasing the pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high, hands grasping anywhere they could reach, once you come down he doesn't give you any time to catch your breath, standing to his full height and splitting you with his cock, he keeps your thighs pressed while he thrusts into you, his cock reaching impossibly deep.

He leans over your body, your glossy eyes finding his,

"Open"

Your brain is fuzzy, mind swirling with pleasure as you open your mouth and he spits into it urging you to swallow it.

"Such a good girl"

You moan at his words while his cock drives into you, his thumb moving to circle your clit causing your hips to twitch.

"Please s'too much" You whimper

"You can handle another"

Your back arches from his touch, the rough pad of his finger swirling your oversensitive clit as you turn your head and squeeze your eyes shut. He grabs your jaw with his free hand,

"Eyes on me, want to see you when you make a mess of my cock"

His firm grip kept your head still, eyes locked on him as another orgasm overtakes you, muscles tensing as he fucks you through it,

"That's it, baby"

You can't speak, your skin is sticky with a thin layer of sweat, he leans down to kiss you, his tongue swirling yours and you savour the taste, your body is weak but he doesn't stop. He releases your thighs and they fall to the bed, his arms moving to pull them around his waist as he continues fucking you,

"Fuck play with yourself" He grunts, the words escaping you, too tired to listen but his free hand grips your wrist and brings it to your clit, holding it there as you draw lazy circles around it, each touch making you whimper.

"I'm close, fuck, you're gonna cum with me"

You try to shake your head in protest but the weight of him holds you down, his grip keeping your fingers working over your bud.

"God you feel so fucking good, gonna cum inside you, make sure everyone knows who this pussy belongs to"

You're a mess of moans and breathless cries, the pleasure completely taking over your body as his muscles tense,

"Shit, need you to cum for me baby, give me one more"

Your body convulses as you orgasm, your pussy clenching down on him as he fucks his seed into you, grunting in your ear as he bottoms out, your vision is blurry, all you can feel is the weight of him on top of you as he places wet kisses over your bare skin.

"Did so well love"

He pulls his softening cock from you, your pussy clenching as the combination of your orgasms leaks out, coating your inner thighs, he leaves you for a moment before returning with a damp cloth, running it over your skin as you flinch from the contact. You feel the mattress dip below his weight as he settles in next to you, his bicep under your head as he holds you close. You rest for a few minutes, your mind running rampant trying to understand everything you were feeling, he gave you exactly what you craved but it changed nothing.

You draw lazy patterns on his skin, fingers tracing over his scars, you take a deep breath,

"I requested a transfer from the 141"

You feel his muscles tense,

"Why"

You sit up to face him, god he looks good, his skin shining with the glow of sweat, his cheeks tinted pink, his hair messy.

"I can't work with you, not if I can't trust you, not if how we feel about each other is going to get in the way"

He stares at you, trying to understand before his arms pull you back into him,

"Please don't leave"

"I can't stay"

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost cod #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod mw x reader #mw2022 #call of duty mwii #ghost mw2 #cod mw2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley angst #simon ghost riley smut

[netherfeildren]

I am a lantern

A Fear of God story : Series Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: Birdie realizes she’s pregnant. This takes place some time within the events of chapter 2 and 3 of Fear of God. 

Content Warnings: Established relationship; Fluff; Unprotected sex; Domestic kink; Oral sex; Discussions of menstruation; Mention of rough sex; Pregnancy; Internal angst

A/N: Surprise, surprise!! In honor of FoG reaching 15k hits on AO3 here’s the first of my planned extras for the FoG universe :) Thank you so much for all of your love and support 💗

Art is Psyche Weeping by Kink Y. Craft (2009)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

“Here ya go, sweetheart.” He hands you the bowl of dinner he’d whipped up for the two of you. 

You’d taken to avoiding the mess hall recently, too attached to the cocoon you’d wrapped yourselves in together – always wanting to be alone, basking in each other’s presence, preparing meals for one another, and then going to bed together to feel each other’s skin and fuck until either of you was too exhausted to move. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, turning your face up to him for a kiss with your eyes still on the notes you’re reading. There was too much to do lately. The clinic was so busy and Connie had veritably checked out, only popping in once in a while, leaving the heavy lifting to you with Nancy’s assistance. You’re exhausted, a little overwhelmed, entirely terrified with a perpetual black cloud of self doubt and anxiety hovering over your head at all hours of the day. You aren’t prepared for this… you aren’t even a real doctor, for fuck’s sake. Not really — not in any terms that would’ve counted before. Just whatever semblance of one the apocalypse had chewed up and spit out – an entire community was way too much responsibility for you alone. You feel the backs of your eyes pinch. Your back aches and your head throbs and your stomach has been simmering on a low grade of nausea all day long, but you still have so much to go over.

-

When he walks out again, his own bowl in hand, you’re buried face down in your notes, aggressively loud sobs wracking your body. He stares at you for a second, brow pulled down low, and all you can do is look up at him and practically wail. 

Jesus, Birdie. He sighs, long and drawn out, he’s been waiting for this – had felt the storm brewing all evening. Something’s been bugging you or setting you off the past few days, and try as he might, he can’t figure out what the real problem is. He doesn’t want to ask outright just yet – he knows you’re stressed. Connie’s been pushing harder and harder to get you to agree to let him call it quits, and Joel knows you’re scared and stressed and feeling unnecessarily unsure of yourself. If you’d asked him, he thinks you’re ready for the responsibility – more than ready. No one would be able to take care of the community better than your kind and gentle hands and magnificent mind would. 

He sets his bowl down, you’ve not even touched yours, and if it weren’t for the tears, the two of you’d be having words right now about your irresponsible eating habits. He hates when you get so distracted you forget meals, fills him with an inordinate amount of stress. He just needs to know that you’re well fed and taken care of at all times, it’s as simple as that. “Alright, sweetheart. That’s enough.” He pulls your mess of papers and journals and books and your ugly, orange throw from your lap and sets it all gently on the table beside you – ignores your protests as he wraps one arm behind your back and another one under your knees. “You’re done for the night.” He pulls the book you’re trying to reach for out of your hands and scoops you up into his arms with a grunt. Damn knees. “You’re goin’ to bed. No more working tonight.” You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder to continue your sobbing. 

“I– I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you hitch and hiccup. “I’m not finished,” you protest, “I have more to go over,” but your arms tighten around him, and he feels you mouth at the skin of his neck. Emotional and needy, recently. Hungry for his cock and his hands and his tongue at all hours of the day. Not that he was complaining, at all. But he did wonder what’d gotten into you. 

“You are for tonight,” he says softly, “You’re exhausted. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

“I’m not,” you grouch, stubborn and too adorable for your own good. His heart pinches a little. Your weight is so slight in his arms, carrying you up the stairs, just a little bird. He wonders, more often than not, how something so small can be so powerful, can terrify him so much, hold so much sway over his life, his very existence. It scares him enough to keep him away from you, as much as he can force himself, at least, even if he sees it for the lie within himself that it truly is. The two of you are practically living together at this point. As much as he feels like he needs to force himself to lie or pretend that this is still just sex, still just something to ease your individual loneliness, if he gives himself a moment to be really, really honest with himself, he knows what this truly is. 

But for now, for a little while longer at least, as long as he can stretch it out, he’ll swallow the truth of the two of you, swallow it down and pretend it’s less than what it is. That it isn’t absolutely everything.

He sets you down gently on his bed, the sheets still rumpled from when he’d fucked you this morning before he’d sent you off to work, shaky legs, leaking cunt and all. His favorite way to start the day. He helps you settle in, pulls off your leggings and his own thick socks he’d pulled over your cold feet earlier and tucks the covers in around you. He eyes the stack of books on the bedside table, a mix of his own historical fiction and westerns and the cracked and well loved spines of some of your medical texts and scientific journals  – wherever he turned his eye in his house, there were signs of you, signs of the way you’d settled into his life, become an intrinsic part of his existence. He wonders for a moment if he should go as far as taking them downstairs with him, but when he looks down at your sleepy, tear swollen eyes gazing up at him, he decides you’re probably too tired to disobey. 

“Sleep,” he says down at you with false severity. He’s sure he’s entirely transparent, and as you turn your face into his pillow he catches the quick quirk of your smile… yeah, definitely transparent. He hears your muffled yes, sir, as he turns to go back downstairs and tidy up the kitchen before he comes back to join you in bed.

When he makes it back upstairs, his abandoned dinner, scarfed down quickly, and the kitchen cleaned, of course, of course, the bedside lamp is on and your face is buried in one of your textbooks. You’re holding it so close to your face, the tip of your nose almost brushes it, and he scoffs, typical, at the sight of you, but when he looks down he takes in the entire lithe length of you stretched out across his bed. The t-shirt of his you’re wearing has ridden up over your ass so that your little, pink, polka dot panties are peeking up at him. The soft cotton has ridden up into the cleft of your ass so that the elastic digs into the lush swell of your bottom, and he feels his cock stir at the sight. 

Yeah… too adorable, too damn beautiful for your own good. Definitely… He’s going to lick and kiss and bite all of that gorgeous skin in a second.

“What’d I tell you, Birdie?”

“Just one second–” you mumble into the page, not even turning to look at him. He goes into the restroom to brush his teeth, listens to the sound of you turning the pages, one second his ass. If he didn’t forcibly take the book out of your hand and fuck you to sleep you’d never put the damn thing down. Joel supposes he can make the sacrifice.

He comes back out into the bedroom, pulling his shirt over the back of his head and shucking his jeans and boxers down his legs before kneeling behind you on the bed. He reaches for your panties, fuck– he really likes the polka dots, and you’ve still not put the damn book away as he pulls them down the smooth slopes of your legs, and buries his face in your cunt from behind. And finally, finally, he hears the thump of the book against the wooden boards of the floor and then your moan as he licks into your pussy, pulling you apart by the softness of your ass. You groan for him, throaty and drawn out as you arch your back to give him better access. 

“Yeah… that’s what I fuckin’ thought,” he says into your skin, licking a long, wet stripe from your clit all the way to the tight furl of your asshole. He’d taken you hard this morning, fucking your pussy almost brutally until he’d pulled out and pushed his way into your back hole to come in your ass. The two of you had been filthy lately. You’d been particularly insatiable, but you incited something in him that turned him into a fucking animal sometimes. You had the uncanny ability to crawl under his skin and make his blood boil and rage until the only thing that seemed to settle him was your come and your spit and your sweat in his mouth, covering every inch of his skin.

If he really thought about it, he knew he was obsessed with you. Obsession verging on something much more serious – verging on… No, not yet… He wouldn’t think of that yet. 

He pulls back to survey the blushing, flutter of your little hole. Fucking needy thing, he rumbles, but as he goes to push a single finger into your opening, he feels you wince and pull back slightly. Shit, he knew he’d been too rough this morning. He licks another wet swipe along the cleft of your ass. “You sore, baby?” All he gets is your muffled moan and a slight nod of your head, your face buried in the pillows as you hitch your hips higher, trying to tempt him, swaying your ass gently from side to side… like he’d said, needy. He anchors himself up on one arm, the other keeping you spread open while he lets a long string of spit trickle slowly from his pursed mouth, the thick glob covering your tight hole so that he can smear it into your skin. Joel, Joel – he hears you begging into the sheets. “Yeah… I got you, little bird. Don’t worry–” He bends his head again to bite at the crease where your asscheek meets the back of your thigh and then grips your hips to slowly roll you over.

Your eyes are hazy, glazed and wet when he takes in your flushed face. He crawls up the length of your body to lay beside you, slotting one arm under your head and the other wrapping around your thigh to bring it up over his hip. “N– no, Joel– I– I still want you to fuck me… I still wanna come,” you mewl, scratching at his shoulders and arms. Tiny little fingers digging into his skin to try and pull him into obedience. 

“Uh huh, I gotcha, baby… don’t worry. But I’m not gonna fuck you if you’re sore.” He slots his cock between your thighs, pressed up against your wet cleft and starts to slide through your sensitive folds. You shake and jitter in his arms, little hiccuping moans and whimpers every time the wide head bumps and catches against the swollen nub of your clit. 

Please, please, I can take it.

“My poor Birdie,” he coos, “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.” The hand on your thigh sneaks back and around your bottom to slot between your thighs, pressing up on his sliding cock to apply greater pressure to your cunt. “How’s this, huh? Feel good?”

“Ungh, ah, ah ah…” So good, so good, you whisper, hot breath fanning over the underside of his chin. He feels the wet swipe of your tongue, your little teeth sinking into the edge of his jaw. “I don’t– I don’t know what’s wrong with me–” His tip catches at your tender opening and you jerk slightly in his arms, he fists the hand not between your legs in your hair to anchor you in place and presses his mouth to yours, a long, wet swipe behind the edge of your teeth. He can hear how wet you are as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, your moans and whimpers getting louder, more desperate. The sound of you is obscene, his own personal wet fucking dream.

 His dream girl… come to life. 

“That’s right, baby. Just like that – gonna come on my cock just like this. Didn’t I say I’d take care of you? Don’t I always take care of you just how you need?” You start to tremble even harder, your leg wrapped around him tightening at his waist so that your heel is pressed sharply into the base of his spine and he feels you jerk as he grinds the thick base of himself into your clit and you start to come. Mewling and keening his name, his good, beautiful girl. He slides his hand up your bottom and back, long, slow passes of his palm along your sweat damp spine to settle you. “That better?” he whispers into your hair. You shiver, and he feels the nod of your head as you mouth as his throat and chest. 

“Yes… thank you.” He pulls back to wrap his hand around your jaw, your bones feel so fragile beneath his strength – something delicate he’s been afforded the privilege of being able to touch with these violence soaked hands of his. He can’t think about how frightened you make him, not now, not when he has you beneath him like this, soft and sated and pliant – the sweetest fucking thing he’s ever laid eyes on in his life. He smushes your cheeks together and plants a soft kiss to your puckered mouth. “Beautiful girl.” All you do is burrow further into the covers, a soft sigh as you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. And so fine, he can admit it, right here and now. He fucking loves you, and it’ll probably be the thing to kill him in the end, this recalcitrance he’s forcing himself into. 

-

You stir awake in the middle of the night. He’s draped over you in his sleep, his face tucked into the warm crook of your neck, big hand palming the weight of your breast. He’s so big and muscular and heavy and you love the feel of his weight pressing you into the mattress. You wrap your arms around him, drag your fingers through his thick curls, and listen to the sound of his soft snores. 

Your entire body feels like one unending, tender bruise. Every sensation heightened, too sensitive, like a raw, exposed nerve. You don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, what’s gotten into you. You’re on the verge of overwhelmed tears, just from the feel of him, the sound of his soft breathing, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how much you want him. You’ve been on the verge of tears for days, the slightest thing setting you off. 

You lay there for a while holding him, sleep gone out the window in the night, abandoning you to wakefulness, but you realize that the reason you’d stirred awake is that you’re cramping low in your belly, a dull and chronic sort of pulse, deep in your womb. Shit, you need to get up and check if you’re bleeding. 

You shift out from under him slowly, slipping from beneath his heavy paw to slip into the restroom. He turns over in his sleep, arm thrown out over the space you’ve just vacated, as if he’s searching for you, even unconscious. As you move towards the restroom there’s another throbbing pulse low in your belly, like you’re carrying around a bruise in the shape of him inside of you. Everything feels extra tender – coiled tight. He’s been insatiable lately — more than his usual. He’d had you four times yesterday alone. Twice today, plus your fooling around before you’d gone to sleep. Your cunt is sore and puffy and soaking wet, even after he’d cleaned you up with a warm wash cloth before falling asleep. Sometimes it seems like you’re fucking a teenager instead of an old man with the stamina he’s got in him. You laugh quietly. 

But when you pull your underwear down to sit on the cold toilet basin, there’s nothing. Huh… you’d for sure thought the cramping meant you’d started your period. A slow simmering churning starts up in your gut, slowly, slowly starting a low boil. Maybe you’re starting soon, that’s why you’re cramping – it’s fine. You wipe and stand to wash your hands. Maybe dinner isn’t sitting right – but no… you’d barely eaten. So something you’d had before then. That’s probably why you’re so sensitive and on edge lately – you’re probably getting sick. You’d been nauseous the past few days, and there was that bout of vomiting the other day. You pull open one of his lavatory drawers, looking for the antacid tablets you know he hoards, when you’re met with the sight of your menstrual cup, sitting in the little plastic bin you keep it in. 

Shit.

Why is this over here? Since when has it been over here? Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No, no, no.

You can’t remember the last time you’d used it. You try and count back the weeks – fuck, the months. Real panic starts to flutter and fizz in your belly.  When was the last time you’d had a period? Surely more than four weeks ago but … but if it’s been that long, if you’re remembering correctly… then… then, it’s been closer to two months by now. So that would mean… that means… you turn towards the door where Joel sleeps, unaware, on the other side as if you can see him through the thick wood. 

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, the rhythm of its beat ricocheting up to a concerning speed. Oh, God. Oh, God. How could you have been so careless – so distracted? How is this the first time you’re even thinking about this – even realizing it? But no… if you’re being honest, objective – you know you’ve only been waiting for something like this to happen – for months now. How could you not? When the two of you had never even pretended at being careful or responsible for preventing something like this. Oh, God – how are you going to tell him? What is he going to say? He’s going to be so angry. 

But a voice at the back of your mind whispers that you’re only telling yourself that – that you know it isn’t true – that you know he’d be not only happy, but overjoyed at the thought of a baby. But how could you really know for sure? When he’s always been firm in keeping that last sliver of distance between the two of you? Still after all these months – unable to admit the truth of what lived here, between the two of you. That this isn’t just sex – that the two of you are in love with each other. 

You lean against the sink for support, your shaky legs on the verge of collapse, and stare at yourself in the mirror. This puts your behavior of the last few days into better perspective. All the tears, the shaky stomach, feeling so sensitive – like a raw nerve all he needed to do was look at, breathe on, to provoke. If you really think about it, you’d been the instigator at the start of each of your encounters in the last few days. Seeking him out ravenously – hungry and desperate for his cock and his skin and his smell at every hour of the day. Weepy, swollen cunt – even when he wasn’t around to tempt you, and he’d left you satisfied, and yet, still wanting more, every single time. 

You step back out into the dark space of his bedroom. He’s on his back, one bulging arm thrown over his head. His mess of curls strewn across the surface of his pillow. You watch the rise and fall of his belly, his thick, strong waist, with the cadence of his breaths. Your womb twists with lust. 

Fuck, you’re probably pregnant with this man’s baby. How are you going to tell him?

You can make out the thick heft of his cock through the thin material of the sheets covering his waist, he’d not bothered to put anything else on again after he’d made you come, and it makes your mouth water and the place between your legs so achy. Your recent behavior is completely transparent now, you’d been so needy, insatiable, the only thing to settle you the heavy weight of his cock stretching you open and pounding deep into you. Fucking typical. He’d done this to you, and now he got to reap the rewards of you climbing onto his dick at all hours of the day. 

You roll your eyes at him in the dark as you slide back into bed beside him, running your palm over the flat of his belly. He clasps your hand with his in his sleep as he rolls over, pulling you along with him, wrapping your arm around himself and tucking it up by his neck so that you’re spooning him. He drapes his arm back over your hip and clutches your leg, tucking his fingers right at the place where your ass cheek meets your inner thigh and pulling your front further into his back – trying to get you as close as possible to him. You listen to his deep, sleepy rumble, and you bury your face between his warm back and the bed, the sheets smell like the both of you, sweet and musky – like your sex, your love making. You’ve made a baby together. Joel’s baby. The thought makes tears pool in your eyes and start a slow, silent stream down your face. Your insides clenching wantonly at the same time that your stomach flutters and heaves with nerves and panic. There are too many sensations spilling through your body all at the same time, and you think your frame starts to tremble, an uncontainable gasp slipping out because suddenly you feel his muscles snap awake, his rough voice saying your name sharp and worried. You wrap your arm tighter around him, digging your nails into the skin of his neck to stop him from turning over. You don’t want him to see you like this, you don’t want him to know, you don’t want him to be angry or worried or regretful.

 He’d never be any of those things, your heart whispers at your anxious mind. 

“Baby, what’s wrong? Why’re you crying?” he says into the dark room. You feel his muscles tense as he tries to escape your tight hold without being too rough.

“I don’t know–” you splutter into his back, your voice coming out muffled against his warm skin. “I’m– I’m emotional. I think I’m getting my period soon,” you lie. Lie, lie, fucking liar. You don’t think you’ll be getting that for a good, long while. 

He sighs, gripping your wrist firmly to pull your arm away for him so he can turn over to cradle you gently in his arms. The best place in the entire world. You cry harder. 

“C’mere, sweet girl,” he whispers against your hairline, pressing his soft mouth to your forehead, your temple. “It’s alright… no tears.” He pets at the nape of your neck. His voice is so deep, you feel the vibrations of it pass through his chest and rumble into your own, and it makes the tips of your breasts tighten into aching little knots. You wrap your arms around his neck to meld your chest tighter to his. You wish you could live inside of him the way he now lives inside of you. He’s left a piece of himself with you, eventually it’ll grow and the whole world will know how definitively you belong to him. You’ll be round and swollen and only his, only his. The thought makes your pussy clench. 

“Joel–” you tug as his curls, his beard, trying to pull his mouth down to yours. He rumbles deep in his chest, gives you his tongue. He’s being too slow, too gentle, you need him to fuck you hard, desperate – as desperate as you feel for him in this moment, to ground you and tame this panic surging up inside of you with his strong hands. 

“Kiss me – hug me,” you beg. 

“M’right here, Birdie.” He cards his hand through your hair, pulls your head back slightly, “Look at me – I’m right here with you.”

“More, more, please.” You lick at his mouth, drag your teeth down his chin.

He rolls you over to settle his hips between your spread legs. You can feel the searing hot brand of his hard cock against the inside of your thigh. He’s always hard for you. He’s always hard for you, and you’re always soft and wet and ready for him, and the two of you are perfect for each other. You were made for each other, and now you’ve made a baby together. “You need my cock again, little bird?”

You spread your legs wider, “Yes, yes – I always need you,” you whine. He wraps his hand around your throat and pauses to stare down at you for a second, his brow pulled down low. He bends his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours as he presses his mouth to your own. You keep your eyes wide open also, looking between his dark eyes. His lashes are so long, the thick fringe of them fanning out so wide they cast a shadow across his cheekbones. The two of you are so close you can make out each individual lash, the little lines around his eyes – stress, before … but you hope, now, only from laughing too much, from being too happy. You always want him to be so, so happy he doesn’t know what to do with it all. You want him to be overwhelmed and submerged in so much ridiculous happiness. The two of you hold there for a moment, breathing into each other’s mouths. You love him so much it is a physical ache within you. 

He sits back slightly then, and lifts your thigh to press a soft kiss to the inside of your leg, then another to your belly, right over your womb, your heart swoops at that and you whimper, then another right to the top of your mound. The tip of his tongue peeking out to lap at your clit, just a little. 

Then he stretches over you again, giving you all his weight and reaches his hand down to pet the back of his knuckles along your slit, “Shit, fuckin’ wet and swollen, Birdie.”

“I want you so much,” you breath, eyes fluttering closed as he parts your puffy lips and pets at your clit. He starts up a gentle rhythm around your sensitive bundle of nerves that has you kicking your legs out impatiently around him for more. Why is he being so gentle and mean and soft? You need it hard, you need more. 

“Please, Joel, please, please, fuck me, please.” You can feel hot tears burning down the slopes of your cheeks. He’s going to think you’ve lost the fucking plot, crying and begging for his cock like this. He continues to be mean and horrible and pet softly at your clit, like a whisper over your raging, burning skin. 

“Settle down. Gonna give it to you how I see fit.”

“You’re so mean,” you kick out one leg, pathetically, at his side. The broad expanse of him has you spread so wide there’s no purchase to be found, all you can do is lie here and take it. He’s so horrible — look at him, he’s gone and knocked you up and now he won’t even fuck you how you need him to. You pout up at him, cry and mewl pathetically. “Please, harder, Joel.”

“Nuh-uh, said you were sore. Gotta be gentle with my soft, little cunt.”

“But you’re going to fuck me right?” you cry.

“Yeah, baby. Don’t worry,” he says softly, starts to circle his thumb at your tender entrance, pressing gentle pressure on it. You do your best to stifle your wince, shit, it’s not necessarily sore, just so, so sensitive. This is all his fault. You want to sink your teeth into his neck and bite him as hard as you can. Make him hurt and writhe the way he’s making you. He starts to slowly press a single finger inside. You’re so wet, dripping, the passage is smooth and slick. 

“Harder,” you beg.

“Quit.” You let out a frustrated moan. He starts to fuck you slowly just like that, a single finger, his thumb circling your clit in slow, measured circles. His finger is thick, but not enough, and you clench your inner muscles, trying to bear down on it. “Stop that,” he snaps. “Take it how I give it to you. Need you to relax, Birdie. What’s got you all twisted up in knots?”

“I don’t know,” liar, liar, liar, you whine, trying as hard as you can not to roll your hips, to stay still and settled like he wants you to, but there’s a goddamn forest fire raging inside of you, and having him so close, such a small part of him inside you, is only making it worse. He pulls his single finger out, circles his thumb around your entrance, back up to your clit, swipes up and down like a feather, then pressure to your entrance again, and he’s pushing two of his thick fingers inside of you now. Oh, thank God. Thank you, thank you, thank you. He starts to slide them in and out, a small crook of his fingers to pet at the soft, spongy spot inside of you. All the while he continues to circle your clit, and he bends his head to kiss at your mouth, your jaw, a soft bite to your clavicle that has you keening wantonly, then a swipe of his tongue to your jugular – you wish he’d bite you there, sink his teeth into your skin and drink. God, your thoughts are unhinged. You cannot, cannot deal with nine months of this, what the fuck. His mouth slides down to your breast, hot and wet, and he sucks hard on the aching tip, flicking his tongue back and forth slowly. His fingers haven’t paused their slow onslaught and at one particularly hard pull at your breast you suddenly feel everything in your pelvis go blindingly, white hot and tight and then loose and wet and you start to come on his fingers. Your hips rolling gently upwards to take more of him. He never goes harder, never faster, he just continues his gentle ministrations of you – playing you like his own personal little doll. You moan long and ragged, yeah, that’s it, just like that, he whispers into your hair. His words sliding through the strands like water. He guides you through the cresting waves of your orgasm, his touch becoming slower and softer as you throb on and on. Once the contractions of your muscles have slowed he pulls his fingers from your cunt, the wet suck, as loud and obscene as the thoughts in your head are, and then the burning hot head of his cock is there, slowly pushing into your still quivering flesh, so thick. 

“Gonna take my cock now, little bird.”

Yes, yes, please. Thank you. All you can do is sigh, hitch your knees higher up his sides, you hook one hand under the bend of one leg, opening yourself up for him as much as you physically can with all of his weight pressing down into you. 

He slides to the very end of you, letting you feel every throbbing inch and ridge as he goes as slow as everything else he’s done to you tonight. 

“Hard, Joel. Harder, please,” you beg again. His only response is a rumble of disapproval as he starts to thrust into you slow, but so fucking deep. You feel split wide open, he’s split you open and peered inside of you and decided to leave a piece of himself within, and he doesn’t even know it. And you decide in that instant that you’re not going to tell him – with the feel of him as deep inside of you as he can physically get, the knowledge that he’s even deeper than even he knows, you decide you’re not going to tell him until you’re absolutely forced to. It’s wrong, perhaps, or definitely, after all, he has a right to know also, it’s his baby too. But you just can’t. You can’t face the reality of this, his potential reaction, whether it be good or bad, right now, not for a while. You need time, time to gather your courage, your thoughts, your very skin around yourself, stitch yourself together and muster your strength and prepare for whatever outcome telling him might incite. 

“Not gonna give it to you harder, Birdie. Quit beggin’.”

“I don’t care– I don’t care, Joel, please.” You claw and scratch at him, but nothing you do prompts him to go harder. There’s a desperation, a wave of anxious fear surging up inside of you – the fear of him leaving you one day, of not wanting you anymore – when you know you’ll love him for the rest of your life. You are terrified of ending up alone, out in that dark forest again. 

“Quit.” He gathers both of your wrists in one of his strong hands, brings them above your head to lie limply above the pillows. Divested of all your strength and fight, you’re left only to lie beneath him and take all he chooses to give you. “Told you,” he grits as he rolls his hips in long, deep thrusts into yours, the bone of his pelvis grinding into your clit. “You’re gonna take it how I decide to give it to you. Only me – you’re mine, you’re mine, I decide.”

And fuck – if that doesn’t do something to you, if hearing those words don’t settle that coiling snake within you. You go soft and pliant and submissive at his words, spreading your legs as wide as you can and tilting your pelvis up so that he can drill into you as deep as possible, right to the place where your little secret is growing now. 

And he’s so gentle with you, so careful – even when he’s fucking you hard and savage the way you both like sometimes, he’s still careful to never hurt you more than you need him to. It makes you wonder at the violence it took him to become this gentle – to become so well acquainted with his own strength, his ability to maim, that he can now be so in control of it, handle you with such care. 

The weight of his thrusts changes suddenly. He slides a palm under your bottom to lift you up into his impaling cock, presses his knees further up under you to anchor you more firmly in his lap and pounds into you, the wide tip of his cock concentrated against the head of your cervix in blinding thrusts, and you’re so sensitive on the inside from what he’s done to you, from the change he’s wrought upon your body, that you start to come again. Toe curling waves of pleasure start at your womb and spiral out of your limbs in searing bolts of heat, your back arched tight as a bow string. Your inner muscles throb and clench around his still battering cock and you hear the guttural moan of your name spit from his mouth, and then the kick of his cock inside of you as he starts to come too. “Fucking Christ, take it all, Birdie – every last drop of my come. Need this pussy stuffed full of me – s’only way you behave, little girl.” 

All you can do is nod dumbly and take it, just like he said. 

He kisses and licks every inch of your body afterwards, eating up your slick and sweat and his own come with broad swipes of his tongue. You’d never imagined this sort of intimacy – it’s something that you hadn’t even thought possible. A sort of physical connectedness that belied the truth of your current situation – the things still hidden between the two of you. 

He lies beside you once he’s done eating his come out of your pussy, one last orgasm pulled gently from you with his mouth. His slick cock, soft now, pressed against your still flat belly as the two of you lay facing each other, hands tucked beneath your cheeks, legs tangled together, just taking each other in. 

You think you’re probably about two months along, give or take. It’ll still be a while before you start showing. You have time yet. 

You’re going to let yourself think about this now, only tonight, and then you’re going to push it from your mind until you can’t ignore the situation any longer. The reality of it is too terrifying to consider at length with everything else going on in your lives at the moment. 

What will he say? What will you do if you tell him your truth and he goes away from you? How will you survive something like that? But even as you ask yourself this, you know it’s unnecessary, for despite his capacity for violence, or his own fear or recalcitrance or hesitancy, despite the lies he tells himself and you about what this is, he is also good and honorable and loyal. Joel Miller is a good man. And he’d never abandon you or a child of his, but still, you’re afraid. 

So, no, you can’t focus on this now – you’ll push it from your mind until it becomes more pressing, unavoidable. There are other more important things to deal with now, other things to consider before you can think of yourself. 

You run a single finger over the thick line of his brow, against the fluttering of his lashes, down the strong slope of his nose. A baby. Joel’s baby. You hope they have his dark curls. 

You love him and you’re going to have his baby.

And you don’t have it in you to tell him either of these truths. 

“Go to sleep, little bird.” 

-

You sneak out the next morning. In the cold light of the new dawn, the truth you’re withholding is all the more terrifying. Fucking life changing. You slip out of his warm bed, the protective embrace of his strong arms, and shuffle around his room as quiet as you can for your clothes. Your shit is everywhere, strewn around his room and restroom. You need to go home, you need distance – space to think. You dig in a pile of clothes on the chair in the corner for your bra and tiptoe as quietly as you can to his bedside table to slip your books you need for today from between his own stack of novels. Once you’ve retrieved the texts you pause to look down at him, still sleeping. The fact that he can now rest so deeply like this, that he isn’t jerking awake at a hair triggers notice with the slightest sound or movement around him speaks so deeply to that part of you that wants nothing more than for him to be as happy as he can possibly be, safe and serene and never worried for anything ever again. 

Your greatest fear is that this news you now carry will disturb that peace, that serenity or happiness you so desperately want for him. So you sneak out of his home without waking him, head towards your own lonely house to change and wash up, you smell like his come, get the rest of your things for the day and then head to the clinic. You’ll shut this truth in a drawer for as long as you can, and once you can no longer hide it, once it becomes unavoidable, you’ll do your best to make sure he knows you never, never want him to feel obligated to you. Yes… you think, you’ll give him an out, it can be his decision. And even though the thought of that sends a searing, twisting pain to the space in your heart where you carry him, you think it’s the right thing anyways. He deserves to have a choice – when so much of his life has been forced upon him you always want to be the one place he can find choice in. 

He comes into the clinic a few hours later. You’ve just gotten done delivering a baby – real great day for that – when he walks through the front door. You’re finishing up your procedure note and you turn to see him stepping through your office door, a baggie from the mess hall clutched in his hand. 

“Hey… what’re you doing here?”

“Just thought I’d check in… brought you a scone.” He lifts up the offering of baked goods, gives you a crooked smile. God, your gut and your heart twist and flip at the same time. You turn back to face your mess of papers and notebooks, trying to take deep breaths to keep your tears at bay. This crying shit is really going to start being a problem soon. 

You feel him come up behind you, he sets down the baggie in front of you and braces one hand on the edge of your desk, the other passing over the crown of your head and down your ponytail to tug your head back gently. You look up at him from your angled position, and he frowns down at you. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “Don’t like it when you sneak off in the mornings without telling me,” he grumbles down at you. 

“Sorry–” you breathe. He huffs at you, leans down to press his mouth to yours. 

“Still feeling funny?” 

You shake your head, still in his hold, but say “Yes,” at the same time. You’re all over the place. He sighs, letting go of your hair and coming down to a crouch beside you. You turn to face him in your seat, knees tucked between his spread thighs. 

He drags a gentle thumb over the soft skin beneath your eye, then up the slope of your cheekbone – that perpetual frown still present. He knows something’s wrong. He knows you. Keeping this from him is going to be so, so difficult. He’s going to tell something is wrong, different, off. Your only recourse is to pretend like you don’t know either. To entirely push this thing that you have no discernible idea how to deal with from your mind. As of this moment, it’s a non-reality. 

“What can I do?” he asks, so gentle, so concerned. 

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. You can’t look at that look in his eyes right now, it’ll make you fall to pieces. You fold forward to press your face into his shoulder, turning your head to sniffle into his neck. “Nothing,” you mumble. “Just kiss me.” He slides his hand into your hair against your scalp and angles your head to press his mouth to yours, giving you exactly what you need. 

You may be unsure about so much, but the one thing you do know, without a doubt, is that this man will make a wonderful father. 

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

[dovabunny]

Angsty Ghostsoap Idea of the day - Here all along

Soap met Simon when the man was on leave. Beautiful, mysterious Simon had walked past Soap's coffee shop a few times, before he mustered the courage to come in.

Meanwhile, thinking the huge man must've been stalking or creeping on one of his pretty female clients, Soap had stomped out to confront the man- only for the man to awkwardly apologize and ask him to dinner. The twist gave Soap such whiplash he...

... said without realizing what was happening.

For three blissful years Simon would come home to him every chance he got, sometimes even just for 3 days between missions.

He told him things he legally was not allowed to, but Soap was his 'home' - a place where he was just Simon, not Ghost or a soldier or a killer or a victim. A man who loved with his whole heart and wanted no secrets between them. Something neither of them had ever had.

They cooked together, Simon talked him into getting a dog named Riley, they made future plans and talked about him retiring.

Then Simon comes home from a bad mission. He was put on medical leave for wounds that were not all physical but refused to talk about what had happened- what had rattled him so. He wasn't himself - cold, blunt, quick to anger, and distant in a way Soap's never seen him in their years together.

Then Simon finds the rings Soap had been hiding.

Simon had been impatiently digging through his art supplies looking for tape when he found the box.

When Soap came home from work it was to Simon sitting in the dark, the box on the table.

His home had never felt as cold as when Simon's voice demanded "what's this."

Soap fucked up, but he wasn't even sure how. He stuttered something about where did he find it when he noticed there was a pile of his sketches too - torn out of his journals, clearly not too gently. All the ones of Simon's face.

"You KNOW why I can't show my face! You KNOW how I feel about this! I refuse to take photos with you so you do this???" He tosses the sketches across the table.

"They're all I have of you when you're gone so long! I didn't-"

"And the rings!? You ALSO know how my parents' marriage went so why the fuck did you think I'd want that? Or did that just not matter either?"

Soap stares, the tension that had been on Simon's shoulders since he arrived a few days ago now turned on him. Soap swallows hard. He had never for even a second felt scared of Soap. But he saw it now... Saw 'Ghost' overtake Simon.

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'll burn the sketches and get rid of the rings. I'm sorry, baby. Let's just forget this?" He tries to step forward.

"This was a mistake..." Simon whispers and it feels like a knife to the gut.

"...Si, love, what are you?"

"I said this was a mistake."

Simon gets to his feet and it's then that Soap spots the packed bag. Si throws it over his shoulder as he makes for the door.

"Simon, no! Baby, please - I'm sorry! Please, don't leave like this!" He reaches for him but Si shrugs him off and doesn't slow down.

His world collapses as the door closes behind the man he had given his heart, soul, and future to.

Simon doesn't return his calls or texts. Texts apologizing, begging, texts angry and hurt, texts reminding him he's loved and he has a home here whenever he's ready.

Then the number is disconnected.

Then he gets a letter in the mail that ends with "Our deepest condolences" and a pair of dog tags.

Five years later. Soap has tried to move on, but just couldn't. He still has the rings. Wishes he kept at least one sketch. His shop does well, Riley is getting old, and so is Soap. He keeps busy, and sketches less. Even after all this time when he puts pencil to paper his hand wants to draw Simon.

Then torn, crumpled pages on the floor with boot prints on them flash in his mind and he puts the pencil back down.

This morning he sat in his little kitchen and pages through the local paper when he feels his blood run cold.

Last week's festival was the highlight of the moment, the newspaper covered in photos taken at the event. But in the background of one looms a painfully familiar figure.

Soap grabs his phone and rings the paper. "Photo three, page two- at the fountain - when was that taken?!" The journalist is baffled - all of them last week.

That can't be. It can't be! But he knows that figure, those shoulders, those curls. he's in the shadows but outlined, angled towards where Soap's little trailer stand was.

Soap pulls the dog tags out of his shirt - always around his neck all this time. Is Simon.. alive?

And...near?

Soap looks at the shadows all the way to work, peeking around all day to try to spot a man that shouldn't be there - convincing himself he isn't crazy.

At closing time he had enough. He prints a page and sticks it to the door when he locks up.

"Si, if you're reading this grow a pair and come home."

Later that night there's a knock at the door. A familiar tall man, new scars and silver creeping into blind curls, but just as beautiful as he remembers. Unsteady hands hold a bouquet of his favorite flowers.

"Is this still home?" He asks

"Ours. Always." Soap smiles through the tears.

#simon had a bad mission and had to relive some bad memories #the only way he could get out of the military was Laswell and price letting 'ghost' die so Simon couls retire #but a day hadn't passed that he didnt regret leaving Soap like that #but he still hated himself for dragging soap into his twisted life and putting him at risk just for loving a dangerous man like ghost #he was planning to just lurk and watch over soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #johnny soap mactavish #cod mwii #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish

[bunniesghost]

ღAll I Want To Hearღ

Pt.4

Simon “Ghost” Riley X Reader 

Pt.1  Pt.2  Pt.3

CW: Fluffy moments. Suggestive mentions.

Summary: 6 months since you and Simon agreed to become each other's Family. The Bond that has grown between you two is something you can’t name but it feels right. After he comes home from a mission, he tells you something that you don’t like. Things escalate from there.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

It’s been 6 Months since you and Simon became each other’s family. 

The way you two grew closer together, each day made you feel dizzy. 

He made you so happy and sometimes you couldn’t explain why.

The sadness you feel when you have to say goodbye to him, when he gets deployed.

“Do you really have to go?” You were gripped around his arm. Not letting go.

“I told you already, it’s only going to be for 2 weeks.” Simon said as he was dragging himself to the door, while you were holding on to him.

“But that’s too long! You can’t leave me here alone.” You let go of his arm and step right in front of him, blocking the door. 

“You better move, I don’t want to be late.” He picked you up and placed you to the side. 

“You better come back to me. We haven’t finished our series.” You crossed your arms and stood by the door frame as he pushed the elevator button.

“We would've been finished if you didn’t always fall asleep.”

“That’s not my fault!” 

“My bed being too comfortable isn’t an excuse.”

The elevator dinged open. 

He got in and pushed the lobby button. You waved goodbye and he nodded back.

You were going to miss your giant man.

You closed the door and walked into his room, and climbed into his bed. Ready to fall asleep.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

You honestly adore Simon. 

You love how he chose to walk life as the Ghost of Simon Riley.  

How he admits to not pushing you away immediately due to him reading you like a book and knowing that there was something going on behind closed doors, when he met you.

How he always lets you do things for him like help him put on his eye makeup, since you insisted on helping out. 

How he lets you hold onto him when watching a scary movie. Moving closer to each other.

How he lets you have your weekly movie night in his room, since you always fall asleep. You Insisted on watching in your bedroom, that way he could just go to his room, but he said he didn’t mind. 

How he always placed his blanket on you when he woke up first to go on his morning runs. Sometimes that made you wake up late, since his scent calmed you and took you deeper into sleep.

How you both go on walks in that park, at sunset. 

How he tells you that you do matter when you have nightmares from your past.

And how you repeat those same sayings when Simon has a Nightmare. 

How he holds you when you feel wide awake, too scared to fall back to sleep.

And how you do the same for him when you can tell he rather not say what he dreamt.

Becoming each other’s security.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

You hated him for leaving you.

Always wanting someone to be there with you. 

Wanting Simon to be there for you.

You fell back into that habit of going into auto pilot and skipping to the next day. Till he came back. Missing days just for him to have all your attention. 

Simon caught on to this habit, when he would ask about your day but you could not remember the details that well. Always changing the subject to ask about him.

He gave you a journal and asked you to write about your day when he was off on deployment. 

He would ask for it when he came back and you would just stare as he read through the pages.

He noticed the little doodles of you two holding hands.

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

You honestly didn’t know what to call your relationship with Simon.

You knew you weren’t dating but you also didn’t know if you did like Simon like that. 

I mean, there’s many things to like about him. He was handsome, sweet and gentle. He was big and had a nice body that could crush you but, you wouldn’t mind. His eyes spoke for him, deep eyes with much emotion. And his deep voice that sounded even better when he was right next to you, near your ear.

You wouldn’t mind being in a relationship with Simon. You just didn’t know how he felt.

“You should get yourself a partner. Keep you busy and you can enjoy yourself other than a movie that shows pretend love.” Simon said to you while you were sitting on the sofa.

“What are you trying to say? That you don’t want my presence anymore?” You start getting defensive in a saddened way. Thinking whether he has had enough of you or he just felt pity that you were waiting for him like a soldier’s housewife. Waiting for the day your lover comes home from war. To you. Into your embrace. 

“No, you should just be with someone that won’t be gone for who knows how long. It’s just a suggestion to put yourself out there more, find a partner that you could grow a family with or just to be with.”

“Simon Riley, are you breaking up with me?” You said in a quiet voice. Joking around with him. 

“Wait-“

“Do you not want to be a family anymore?” You said in a dramatic voice. 

“Y/n that’s not-

“But I don’t want someone else, I want you!” You fall forwards into his chest. 

Simon is tense. And you just processed how you worded that sentence.

“Y/n..”

“Mm” you mumbled into his chest. Now scared to move.

“Do you..have feelings for me..” he spoke very clearly. Pulling you up to see your face.

You were shocked. And felt unsure. 

“I…don’t know.” You told him truthfully 

“I mean I’ve thought about us and having an actual family but..um..”

You didn’t know what to expect him to say. You just told him that you fantasized about having kids with him. Something you knew you wanted, but does he want kids? Especially with you?

Now Simon shared the expression that you had when he asked if you had feelings for him.

You felt scared. Something you haven’t felt in a while. Would he yell at you? Belittle you? Laugh at you? Kick you out? Tell you nobody will love you? 

You started to get up because you felt like it was too much. You did nothing wrong but you felt like you did. 

He grabbed your wrist but didn’t look at him. 

“Y/n look at me.” 

You didn’t. Tears resting on your eyes, bottom lip between your teeth, trying not to let out a sob. Quiet whimpers leaving your throat. 

“I’m not going to hurt you. Just. look. at. me.” Simon never raised his voice. Always keeping it at a normal level.

You turned your head and made eye contact. He slowly raised his hands up to your waist, bringing you closer to him. 

“Do you want to have a family together? You and me?”

Your eyes went wide. Tears spilled out, a small gasp coming out of your open mouth.

“You tell me the word and I promise to take care of you both.”

“Si-“

“A Yes or a no, that’s all I want to hear.” A stronger voice came out. A voice he uses for demands, when he’s a lieutenant.

You just stare at him. Into his eyes. Those eyes of his that are filled with darkness. Ones that you feel will get you lost and you won’t find a way out.

“Yes”

That’s all he needed to hear. He picked you up from the ground and placed a kiss on your forehead. 

He wiped a tear that had fallen onto your cheek when he placed you on the bed. 

The emotions that you felt came crashing. Now you know what you felt for him.

 It was actual Love

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! Let me know any feedback!

˗ˏˋTaglist´ˎ˗ 💫

@hao-ming-8 - @yourmom3-5 - @thriving-n-jiving

#BunniesGhost💫 #BunniesGhostWriting🖋️ #ghost fanfiction #simon ghost riley #cod mw ghost #cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod simon riley #ghost call of duty #ghost x f!reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #modern warefare 2 #cod modern warfare

[gothoffspring]

Suraj Kennedy for @rainymoodlet's Kiss Me in Komorebi Age: 33 Sign: Virgo Occupation: Freelance Photographer/Community Garden Enthusiast Traits: Creative, Loves the Outdoors, Overachiever Location: San Myshuno

more info under the cut! (like, a lot more.. too much probably)

bio:

Suraj was adopted when he was 5 years old, and raised in the heart of the Spice District in San Myshuno. He has two sisters with whom he is very close. He's currently working on saving up enough money to go back to school to pursue a serious career in photography. Nature is his best friend and greatest coping mechanism for when things get tough. He was employed at the San Myshuno Botanical Garden for over five years, and still does certain photography projects for them. Doesn't mind getting his hands dirty (literally, not figuratively). Is a very frequent visitor of the community garden space, and loves tending to his garden. He's a serious overachiever and has no room for slacking off or failure of any kind. Missed out on the opportunity to go to school due to lack of funding and the need to help out with the care of his siblings due to a family situation. He currently lives on his own in a one bedroom apartment, located in the Arts Quarter. He's been working as a freelance photographer for a few years now and takes excellent wedding photos, despite his interest really lying in nature photography. Brides just happen to pay a bit more than flowers. He's been able to save up a bit of money and is finally almost ready to pursue his dream of higher education. Happened upon the submission form for Kiss Me in Komorebi by accident on the internet, and decided to give it a shot without many expectations. Until he actually started looking into Daniel Taylor himself, and now he's only a BIT smitten and very excited to meet him...

fun facts:

He can often be found wearing the colors brown and green. Floral patterns are also a must. He greatly enjoys corduroy pants and spiffy shirts, but also likes to dress down at times too (while still looking incredibly polished. The dude does not leave his apartment without all 3 of his earrings and his favorite cologne lovingly patted behind his ears)

Highly interested in UFO's. One of the things on his bucket list is to one day eat at the UFO Crash Site Diner in Oasis Springs.

Has a journal he writes in every single day without fail. Usually doing some sort of brainstorming exercise or spilling out his heart and soul.

He also makes lists meticulously. He spends so much time making plans and writing them down that sometimes he lacks on the execution part.

His dad is like, an ALARMINGLY huge fan of Daniel Taylor and may fangirl just a little upon finding out his son is about to go on a reality tv show with the man.

His perfect night consists of Yahtzee, making homemade popcorn, watching nature documentaries and curling up with a very cute person on the couch.

Is an apple nerd, wouldn't dare touch an android (is this his weakness djfklds im kidding)

Loves carnivals, fairs and carnival games! If a boardwalk is involved, you've won him over completely. All of his closest friends have won him at least one stuffed animal from the fair.

Enjoys not having to wear pants in his own apartment ❤️ (we love a relatable king)

Extremely scared of dogs due to being bit when he was a kid, but stick a cat in front of him and he's picking them up immediately.

Huge museum enthusiast and wants to visit as many as he can!

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 edit #kmikapp #ts4 screenshots #the sims 4 edit #Suraj kennedy #holy fucking shit LORE..... #ive never written this much about any of my oc's. oh my god #shan what have you done!!! #anyways i love him A Lot and im so excited to see him in kmik i may actually die???? #these shots came out so nice tysm wooldawns preset ilysm 💘

[little-annie]

All I Want | Ch.1

Steddie Fic | Little_Annie | Ao3

---

It was good.

It was so fucking good.

Yeah, maybe their relationship was a secret. Maybe Uncle Wayne was the only one who knew they were together. Maybe they snuck into closets or empty rooms when they spent evenings with friends, snuck kisses in dark corners or when everyone's attention was focused elsewhere but they were still them. They were Steve and Eddie, Eddie and Steve, together and hopelessly in love. They were together and they had each other. Had each other in every beautifully intimate way possible.

They sang, they kissed, they cuddled, they made love.

They made breakfast, held hands under the table, washed each other's hair and whispered sweet nothings to one another when no one was around.

They were so fucking in love.

Until they weren't

Until the day Eddie woke up and remembered nothing of the last year of his life

Until the day Eddie woke up and remembered nothing of Steve. His Steve. The Steve that held his hand and cried his eyes out waiting for the moment that Eddie would wake up. His Steve that made him laugh and sing, made him feel like the luckiest, most loved man alive. His Steve that he spent evenings and weekends with, cuddled into god awful plaid sheets with whispers of the words 'I love you' falling from their lips.

Until the day Eddie woke up from his coma and had no idea why Steve "The King" "The Hair" Harrington was there with him and why the absolute fuck he kissed him and called him Eds on his return to the land of the living.

Their love was so strong, so powerful, so goddamn beautiful. But was it strong enough?

Steve's heart was so full. Full with everything Eddie. Full with eyes the colour of the earth, full with curls that perfectly wrapped around his fingers, full with a touch that made his soul melt and porcelain skin that blushed the prettiest shade of pink.

But

Steve's heart that was once so full shattered when the words, "Why the fuck are you here?" rasped from Eddie's dry throat.

It was like a bullet to the heart. Like a fucking Demogorgan reached in pulled the beating organ out of his chest and crushed it in its cold undead hands. Steve was suddenly so empty. So scared and so goddamn alone. Again.

"Son," Wayne had breathed calmly behind him, warning but also sadness in his tone, watching the one man his nephew loved so much crumble in front of him, reaching desperately for the hand Eddie wasn't willing to give.

Already verging on hysterics, Steve tried, he tried to take Eddie's hand, to call his name, but nothing less than a bark of an order came from the man he loved, "Get the fuck out of here Harrington!"

He fell back into Wayne in shock and the man continued to calmly speak, "They told us he could have memory loss kid. I'm sorry, but I think it's best that'cha leave. I'll call ya tonight when I know more, 'kay?"

Steve couldn't speak, silent tears running down his face, he gathered his things. Or thing. Everything he'd brought was Eddie's, or theirs. He had his jacket, the letterman jacket he didn't quite care for anymore but Eddie loved, or more loved to tease him in. He thought it'd lighten the mood when Eddie woke up, he thought it'd spark some fun loving banter between them. Everything else he left behind, the books, the blankets, the change of clothes ready for Eddie for when he woke up, his rings, his necklace, his leather bracelet and a journal Steve had written in on the days it felt especially hard to watch the love of his life breath through a machine and remain so terrifyingly still.

On his way out the door, Wayne had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug, ever so quietly mumbling, "A love like yous had just doesn't die kid, it's still in there somewhere. It's still in him."

The words shattered Steve's heart even further. Though he wished they were true, there was no way of actually knowing. It was luck in the first place to find someone as incredible as Eddie to love him. He didn't know if he could get that lucky again.

Steve squeezed a little tighter and turned to leave, standing in the doorway, willing himself the confidence to not turn around

"Wayne," he whispered, not moving his attention from the hall he was now facing, the old man turned, tears in his eyes, looking back at Steve, "everything should be there for today," Steve struggled to speak, tears in his eyes and pain in his throat as he turned and pointed at the pile of belongings next to Eddie's bed, "just maybe… fuck, " he huffed quietly, "I don't think he should read the journal, that might freak him out, maybe hide it for now."

Wayne nodded once in response, moving to squeeze Steve's arm as he quietly spoke, "I love ya son."

And if that didn't break Steve's heart even more.

—

The days had dragged into each other.

Wayne would call each evening when he got home from visiting Eddie; updating Steve on his condition. His mental health never being the topic of improvement unfortunately, but at least Steve knew he was doing better otherwise. His days were filled with worry and dread that he hadn't been able to visit since the morning Eddie woke up. Maybe he'd poke his head in when visiting Max, but it wasn't like he could go visit the guy as Dustin's friend alongside the curly haired pipsqueak because, like mentioned before, Eddie didn't remember the last year of his life.

That included the kids too.

Dustin was just as heartbroken as Steve, but it's not like Steve could show it, not in the way he felt really, he could mourn the loss as a friend but that's it. He and Eddie hadn't told anyone about their relationship, save Wayne, and he wasn't going to make it his business outing Eddie.

Mornings and nights Steve liked to think were the hardest, waking up and falling asleep alone, the absence of Eddie felt the richest then. But that's not to say every other waking minute was less difficult. Fuck, everything was difficult.

Brushing his teeth in the morning because he can picture Eddie behind him and the phantom feeling of a tattooed arm around his waist.

Doing laundry because he can still hear the whispers of Eddie's voice singing some made up song to him

Grocery shopping because he can hear Eddie's laugh and picture him on the end of the cart, weighing it down but with the biggest smile on his face as he throws some type of junk food in with their haul

Working at Family Video because there's no call coming through over his lunch break, no "Well hello there Stevie" or "Hey Baby" or a sing-songed "I love you Steve Harrington," on the other end of the line when he does pick up a call.

There's no Eddie bursting through his front door to tackle him into the couch and pepper him with kisses when he's just gotten home from work.

There's no Eddie pulling him into his arms after a bout of night terrors, pressing kisses to his head with whispered words of praise

There's no Eddie. Not for him anyways.

Some days Steve would join Wayne for supper or breakfast, depending on the man's work schedule.

At least he had Wayne.

At least Wayne cared and loved him.

At least Wayne still had Eddie.

Their time spent together would sometimes be in silence, occasionally accompanied by the local news or hum of the radio. Sometimes Wayne would pull Steve through the door and drag him out to go fishing or to a ball game in the city. Sometimes Steve was too late or too early to meet Wayne, so on those days he'd let himself in and find comfort in Eddie's bed with a book in hand, tears often times blurring the words past the point of recognition, before soon the exhaustion of grief would take over and lull Steve to sleep.

Many times did Wayne come home to find Steve curled up in Eddie's bed, tears staining the pillow in his tight grasp, book still held in hand as he quietly snored against the cotton fabric. It was common enough that Wayne didn't bat an eye, simply covering Steve with a blanket, setting an alarm for the morning in case the kid had to work the next day and shutting off the lights after gently ruffling his hair.

It was hard and lonely and some days debilitating.

Steve sometimes thought if Eddie was dead it'd be easier. He'd have at least loved Steve and would have at least loved him until the end. But everytime that thought occurs he hates himself a little more.

He didn't know what to do, it's not like he could barge into the hospital room and tell Eddie everything. How they fell in love, how the world nearly ended, how Steve carried him through the literal gates of hell and held his hand until the second he woke up.

He couldn't. Could he?

No

But that's not to say Steve didn't try to come up with some type of a plan.

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic rec #steddie angst #steddie hurt/comfort #steddie fanfiction #steddie fandom #steddie au #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson post vecna #eddie munson fandom #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x steve harrington #eddie x steve #steve x eddie #steve harrington #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fandom #steve harrington fic #steve harrington post vecna #stranger things #stranger things fandom #stranger things fan fiction #stranger things fic #stranger thungs fic rec #eddie munson has memory loss #they were in love

[ameliathetadclover]

GREETINGS FELLOW HUMANS AND TADC APPRECIATORS!

@jaxfromthatcircus you might like this…

So.. I may or may not have spent half an hour writing a fanfic on why Jax is terrified of corn?

I thought I’d share it. Just a warning, this is long.

FANFIC 1:

Everyone knew Jax was an asshole. He would play pranks on everyone. Putting centipedes in Ragatha’s room, breaking Gangle’s comedy masks, etc. Jax used everyone’s fears to his sick advantage. The worst part was, he actually enjoyed it! One day, Ragatha and Gangle had enough. They devised a plan to find out Jax’s biggest fear so they can torment him. A lovely taste of his own bitter medicine. At night, when everyone, including Jax, was asleep, they would sneak into his room, steal his journal and read through it to find his biggest fear. Jax was a secretive person, so no-one really knew he was afraid of what he was afraid of. Once Ragatha and Gangle were certain Jax and all the other circus members were asleep, they snuck out of their rooms and silently headed towards Jax’s. They then tried to open the door. Shoot. It’s locked. Luckily, Ragatha was able to steal Jax’s key as it was left hanging in his door earlier. Silly Jax. Carefully, they both unlocked the door to see a fast asleep Jax. His room was a mess, video games and food everywhere! On his bedside table, there it was. The thing that could give Ragatha and Gangle the chance to get revenge on Jax- his journal. Ragatha very quietly grabbed the red journal off his bedside table and started walking away with Gangle. They were almost about to make it, when Gangle tripped over one of the many video games Jax had laying on the floor and her comedy mask broke. The smash was so loud, you could immediately hear Jax had stopped snoring. Although it was accidental, Jax had a good defense mechanism. Ragatha quickly grabbed Gangle’s pieces of comedy mask as not to leave evidence behind and darted out of the room with Gangle back to Ragatha’s room. That was a close one! Once they knew it was safe, they opened the journal. Let’s see… chapter 1: life in the circus.. no… chapter 2: pranks.. no… Aha! Chapter 3: The peoples fears including mine! Ragatha and Gangle quickly turned to chapter 3. They could see everyone’s biggest fears! Ragatha: Centipedes, Gangle: Being hated for liking anime, Pomni: being stuck with no exit. But they didn’t care about those. All they wanted to find was Jax’s biggest fear. And then.. on the very last page, in big, black, bold writing, there it was. What Jax was terrified of. Jax: Corn. This took Gangle and Ragatha by surprise. They expected to be maybe spiders, or snakes? But corn? Surely someone as brave and confident as him couldn’t be afraid of a vegetable! They quietly giggled at this. Now time for the next part of the plan. Ragatha and Gangle put the journal down onto Ragatha’s bedside table quietly and went into the kitchen. In there, there was bags and bags of corn and lots of bottles of corn syrup. Ragatha and Gangle turned the key to the kitchen and grabbed a big sack of corn and 3 bottles of corn syrup. This sack was heavy! (DONT TAKE THAT OUT OF CONTEXT.) With all their might, they lifted up the sack of corn and by some miracle managed to get it into Ragatha’s room. They hid it under her bed as well as the corn syrup. Jax knew something would be up when he realised his journal was missing, but that didn’t matter. Everything had pretty much gone according to plan. Gangle waved Ragatha good night and went back to her room. At exactly 8am, the sound of everybody’s alarms filled the dorm hall. Knock knock knock. It was Gangle, ready to initiate the plan. They both took one corn on the cob each and put corn syrup on it.

Everyone walked up to the breakfast table. When everyone sat down, they could tell Jax was pissed.

Jax: Which one of you took my f*cking journal?

Zooble: Since when did you have a journal?

Pomni: Idk. You probably just misplaced it.

Jax: I DONT MISPLACE IT! ONE OF YOU IS A THIEF!

Gangle: Calm down..

Jax: SHUT UP CRYBABY!

*Ragatha smiles slightly evilly*

Ragatha: Hey Jax?

Jax: What do you want, dollface?

*Ragatha looks at Gangle to tell her that it’s time to do the plan*

Ragatha and Gangle: Want some corn?

*Jax looks horrified. He gets up out of his seat and backs away*

Jax: GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!

*Gangle grins evilly*

Gangle: What’s wrong Jax? Afraid of some corn?

*Jax is pissed and terrified*

Jax: I TOLD YOU! P-P-PUT THAT THING AWAY YOU B*TCH!

*Everyone is laughing*

Ragatha: Cmon.. what’s so scary about corn? Is it just because it’s disgusting?

Jax: I’LL NEVER TELL YOU DOLLFACE!

Gangle: We won’t put away the corn unless you tell us.

Jax is torn. He has two options: Be scared but not reveal his past, or not be scared but have to relive a painful experience. With a lot of reluctancy, he says this:

Jax: IF I TELL YOU, YOUD BETTER PUT THE DAMN CORN AWAY!

Ragatha: We’re women of our word.

Jax: Fine. I’ll tell you, idiot. But.. but p-put that stupid corn away!

*Ragatha and Gangle put away the corn.*

Jax: ugh.. I can’t believe I’m actually telling you this. When I was a kid.. about.. 8 years old I think? I was the youngest sibling. I had two older brothers. This dumb digital world made me forget their names though. I grew up on a corn farm. My parents were corn farmers. But when I was 8, my siblings would go and take some of the leftover corn from from the harvest and pin me down and shove it down my throat.

*Jax laughs nervously*

Yeah.. they basically force fed me the corn. But they did that multiple times. If I ever told my mom and dad my brothers threatened to lock me in a shed. This was the 2000s. My mom probably would’ve hit them over the head or something and they didn’t want that. Not only that, when I was asleep they’d grab a bunch of corn syrup and pour it all over me when I was sleeping so I’d be all sticky when I woke up. Luckily in the end I told my mom about everything including the shed part and I laughed so hard when I saw my dad hitting them over the ass with his belt. So that’s why I’m afraid of corn. And if you ever bring this up again I’ll make you wish you’d abstract. Got it?

*everyone nods*

*Ragatha genuinely looks sad as well as Gangle*

Ragatha: I’m.. so sorry Jax..

Gangle: Same.. if we knew we wouldn’t have done that.

Jax: yeah, well don’t feel sorry for me. It’s pointless.

Ragatha: I guess.

Jax: I know you guys have my journal. Give it back or you’ll be sleeping with a black eye tonight,

*Ragatha goes to her room, grabs the journal and gives it to Jax*

Jax: Thank you.

And that my friends is fanfic 1!

This took me ages to write 😭

I hope you enjoyed it :)

Lmk if you want another one :D

@gooseworx is this good?

@jaxfromthatcircus is this good?

#jax tadc #corn #tadc jax #angst with a happy ending #angst #jax angst #fanfic #tadc fanfiction #Jax from that circus #this took thirty damn minutes to write #what should I do next?

[thehollowwriter]

Warnings: None! But this is super long

Key: Regular text is for the present. Bold is for journal entries/writing, italics is for flashbacks

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Lamentations Pt. 3.2

My grandfather was worried when I got home. I was bleeding quite heavily, and I had a number of claw and bite marks dangerously close to my throat.

It was nothing healing magic and some bandages couldn't fix, but nonetheless, my dear grandfather still lectured me about his heart being too frail for such scares and to be more careful.

"You said he was from the city?"

Silas gazed at the bandages his grandfather was wrapping around his arm and nodded.

"Yeah. You could see it a mile away. He was a pampered bastard." A pampered bastard that knew how to throw a punch.

"Silas, please. If word gets out that you attacked a city dweller-"

"It won't." Silas murmured, closing his eyes. "I don't know why that thief wanted to hunt, and I used that word loosely, tuna, but I don't think he wants anyone to know."

I was right. There wasn't a peep about our fight. No news articles raged about the savage Abyss dweller that attacked an innocent mer just trying to get some food, and no guards came knocking at my door to arrest me.

My grandfather breathed a sigh of relief, and life continued on as usual until something unexpected happened barely a day or two later.

It was a slow day. Silence settled over the empty shop, and Silas was happy to take advantage of the brief reprieve to rest. He was, in fact, on the verge of falling asleep with a book on his chest, and the radio, perched on a small table behind his counter, filled the room with soft jazz. That was one of the perks of living in Midway. Access to technology, and no need to worry about loud noises alerting a predator.

Of course, because the universe seemed to be dissatisfied when Silas felt peaceful, the door then opened, jolting him awake, and he looked up to see the shark from a few days ago swim in.

They locked eyes. It took a moment or two for that spark of recognition to appear, then the green haired mer backed and coiled his tail defensively.

Silas slid his tongue across his teeth and leaned over to turn off the radio with a sharp 'click'.

A heavy silence settled over them, and the other mer swallowed, fins flaring nervously. Their hands twitched at their sides, and they glanced between Silas and the door like a scared guppy.

Silas tilted his head to the side and tapped his claws against the counter. Loudly. Deliberately. When the other looked his way, he fixed a smile so wide it hurt his cheeks to his face.

"How can I help you, city boy?"

The other mer gaped at him. "What?"

"I'm assuming you're here to buy something. Or... do you want to try steal from me again? You're not doing a very job if you are."

Turquoise eyes narrowed, and a growl left clenched teeth. "No- No, sir, I don't want any trouble. And I'm not a boy, I'm 29! I just want some fish."

Huh. Same age as Silas. And suddenly, so very polite.

"I'm going to guess... the yellowfin tuna?" Silas asked, lips curling into a crooked grin.

"Yes. Thre- ah, four, please."

Silas set about packaging the order, and his movements were weary and practiced. The two of them eyed each other's every move, calculated and cautious, ready to attack if the need arose.

Silas handed the bundle of fish over, silently observing the way the other flinched at both the sudden movement and the pain of their injuries.

"That'll be 30 madol."

"Only 30? Wow... that's cheap!" The other mer exclaimed, fishing the coins out of his satchel and placing them on the desk.

Silas slid them towards himself and counted them, then packed them away and smiled again.

"Enjoy. If you have any complaints, please lodge them with me."

A nervous laugh echoed throughout the room. "Haha- uh, sure. Thank you, Mister..?"

"Silas." Said Silas.

"Silas... what?"

"Silas." Silas repeated, glaring.

The other mer raised their hands defensively and laughed again.

"Easy there, lionfish, I was just asking. I'm Morrigan. Morrigan Clearcove."

Silas' silence made their awkward smile drop slightly.

"Okay, not very chatty. That's fine. I'll... I'll be going then. Thank you for the fish. And... sorry about your hunt."

Morrigan bolted out the door in a blur of bubbles, leaving silence to ponder over the new friendly attitude.

"What a strange man."

Morrigan became a frequent customer after that. I later came to learn that his family had heard about my business and figured it could be better than hiring hunters, so they sent him down to buy some tuna to give it a try.

Naturally, Morrigan figured he'd save money and just hunt them himself instead.

"They were right there!" He told me once. "I just figured it'd be easier and cheaper, even if I get into trouble for it."

Of course, he was wrong, and he returned home with not only bruised ego and a bruised body, nut with no fish either. He spent a few days recovering (and getting chewed out) and then came back to actually buy from me instead.

His parents liked the tuna (and the price, of course) so much they decided to send him once a week buy a week's work of fish or crab or whatever else they wanted from me.

I wondered why they didn't just do it themselves, and Morrigan informed me that they have never left the city and never plan to. He, on the other hand, has wandered off many times throughout his childhood until his adulthood, and they figured they'd but his "recklessness" to good use.

And so, Morrigan came to my shop in the early evenings on the weekend, unable to come any other time due to his job.

He was a teacher. He taught at a magic academy for gifted children and was very passionate about his job. I remember him telling me that he didn't want his young students, the ones labelled as "gifted," to suffer the stress that he did as a child, a teenager, and even as an adult.

It was so sweet of him, really. I remember being surprised to learn that of him. And, to be honest, concerned for his content at wearing his heart on his sleeve as he did.

It took a long time for the distrust we felt for one another to fade. Morrigan had the impression I was secretly planning to eat him, and I had the impression he was going to try stealing from me again.

But, as the months came and went, we got used to each other. We became less weary, less guarded. The metaphorical ice began to break, and our interactions became more familiar.

Morrigan was the one who started making casual conversation. Asking me about my day, my hunts, or how my grandfather was, smiling at me and greeting me cheerily.

It was... odd. I thought he was trying to butter me up or something at first, but no, he was quite genuine.

There were a few times when we pissed each other off and got into a tussle, but it was child's play, really. There was no real intent to harm like before. I didn't want to lose a customer, and Morrigan didn't want to lose a supply of cheap but high-quality food.

I think the real "ice breaker" between us was when, due to a mix of my boredom and Morrigan's high strung energy, we turned Morrigan's visits into a little game.

I'm not too sure when it started, but I remember suggesting to Morrigan that he learn to improve his stealth, as he was quite horrible at it.

He, rather offended, told me that he could snatch a fish from right under my nose if he wanted to, and that the reason he failed during our first encounter was because he didn't know I was there.

I then told him that he could try if he wanted, and I'd even let him take whatever he stole for free (only one item, of course), and really, the cost was some free entertainment for myself and an opportunity to hone my perception.

It was quite fun, really, and I enjoyed myself every time we played this little game. It became a routine thing. My grandfather teased me endlessly about this, telling me he was glad I made a friend, even if it was in such an unexpected manner.

Friend. 'Ridiculous.' I had thought to myself. 'Friends? We aren't friends. I don't have time for that, and certainly not for someone from the city.'

Though I suppose that's what we were. Not close friends, not yet, but not acquaintances either. Acquaintances don't play games together.

It may seem childish, playing games at 29 like children, but it was the first time I had ever experienced something like that. Something fun. I would later learn that this (aside from that botched hunt) was the closest Morrigan had ever come to experiencing a hunt. We were both experiencing new things.

We carried on like this for a number of years, and the game evolved , developing rules and excpetions a d everything. It left us excited and anticipating the next visit, and it was a simple routine neither of us tired of.

Every weekend, Morrigan would sneak into my shop using magic or whatever other method he chose and attempt to steal one of my wares, and I would try to catch him out. If I caught him before he could take anything, he lost and would have to pay for what he wanted to steal. If I caught him as he was taking something, I was free to tackle him and wrestle back what he stole.

Sometimes, when I pinned him down, he would turn the tables and flip me over if he was in the mood. We would continue like this until one of us gave in and lost.

If he stole from me successfully, which was rare, then he would get to keep the fish for free and get gloating rights until we repeated the game next week.

I wouldn't admit it to myself at the time, but after a few years, the beating of my heart and rushing of my blood when I sensed Morrigan's presence was no longer because of my adrenaline spiking at his potential theft. No, it was... it was quite certainly something else.

Anyway, when our game finished, sometimes Morrigan would stay a while to talk to me, telling me about his students or what new spells he had mastered. He was one of those people who were easy to talk to and nice to listen to, and the conversation would flow into the late hours of the night, well beyond my closing time, with only the radio to accompany us.

I often found myself lost in his voice and his eyes, quite happy to keep listening to him forever. It sounds so cheesy and cliche, but it's true. Morrigan was... absolutely wonderful in every way.

Then, when we realised how late it had gotten, we'd say our goodbyes, and I'd tell him that if he had any complaints, to please lodge them with me. He would smile, wink, and say, "I'll let you know if anyone comes down with food poisoning," and then vanish into the night.

One day, the routine changed. Just a little bit. It should've been inconsequential, really, but it changed so much for me and for him.

"You should go." Silas said, glancing outside. "It's late. You'll get into trouble again."

Morrigan's parents had a very specific time frame by which they wanted their fish delivered, and Morrigan utterly missed the mark every single weekend.

Morrigan grinned. "No need to worry about me, Silas, I'll think of something to tell them."

Silas sent him a deadpan look. "I think 'I got slowed down by the undertow' loses its impact a little more every time you say it."

"It's a perfectly valid excuse!" Morrigan exclaimed. "It's not like they know what the undertow is like out here. The only information they ever get about this place is whatever their brave son who gets their food from the scary shopkeeper tells them."

Silas' lips curled. "Why, Mister Clearcove, you flatter me." He mocked, putting on an upper-class accent.

Morrigan failed to hide a laugh. "Seven, you sound just like my old alchemy professor. It's great, actually."

"Who? The human?" Silas asked, raising an eyebrow. "I don't understand why you liked him so much. He sounds irritating."

"He's spontaneous!" Morrigan insisted. "And he's part of why I wanted to be a teacher in the first place. You'd understand if you went to Night Raven. Why didn't you go? We could've been classmates."

Silas furrowed his brows, unsure of how to answer. His reason for rejecting his letter in the first place seemed to be wrong. Morrigan was the exact same species as him and had extremely poorly restrained violent tendencies as a teen to boot.

"The amount of fights I got into in Savanaclaw was ridiculous, in hindsight." Morrigan would say. "I was free to do my own thing without my parents and society, I guess, breathing down my neck. I went off the rails a bit, but I righted myself in my third year. Mostly. I think I bit someone at some point..."

And yet, Morrigan had not been speared on a harpoon. He had not been killed before he could sprout legs. He went on land, studied at Night Raven College, and became a teacher.

Then again, he was from Atlanta. He attended nice schools before Night Raven, unlike Silas, who had no formal education at all and was lucky Lady Roda taught him how to read and do math, among some other things, before he started up his business properly.

Silas sighed. "It's too much to get into now , Morrigan." He said softly. "You should get going. ...It would've been nice to be your classmate, I suppose."

"For sure." Morrigan agreed, grinning toothily. "Y'know, I think you'd have been an Octavinelle student. Bet you would have been running that place within a week."

"How kind of you." Silas murmured, half smiling. "Now come on, shoo. You need to get going."

"Alright, fiiine." Morrigan drawled, getting up and swimming towards the door. "I'll get out of your scales. See you next week, Silas."

"See you next week." Silas echoed, sending a crooked grin his way. "And remember, if you have any complaints, please lodge them with me."

And this was it. This was where the routine was broken. Morrigan was meant to say, "I'll let you know if anyone comes down with food poisoning," and then leave. That's how it always went.

But he didn't. Instead, he paused at the doorway and didn't answer for a while. Then, he turned his head to smirk at Silas.

"Now why would I complain about good food made by a pretty guy with a sharp mind and a clever tongue?" He asked, then disappeared into the night before Silas could respond.

Silas sighed and ran hand down his face, feeling the thumping in his heart as he thought back to that night. That night that had changed the course of their relationship.

Oh... he felt so tired... he should probably go lie down before continuing. Yes, that sounded like a good idea.

...........................................

Guide: Start, Prev, Next

A/N: I hope ya'll enjoyed the second and final part of part 3 and the Morrigan lore! I had so much fun writing this teehee

Tagging: @distant-velleity @krenenbaker @the-banana-0verlord @officialdaydreamer00 @cyanide-latte @kitwasnothere @theleechyskrunkly @boopshoops @ramshacklerumble @elenauaurs @cynthinesia

#silas clearcove #morrigan clearcove #twisted wonderland #twst oc #writing

[nagdabbit]

we collide with shoulder and steel: chapter 8/25

rating: t to be safe i've lost all sense of what needs to be warned for

words: 4k

yuta gets ready to leave the mountain and reminisces about meeting mox and claudio

also on ao3

no, i dunno why this fucking chapter kicked my ass either

.

He liked watching the dust dance across the pages as Mox read, tracing lines and letters like he hadn't read the words a thousand times before. If Yuta looked close enough, he could make out the faint shadow of his fingertips, a ghost flickering in the firelight.

That was all he ever saw of Mox, though, just his hands. All that was left of him, the real him, the flesh and blood and bone that once roamed the mountaintop. Just dust motes drifting in the light.

When he first began to think of life on the mountain, he'd always imagined a lonely existence. The silence, the toil of work, the threat of a beast's wrath. He imagined wind whipped skin, hands ground to the bone, a spine twisted like the trees still clinging to rocky outcrops. He imagined himself suffering, simply because that was all he thought the beast and the mountain and the curse would willingly offer him in exchange for his work.

The loneliness he found wasn't his, it didn't burrow a place in his chest the way he'd feared, and its roots—vast and tangled though they were—hadn't grown too deep to rip free. A beast lost in grief, books with no one to read them, a fire with no one to tend it. 

He gathered Bryan had chosen not to mention his compatriots simply because he wanted to see Yuta scared off his mission, never thinking he had more curiosity than fear in him. He didn't seem to be one capable of paying much attention when it didn't immediately serve him. He lumbered along at Yuta's heels, following him in through the kitchen door, waiting for the scream of terror that never came. Yuta hadn't screamed at the sight of Bryan's sorry visage, he had no idea why the man thought a pair of kind eyes, illuminated in embers and sparks, would do the trick.

He'd startled, certainly, and he'd yelped in enough of an undignified manner that Bryan had actually laughed—but he remembered being so very curious. Enough so that he'd dropped himself down at the fire's edge and introduced himself. The face in the flames had smiled back, so very amused and welcoming. Bryan's laughter had faded into the background in favor of Claudio's gentle, crackling voice and the warmth of his faint, illuminated expression.

"Were you cursed, too?" he had asked, hands itching for his journal to take down as much as he could. "Have you been here the whole time? Have—oh, I'm so sorry, what is your name?"

And he had chuckled, flames flaring and flickering with his delight. "My name is Claudio, and, yes, we were caught up in the curse, too."

At the time, caught up in the curse hadn't meant much more than bystander. An innocent caught in the crossfire, same as everyone below living through the slow, seeping trickle of sickness that had spread from the mountain. Another word had instead caught his attention. "We?"

"Yes, Mox and I, along with the rest of the household," he had murmured.

"There are more of you?!"

"Were," he corrected, gently. His voice crackled and popped like kindling, warm and soothing even as his flames began to die down. "This house used to be full."

"Were they like you?"  

"Yes, they were."

"What happened to them?"

He was an empty shadow, the edges of him lit by flame and the smallest sparks and embers. His expression was kind and patient and so very, very sad, "They died, Yuta. Whether by age or disuse, by accident or by hand or by choice, they died."

Behind him, he heard the retreating click of hooves on stone, Bryan slowly dragging himself back out into the evening light. 

What a simple way to say so very much, that they'd dwindled and wasted away and died. That they'd gone the way of the trees and the fields, fading until there was nothing left for a life to even cling to. That, sometimes, they simply stopped even trying. 

"Are you stuck here?" he had asked, tempering his excitement in the face of what had truly happened, what had been lost so long before his own family started dying. The rusted cutlery and broken teacups, signaling lives ended, a graveyard of a garden, broken furniture and unmoving clocks. One right after another, the halls had emptied out until only Mox and Claudio remained to haunt Bryan's ruin.

That kind expression turned sly. Yuta swore he saw the cinders of his eyes glint, before the face disappeared and a voice echoed in through the doorway. "I am only stuck in so much as and bound by the flames." He laughed as Yuta scrambled from his seat and skidded into the next room, burning faintly in the light of a candelabra. "It is not the where, it is the what."

He had been amazed that, despite the dire existence, Claudio still found enough strength to laugh. That he could smile and joke, that he could step between flickering flames and lead Yuta on a merry chase through the ruins. What a joyful man he must have been to still have wells enough of laughter to share, even in the face of utter oblivion.

Their chase led them through the last of the ruins, flames marking their way as Claudio stepped between lantern and flickering candle and warm hearth. He told half-truths, Yuta would later realize. He pointed out parts of the house left whole, but not their names. The stairs that still held weight, the rooms still standing, the chairs and furniture and tools that he could use—but nothing of who they'd once been. Anyone else, Yuta would have thought they'd forgotten, but he knew the pain Claudio must have felt in remembering.

Behind him, hooves scraped across the floor as Bryan dragged himself closer. It was late in the year, in the growing dark of November, and the ground was beginning to harden. A small part of him feared the coming freezes, feared that spring would dawn and he would return to find nothing but barren dirt, all his hard work destroyed. But it hadn't happened his first winter, and he knew—deep down—that it wouldn't this time, either. But, still, he feared.

"Comfortable?" he asked, sarcasm dripping from his long, pointed teeth. But it was softened by the gentle scrape of nails over Yuta's head as Bryan ruffled his dirty hair. He sank down onto the cool stone, close enough to Yuta that he could feel the heat off the man. "I always have to sit on the floor when you're here."

Fire popped as Claudio tsked at them. "No animals on the furniture," he teased, voice crackling with laughter.

Yuta laughed and gave the beast a smug grin, pleased to find Bryan biting down a smile in return. Nevermind that the fragile, ancient wood would crumple beneath Bryan's weight. Never mind that he'd shooed Yuta inside in the first place, after he'd tripped in the evening dark and sprained his ankle. Nevermind that he'd been the one to dig out all the supplies left by past hunters and adventurers, fashion a makeshift cushion from forgotten blankets and canvas—all just so Yuta had a comfortable place to sleep. 

"You'll just have to work faster next time," he quipped, tugging the furs tighter around his shoulders. 

Bryan chuckled, a sound far less rare as time dragged on.

In a few days, once his ankle didn't bite at him each time he took a step, he would head back down the mountain and to the east. There was a town there, where he would spend the winter months working any odd job he could find in exchange for the supplies to see him through. Seeds and saplings, salt and honey, clothing, cloth and tools. Candles and oil enough that Claudio would never run out, supplies enough that he could repair any book before it fell apart. 

But the leaving had been bittersweet, and his second winter wouldn't be any different. This time, though, they all seemed to accept that he would return. After all, he'd done so once, already. 

Beside him, Mox growled and the cover slammed shut as he darted off into the shelves. The rapid turning of pages echoed through the cavernous room, and he heard Bryan sigh through his nose. 

Mox had grown restless, of late. Pages fluttered more fervently, covers thrown open with more force than he'd ever shown them. Words he'd read so many times before, no longer held his attention. And while Yuta wouldn't dare blame him—hell, he was surprised it hadn't happened sooner—the rough use meant his books dwindled. Slow though the loss was, it was happening before their eyes, and sometimes at Mox's own hands. Centuries of dust, quiet, and the same, familiar words, and the frustration was beginning to eat at him.

At least, that was Yuta's assumption. Mox could talk endlessly, about a great many things, but he avoided speaking of himself at all costs.

Yuta had discovered early on that Claudio could not inhabit every fire. He wasn't simply the fire of the house, his flame had been burning when the curse had been cast, perpetual and fragile. There was no magic in the sparks from a freshly struck flint, and there was no Claudio, either. 

That same, cruel magic bound Mox, too. When he'd returned from his winter, Yuta had dragged a cart up the trail behind him, books tucked in between seed and barrels. Though he'd cleared a shelf for them, they remained voiceless. A fire could grow ever-larger with enough fuel for feed, and Claudio could swallow the entire continent if he had half a mind to, but Mox would only slowly dwindle until the last ink faded. 

He was starving, slowly wasting into nothing.

The first time he'd stepped foot into the library, he'd been amazed. Still was, each time he entered, still in awe of the shelves rising so high overhead, sagging beneath the weight of more books than he'd even imagined existed. A maze of opulence and knowledge, a number of books only a king should've had, worth more than all the treasures Yuta could imagine. Books from all corners of the continent, and some beyond even that. Even centuries on, it was a true treasure to behold. A wealth of knowledge that would've proved both valuable and jeopardizing.

The library had, perhaps, once been far grander. Had once glittered like a jewel, morning light streaming in through the tall, stained glass windows. But it looked loved, in Yuta's eyes. Lived in and loved and treasured.

He followed the sound of turning pages to the tall, eastern windows. A book was nestled there on the sill, illuminated in the dim, evening light. 

"You must be Mox," he said, and stopped a few feet back. It was his second evening on the mountain. At Claudio's insistence, Bryan had been sent to convince Mox that Yuta was safe to allow in. That he wouldn't tear the place apart, wouldn't toss his books into the fire.

That was the story Yuta had hated most. In the dark of that first night, curled up on the floor before the grand fireplace crackling away in the great hall, Claudio told sadder stories. Of his friends who had faded away, damage wrought by hunters and killers come for Bryan's head, those hoping to find a fairytale husband and a cursed king. How the library was so dark, now. That Mox no longer allowed him in for fear that the next visitor would toss more of his books into the flames.

"Bryan says you're not like the others," a rough voice murmured, the rasp of a fingernail on aging parchment. A voice that would've been deep and growling in life, had become cavernous, a distant echo of what he'd once been. "I don't think he even believes that, though."

Yuta chuckled, lightly. "Sound like he was held at knifepoint, did he?"

The pages fluttered again, as Mox gave his own rasping laugh. "He said your name through gritted teeth," he joked, and Yuta had begun to make out the faint shape of him in the low light. "There a reason you wished to visit me?"

"Several, actually. I was hoping to test your memory."

The pages rustled in a manner that Yuta could only call curious. "My memory of what?"

"I wish to try and save the garden," he said, looking out at the barren scrub beyond the windows. "This drought has trickled down into the land below, and it's spreading. If the land is to survive Bryan's curse, then the healing has to start here."

"And, what? You need a second set of hands?"

"No, no. I'm certain I can bully Bryan into helping," he had chuckled. "Perhaps I'm just simple, but this looks to be just about the most complete library on the continent. And you are the only one who's read them all."

"You're lookin' for information?" Pages trembled excitedly, the shiver of a cat ready to pounce. "Horticulture?"

"Anything and everything you have. If you have any books about this region, specifically, and what crops would best survive. But anything is a far cry better than what I am working with now," he said and, much the way Claudio had, the book snapped closed as Mox darted off further into the maze of shelves to lead Yuta on another chase. 

He left a trail of chatter for Yuta to follow, and the scrape of books sliding from their shelves. He would push the books out just enough that Yuta could find them before he would fit away to the next book, all the while calling out to Yuta about each title, and what useful things he could find within. Plants and remedies and all manner else, more than Yuta could've dreamed up.

He wondered how often he had a chance to do this. To hunt and find and know, to share everything he had learned in his many years. He'd only known Bryan a day or two at that point, and he hadn't been able to imagine him setting Mox loose on a treasure hunt. Giving him something to do, some way to pass the endless hours. But, he supposed, that was just another reason he'd climbed the mountain.

Yuta skidded around a corner, and his laughter died in this throat. He hadn't realized how far into the maze of shelves they'd gone, he hadn't noticed the books dwindling, and the room opening up.

A few shelves had been cleared away, opening up the last eighth of the room. There was a fireplace, pressed into the far back wall, empty and cold. A bench set before it, and the shattered, rotted remains of two more. To one corner, there was a messy pile of torn pages and broken books—the ones that had faded past their use and fallen to pieces. To the other side, a haphazard stack of wood pieces, edges splintered and broken.

"Those at the back," he called out, interrupting Mox's excited chittering. He pointed toward the far wall and the dark fireplace and the piles of broken, faded books. "Why would you want to just discard them like that?"

"Wants got nothing t'do with it," he muttered, pages fluttering as he pushed out a long sigh. "Ink fades, spines break. It's a simple fact of life: everything must die. Holds true for books, too."

"Does it hurt?" he asked, still staring at the piles of—of corpses. "When your books break, I mean."

"No. Can't feel anythin' anymore. Just an empty sort of cold nothing where the hurt used to be."

"Then why do you keep them?" he had asked, before he could think better of it. 

"Kindling. Saving up for the day we run out of trees to burn."

Yuta had looked down at the open book, a dusty shadow tracing the lines of faded ink, scratched onto fragile pages. "Is there really no hope?" he had asked. "Do you believe, truly, that it'll come to that? That there is no way for Bryan to come out the other side of this?"

"This curse killed the one man he could ever love. All we can do is hold out as long as possible," Mox whispered, soft words echoing through the still room, "and hope his heart takes pity on him, and one day simply gives out."

What a cruel fate, to wait for death that may never arrive. To hope for it. If there was ever to be an end to the curse, Mox wouldn't be there to see it, pages torn and rotted away. And when Mox faded from the cold, lonely halls, Claudio's fire would cool into coals, no more strength left to hold a flame. Yuta would likely be long dead, if ever an end came at all. What would even be left of the world by then?

And the worst of it, Yuta knew he could do nothing to fix them. Perhaps he could distract them for a time, perhaps he could make the burden of time a little easier to carry—but it wouldn't last. All he could do was stave off the inevitable. But that wasn't nothing. A little hope could tide a man over for a long time, just maybe long enough for Bryan to get over himself.

"Well then," he murmured, resolute in his determination. "I suppose I have even more reason to be here."

Mox was silent a long moment, long enough that Yuta thought he'd moved off, further into the shelves. But then the slim volume eased a little further out of the bookcase. "This, ah, is a journal. Written by a man who found this mountain long before Will ever set down here. The land here was strange, even before we ever had magic to fertilize the dirt with," he said, quietly. "Perhaps, now that magic is all gone, we can figure out how to bring the green back. The right way." 

And they did, eventually. Mox was a well of knowledge, whether he'd admit it or not. He'd read everything in the library a hundred hundred times over, could recite it at a moment's notice, far faster than Yuta sitting down to read. By the time two weeks had passed, they'd formed a plan for the garden. By the start of his second month, he had beds dug and seeds planted—though he'd had little faith they amount to anything. When the first green had poked up through the dirt, Mox had . They'd even drawn up plans for a hot house, using descriptions out of a book from a land far away. 

Mox had been the one to suggest he leave over the winter, with a list of seeds to buy. He spoke of an orchard, suggested buying a few saplings, should he make enough gold during his winter. Cauliflower and sweet corn, should he find the seeds—his favorites, though he had little need for them any longer. Parsnips and herbs for Claudio, beets and squash for Bryan. He suggested barley to grind, certain it would grow better than wheat, and granny's bonnet and honeysuckle to lure back the bees and hummingbirds. 

His each suggestion carried with it a hint of sadness, like he knew Yuta would walk off into the east and never return. He'd been so adamant about it, so certain that was what Yuta needed to do, that he'd wondered if Mox was simply giving him an out. An excuse to leave and never look back, to wash his hands of their fates and live a life for himself—as if he thought Yuta could ever do that, could ever live without looking over his shoulder as he waited for the rot to catch up.

But fear wasn't logical, and he'd learned early on that words meant little. He didn't try to convince Mox he was there to stay, but he convinced him to allow Claudio back into the library, to keep him company and keep him warm through the long winter nights. He didn't try to convince Claudio that he meant well, but convinced him to help burn away the rotted remnants of the garden, keep the flames from burning out of control down the slopes of matchstick trees. He stopped trying to convince Bryan that he could be trusted, just convinced him to pull his head out of his ass and get to work, to keep watch over the garden once Yuta had left for the winter.

And when that first spring dawned, he kept his word and returned to the mountain and Bryan and his friends. He would do so for as long as it took, and hoped they'd one day believe him.

He listened to Mox grumble and flutter through the stacks, before he finally settled back into his book with a huff, pages rustling with despondent discontent. The flames dimmed, just the slightest bit.

He had been sure that a warm, crackling hearth would help. That convincing Mox to let Claudio close would ease a little of his loneliness, calm the part of him that was so certain they would be abandoned. And, most days, he was right. But there were times that being close seemed only to make Mox and Claudio both a little more restless. To be so close, and never be able to touch—to not even be able to feel it if they could.

At his hip, Bryan sighed out a long breath. He didn't lean his full weight against the bench, at the risk of shoving it over with his strength, but he pressed a little closer, as if sharing Yuta's thoughts.

He'd not thought much of Bryan, at the start. He was rude and uncaring, seemingly so self-absorbed that he forgot an entire world existed beyond the borders of his lonely mountain. And, admittedly, all of that was true, save for Mox and Claudio. He clung tightly to them, the last anchors of his old life. Yuta thought he'd lose the last dregs of his humanity the day they finally gave up and faded away, finally become the monster in all those old stories 

He wrestled a hand free of his blankets, and pressed it to Bryan's broad, furred shoulder.

A voice rose up from the hearth, warmer even than the flames he was bound to. "And what are you, today?" he asked, so softly. He was just an outline of embers and sparks, but his gaze was warm and loving each time Mox allowed himself to be within reach of a hearth. 

"Fairytales." Mox's voice was rough and crackling and deep, but airy with the sound of turning pages. He was almost invisible without the sunlight to dance upon the dust motes that made him. "I already read them all to you."

The before was left unsaid, but it shone in the drop of Bryan's shoulders and the tightening of his lips. How many years had been lost to fear and sadness and cold loneliness, Yuta didn't know, but he could see it still weighing on them all. 

Claudio was quiet for a long moment, crackling away. And then the flames flared, a little brighter and a little warmer. "I don't mind hearing them again."

It was odd to be able to read emotions in parchment, to watch pages rustle and twitch and be able to tell what was anger and curiosity and surprise. Mox may have been quiet, but he hid nothing. He was honest and he was open, in his own way.

The pages gave a short, surprised flutter, followed by a sudden flattening—as if invisible hands had smoothed them down, looking for some action that would hide their shaking. Pages rustled as Mox tried to regain his composure, and it warmed Yuta deep to see that Claudio could still fluster him after all their many years, even so different as they were now, in the face of everything. Had the warmth of Claudio's words been directed at himself, Yuta would have tucked his head, bit his lip, blushed hot enough to rival the warmth of the fire. Mox only had his hands and his books left.

Beneath his hand, Bryan's shoulder relaxed and he pressed back into the touch. Quietly, Mox began to read aloud in the warm glow of the firelight.

#a tale as old as balls #aew fanfiction #aew fic

[fire-fist-ann]

witches and myths

Witches—what a strange concept! Those were stories that drunk pirates passed around when it came to sharing stories, myths, and urban legends to scare others. The sea was vast, and Ace himself had encountered strange things in his time as a pirate. But nothing was stranger than this very moment as he read his mother’s diary. The old man, Garp, had been kind enough to answer Ace's inquiry as if he had anything that belonged to his deceased mother. Never in a million years would Ace have thought his mother was a witch. He just thought she had a will of steel to hold him in for as long as she had. Not that she had witch blood running through her veins or that she had come from a long line of witches in her family for generations. Ace’s black eyes scanned over her words; even his mother’s handwriting seemed delicate. Before they widened as he reread his mother’s words over and over again in disbelief, "Ace, my dear son, someday you will find this journal and you will learn about my blood line. In my journal, I have left a ritual for you to speak to the dead in case something ends up happening to me. But there is a catch: you can only cast it on Halloween night at exactly the witching hour."

He wasn't sure how well it would work. He didn't even believe in witches, much less the fact that he was a witch in turn. But he had so many questions for his mother and, hell, even his father. He wanted to scream at him until his breath was blue for leaving him and his mother behind. For being born as his child and everything he had been through because of his father. He wanted him to know all the awful things people said about him. He was thankful Halloween was tomorrow, but he couldn't shake the anxiety he was feeling at the very thought of this even working at all. He didn't even know what he would say to them. He couldn't help but think about whether his mother would be proud of the man he had become. He wanted to meet her so badly that he took her last name as a way to honor her life. To thank her for bringing him into this world.

Ace couldn't help but be filled with this anxiety in his chest, bubbling up all day. He could hardly focus on anything. He wasn't able to sleep last night with the thoughts of what would happen tonight plaguing his mind.

"Are you alright, boy? You seem kind of off today." Pops couldn't help but ask; it just wasn't like Ace to be so fidgety like this. Much less hardly eating any of the meals he usually did.

Ace jolted, "Oh no, I didn't mean to worry, you pops; I just have a lot on my mind. All I'll be better tomorrow; no need to worry." He flashed him one of those boyish smiles of his as he rubbed the back of his head with a low chuckle.

"If you insist, I will check on you in the morning, but you can come to me if there is something going on." Whitebeard said, moving his large hand to ruffle Ace’s black, wavy hair. Ace wanted to tell Whitebeard he did, but how exactly was he supposed to blurt out that he was a witch or at least had witch blood flowing in his veins? Much less how anyone would believe that.

"Thank you, pops. I'll talk to you later. I have to, uh, go clean!” he said, scurrying away. Leaving as quickly as possible, he had to get everything ready for the raid and somehow sneak some things from the kitchen.

Whitebeard raised an eyebrow watching his second division commander run away from him like that.  How oddHe couldn't help but think. It didn't even sound like Ace would be coming to the Halloween parties he so loved to go to. It was just an excuse for him to talk about his younger brother, Luffy, the whole time. Ace snuck his way into the kitchen. He felt so relieved that  thatch was busy trying to set up the buffet for the party happening right now. Normally, he would guard the kitchen like a guard dog from Ace. In case the Mera user decided to have an early Halloween snack, it wasn't unusual for him to sneak food. Ace gulped as he looked both ways through the hallways before he rushed to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He had to get this right; this was the only day he could do this. If he got it wrong, he would have to wait another year, and frankly, he didn't think he could wait that long. 

"Alright, here goes nothing, I guess. What's the worst that can happen?” Ace mumbled to himself as he set up the ritual on his floor. It was going to be a pain in the ass to clean it up later. 

He took shaky deep breaths before he hit his cheeks lightly. "Get a grip," he grumbled before he set the ritual according to what his mother left him. His black brows furrowed after a couple of moments, but nothing happened. He did it perfectly, so why hasn't it worked? He let out a heavy sigh. Honestly, what was he expecting? He turned his back to get stuff cleaned. Only for just right then, and there was a heavy gush of wind knocking over a few of his books, and a gentle woman's voice came through , "Is that you ace?" ort “ I am your mother am I not I would feel honored if you called me mom” Ace swore he could feel his heart still as he turned around, fully seeing a woman with blonde hair and freckles. She looked exactly like she did in the pictures Garp had given him. He was so focused on his mother that he hardly heard his father’s voice next. "What's with the long face, my boy?" 

Ace shook his head as he walked closer to him. He wasn't sure what overtook him, but he ran right into his mother’s arms. Tears welling up in his eyes,You're really here,” he couldn't stop the tears from flowing down his freckled cheeks.

Rogue eyes were wide before her face softened up into a smile as she wrapped her arms tightly around her son. "Of course I am here. You called me my son. I have been wanting to talk to you for so many years,” she said in a soft voice, almost breathless as she watched her son cry into her. 

Roger and Rogue shared a look before Ace moved his hands, wiping at his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry, but I just... I couldn't help myself, mom. Wait, is it okay if I call you that?"

rogue couldn't help but snort. Before she smiled again moving her hand to tilt ace’s chin up “ I would love for you to call me mom..hearing it comes from you feels me with joy..I just wish I could have been there for you growing up  “ Ace’s lower lip trembled as he felt his throat dry before he felt he was able to say, "It wasn't your fault, mom.” He leaned into the hand that she put on his face. "I don’t remember anything, not for a moment. I was happy for the time I got to spend with you while I was pregnant, and I've been watching over you all these years. I'm so proud of the man my son has become,” she said.

Ace could feel how much his hands were shaking despite the fact they were clutched onto his mother’s shirt. “ You're proud of me?” his voice said in a whisper almost like he couldn't picture his mother actually being proud of her

Ace suddenly paused as her words fully hit him “..wait you said you,'ve been watching over me..does that mean you…that you both heard me talk about ..well my dad' ' he couldn't help but ask. Would his father hate him for how he felt about him?

Roger stepped closer to Ace putting an arm around his shoulder leaning down a little bit so he was closer to his son;s height. “ I did hear the things you said about me, but I was never angry with you  my precious boy, I was angry with how people treated you just for being my son..but ace you were my greatest treasure far greater than the one piece, I,m sorry I wasn't there to raise you with your mother”. Roger said as his large hand moved pushing black hair out of ace’s eyes

“ I am  so proud that you're my son, I don’t think I could be any prouder than I am of you right now” Roger said with that big goofy smile of his.

“ you don't hate me..neither of you do?” he couldn't help but to blurt out   “ Of course not we love you Ace , your everything we ever wanted in a Son” rogue spoke first as she pulled ace closer to her  letting him feel the warmth coming from her

His father spoke next “ it’s just as your mother said we love you Ace and we always will” Roger said as he wrapped his arms around his wife and his son. How he wished he could have seen Ace grow uo, take his first steps, say his first words. And of how he wished he could have taught Ace so much .. he wanted to be a dad more than anything. But at least right now he knew Garp had done a good job with his boy and that was more than enough for Roger; it gave him comfort and relief.

“ Ace My son , Our time is coming to a end , the ritual only allows for a couple of moments since your a beginner keep practicing any of the spells in my notebook and as you get better well be able to talk much much longer and stay with you, the next time we meet I promise I will tell you how me and your father met”: Rogue said with a sad smile

Roger lips curled up “ it’s quite the story ,  We will see you next halloween but remember we will always watching over you, and keep a eye on my old friend whitebeard there man doesn't take care of himself i swear” roger said with a chuckle

“ I promise..i love you to” ace found himself saying as he felt their warmth fading until they were gone. Ace felt himself crumble to his eyes before a smile crossed his lips he wiped at his still teary eyes

“ Guess I have to get better for next halloween right? Mom and dad” he whispered to himself

#one piece #witch #portgas d ace #gold d roger #rogue #i love them #whitebeard pirates #op whitebeard

[welcome-to-maniac]

Jooheon popped his head into their shared bedroom smiling when he saw his fiancé getting ready to leave. He was happy that he caught him before he did leave, walking over and back hugging him the journal in his hand evident. He pressed a kiss to his shoulder and hummed. “It’s late but…Merry Christmas, Happy 1 Year Together and Happy New Year.” He handed the journal over. “A gift, a piece of me, a piece that shows how much I truly love and care for you.” He holds up a pair of keys handing them too. “A piece for the future too.~ You have to get to the last entry to know what they go to.~” He grinned a little, kissing his forehead knowing that Minho might have some kind of assumption to what they were for. “I love you.”

[AHHH ITS DONE FINALLY HEHE there’s like 2 mistakes but it’ll still make sense hehe 🥰]

@livealittleoc-cb

"All the same to you too, sunshine," Minho grinned, stealing a kiss of his own and setting the jumper he was going to put on aside. Getting ready could wait. "A set of keys, a mystery, and your journal? I don't know about you but I think Maniac can wait."

He sat back down on their bed, shooing Sooni off and laying the keys in his lap as he opened the same journal he'd seen Jooheon pour hours into night after night.

Though silent, Minho's thoughts were written onto his face plain as day - his walls long gone in front of the man he was going to marry. He chuckled reading through the early days, occasionally looking towards Jooheon as he pictured the older man writing away, pressing flowers and glueing down memories into each page.

"The Recon..." He mutters, more to himself than anything. He'd taken to blocking that from his memory, choosing to forget just how close he was to losing his life. To losing his family. His heart ached as he finally understood the other was coping while he was all but dead to the world: not at all.

The longer he read, the more Minho's ears burned red, until he frowned, reading over the next few entries just that little bit quicker. He could address those pages later, not when either of them were in a good mood. But relief washed over him regardless; his name, circled in hearts over and over again. Even in the midst of everything that happened that day, they were okay.

His baby picture. A version of himself so innocent and young. He sniffled, rubbed over the picture with his thumb and laughed as he read further down. He'd made Jooheon miss almost a month of writing entries - perhaps his pride was inflating just little bit. And he had wondered where that date polaroid had gotten to.

"Puppy, huh?"

He kept reading, now far too curious to see the inner workings of the man he was going to call his husband. The longevity potion had remained in his wardrobe, sealed away in a box underneath his belongings. It wasn't as though Minho didn't want it, he was still coming to terms with leaving the others at the bar behind. But he knew it wouldn't come to that.

July 10th was a date he wished he could forget, in fact he'd have preferred it if that week had never happened at all. Hospital visits sucked and nothing would erase the memory of Jooheon confined to a hospital bed. August as a whole could go in the shit Lee Minho wants to forget category too. Too many scares, too many visits to the hospital, it was exhausting.

"I'd like to see this other journal sometime~" He laughed, looking over to Joo with a crafty smile and just the faintest hint of his canines, still relatively sharp after his vampire stint. October itself was a good month, even with the chaos that came with it. Jooheon's magazine shoot was still displayed in his dresser, the magazine itself open to the page. His birthday was perfect, and little Carrots was adorable, from the distance he kept himself from her for both their sakes.

He brushed over LeeKnow as fast as he could, grateful Joo had gone to the trouble of reminding himself to never mentioning it again. He'll get therapy for it someday. He should get therapy in general regarding his youth. But Thanksgiving with his future in-laws was his own personal favourite of last year; cooking alongside Joo's mother, spending time with everyone, he couldn't have asked for more.

"You should ask the kids about how I look at you, they won't shut up."

Minho's expression morphed to something unreadable as he reached the end, blinking as he read over the same entry over and over. He wasn't seeing things, was he? He closed the journal, set it aside and turned the key in his hand, before tugging Jooheon into a hug, wordless as ever. He nodded though, a smile etched onto his face.

"I can't wait to move in together. I'll have to change the name on the lease of this apartment, but let's do it. Let's live together, properly."

#🥃 minho.txt #❓ asks.txt #let's live together being minho's very minho way of saying I love you <33

[endlesscrimson89]

FFXIV Write2023, Prompt 21: Grave.

Raha pulled the edges of his jacket - prepared by Tataru for their campaign into Garlemald - tighter around himself as he trudged through the calf-deep snow up to the edge of the cliff. The air was crisp with the promise of snow - bellying the warmth ruling in Mor Dhona he just left behind. 

This phenomenon - the ever-winter ruling over Coerthas no matter the time of the year - was one of the reasons why Senri hated this place. Another was the spot he was heading to, using his lover’s absence within the Scions' compound. 

Since they returned from the First, Senri scarcely left his side - and as much as he loved his constant presance, part of his heart ached with the idea his Warrior was scared he would dissapear if he left his sight. 

It was part of the price he inflicted on his mate’s soul - making him vulnerable to the damage that came after. 

Sometimes, when he thought of it, he was nearly ashamed about ever loving a tale of Dragonsong War - Count Fortemps' journals his favorite during his long, long wait on the First. He was so naïve then... no matter his age. Only tasting the frost those memories were encrusted with in his lover’s mind, he truly understood the level of destruction that part of his hero's story left behind. 

He understood why his beast’s mind broke down, crushing his soul in the process. 

Arriving at his destination, Raha shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket, narrowing his crimson eyes at the simple grave with broken shield resting against its side. With the backdrop of sight of Ishgard in the distance, it was easy for him to understand why Senri couldn't bring himself to visit this place. 

Almost four years later, the memory it represented was still too sore. 

"It was an unfortunate mix of circumstances," he whispered under his breath while his gaze drifted toward the far-away city when snowflakes started to drift in the air around him. It was early in the day, but thick gray clouds above made the area darker than it should be. "Did you know he hates cold?" He added unneccesirly, curling in his shoulders while looking back toward the grave. "He never talks about it, scarcely think of it, I believe, but it's because he almost froze to death on the way out of the camp he grow up in. There's so much scars that place left on him... but I think the cold reminds him of shame he felt when leaving. It was middle of winter, and he completely unprepared for the outside world... And I don't know if I ever manage to express how awed I am by the sheer scope of bravery it took... Not that he can see it. I hope one day, perhaps he does... Same as I hope that one day he will stop hating you for what you did."

He sighed and shook his head, then dropped to one knee in the pile of snow and despite the chill of it, rested his hand atop the stone. 

"Thank you, Haurchefant," he breathed, closing his eyes when they prickled with tears. "You were his friend when he really needed one and I chose to believe one day he will be ready to forgive you. He can't now, because that would mean admitting he wished that spear took him instead... not to save you but because he was so painfully tired of his fate. Of the cold, loneliness and heartbreak... and shame that he felt this way. He's refusing to accept that he hated me, too, for leaving him. That he fears I will leave him again. That part of him that so fiercely wish to punish him... I think it scares him so much because he wants to punish me too. Me, you, the rest of the world... all who failed him. All who put impossible expectations on him. Who forced that mask to chafe his soul... because we couldn't see the price it took. Price it still takes... and as much as I want to protect him, I think unless he faces it, he won't be able to heal. To believe that he's as allowed to hate as anyone else. I think before he's truly ready to forgive us, he first needs to forgive himself... and I hope one day I can help him to do that. So thank you for saving him that day... and I swear I will do all in my power to save his soul."

Steeling his resolve, he stood up, then teleported back to Mor Dhona. He didn’t know yet how to achieve that - fulfilling that promise - but he hoped that one day they would be able to visit that place, together, and he liked to believe that he would be able to put that smile on his lover’s face that the dying man asked for. 

#final fantasy 14 #g'raha/wol #ffxivwrite2023 #g'raha tia

[moonlight-melts]

Patchwork family

Writing? On my blog? Damn.

Them. Just,,, them,,, they make me so happy.

This kiiiinda hints at what Mikaëla's curse is but it's vague and I'm not 100% satisfied with it so it might change in the future but eeeh whatever.

The beginning is unclear, apologies, but basically, Mika's shop (the Hourglass with a capital H) exists out of space and time, meaning that whenever or wherever you are, you can find it. And some people (probably from the Middle Ages) found out about Mika's magic and think he's a witch, so they basically want him dead.

(reblogs>likes. Selfship writing is selfship art too)

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸

The flickering light outside the windows was eerie, and I was worried. When the first hit crashed on the door, I decided it was time to move. I grabbed my journal and put it in Nao’s hands.

-Dear, I need you to go. Take the back door. If you can go to Gil’s, it’d be great. You’ll be safe there.

-But, and you?

-I’ll be fine. Give the journal to Eve, and tell them that under no circumstances should they try to get here, okay? No matter how much they insist.

A second hit, and the door started to crack. I winced.

-Please, Nao. Run.

-I’m not leaving you!

-If this shop dies, I will, too. I have no other choice. I am begging you. Run.

He hesitated, but finally took a few steps back.

-And, Nao?

-Yeah?

-No matter what happens, I love you.

His eyes filled to the brim with tears, but he gave me a smile that ripped my heart in half.

-I love you too, Mika. See you later.

And like that, he ran away. Good. I unlocked the door and got out, ready to face whoever was there to get me.

♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪°•°∞°•°♪

I couldn’t move as much as I would have wanted to. I just sat down, my back against the wall, and looked at the Hourglass. Nothing too bad. The broken windows’ shards laid all over the floor, and some books fell off the shelves, but it was nothing we couldn’t fix. I was weakened, though, I could feel it. They didn’t break the hourglass, but I could see cracks in the glass, expending slowly. My ears started ringing and I felt my mind getting fuzzy. I couldn’t think.

But then a hand grabbed one of mine.

-E…ve?

-Mikaëla! You’re still alive!

-Kinda. Is… Is Nao…

-I’m here.

Nao’s voice, tiny as it could be, instantly sent waves of relief flowing in my body.

-Gimme a second, you two.

I tried to collect my thoughts.

-Don’t force yourself, Mikaëla, you…

-Eve, if I don’t do that, I will die. Nao, do you remember the curses I taught you the other day?

-The… The binding one? And… And the repairing one?

-Mmh. Do you remember how to execute them?

-Yeah.

-Okay, okay, good. Do you see the hourglass behind the counter?

-The small one?

-Yes. Use the curses on it. Take your time, they have to be done well, but do it.

-What do I bind it to? Me?

-No, no. First, you repair… Ouch…

-Mika!

-I’ll be okay. I really need you to do this. First, you repair it. After that, you need to restore the bond between the hourglass and me. Do not bind it to anything or anyone else. Focus on that.

-Why you?

-Nao. Nao look at me. I’ll promise I’ll explain it all when you’re done. But please, do it. Now.

He nodded, running to the counter to execute the pretty complicated incantations I taught him. In the meantime, I had closed my eyes.

-Stay awake.

Eve’s voice warned me.

-I am. Just tired.

-Mikaëla, please, open your eyes.

I did, not without a groan.

-Eve, why are you here, by the way? I told…

-I know. I just couldn’t leave you to die.

-You’re impossible.

-Says who?

-You know why I do this.

Before Eve could answer anything, I felt a sudden surge in energy. Nao was done, and he turned to me with a small smile on his lips. Eve helped me to get back up, and I took a few steps. Everything seemed to be fine. I was almost taken off balance when Nao crashed into me.

-Ouch! Careful, kid. I’m not quite reestablished yet.

Nao didn’t move, but his shoulders were shaking. I draped my arms around him.

-I’m fine. I promise. I’m sorry I scared you.

With a small tilt of my hand, I asked Eve to join us.

-C’mon. I smiled. Group hug, for I am sorry.

They shook their head with a small smile, but did come to hug us in the end.

I tried to fight the tears, I really did, but I ended up sobbing quietly as I held them close. Eve noticed, and they looked at me, visibly concerned.

-What’s wrong, Mikaëla?

-It’s just… Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just that… I love you two so much.

Nao mumbled something I didn’t understand. I asked him to repeat, and he looked up at me with a cheeky smile.

-Weird-ass patchwork family we are, uh?

#patchwork family 🪡

[little-annie]

All I Want

A Steddie Memory Loss Fic

---

It was good. 

It was so fucking good. 

Yeah, maybe their relationship was a secret. Maybe Uncle Wayne was the only one who knew they were together. Maybe they snuck into closets or empty rooms when they spent evenings with friends, snuck kisses in dark corners or when everyone's attention was focused elsewhere but they were still them. They were Steve and Eddie, Eddie and Steve, together and hopelessly in love. They were together and they had each other. Had each other in every beautifully intimate way possible. 

They sang, they kissed, they cuddled, they made love.

They made breakfast, held hands under the table, washed each other's hair and whispered sweet nothings to one another when no one was around.

They were so fucking in love.

Until they weren't 

Until the day Eddie woke up and remembered nothing of the last year of his life

Until the day Eddie woke up and remembered nothing of Steve. His Steve. The Steve that held his hand and cried his eyes out waiting for the moment that Eddie would wake up. His Steve that made him laugh and sing, made him feel like the luckiest, most loved man alive. His Steve that he spent evenings and weekends with, cuddled into god awful plaid sheets with whispers of the words 'I love you' falling from their lips.

Until the day Eddie woke up from his coma and had no idea why Steve "The King" "The Hair" Harrington was there with him and why the absolute fuck he kissed him and called him Eds on his return to the land of the living.

Their love was so strong, so powerful, so goddamn beautiful. But was it strong enough?

Steve's heart was so full. Full with everything Eddie. Full with eyes the colour of the earth, full with curls that perfectly wrapped around his fingers, full with a touch that made his soul melt and porcelain skin that blushed the prettiest shade of pink.

But

Steve's heart that was once so full shattered when the words, "Why the fuck are you here?" rasped from Eddie's dry throat.

It was like a bullet to the heart. Like a fucking Demogorgan reached in pulled the beating organ out of his chest and crushed it in its cold undead hands. Steve was suddenly so empty. So scared and so goddamn alone. Again.

"Son," Wayne had breathed calmly behind him, warning but also sadness in his tone, watching the one man his nephew loved so much crumble in front of him, reaching desperately for the hand Eddie wasn't willing to give.

Already verging on hysterics, Steve tried, he tried to take Eddie's hand, to call his name, but nothing less than a bark of an order came from the man he loved, "Get the fuck out of here Harrington!"

He fell back into Wayne in shock and the man continued to calmly speak, "They told us he could have memory loss kid. I'm sorry, but I think it's best that'cha leave. I'll call ya tonight when I know more, 'kay?"

Steve couldn't speak, silent tears running down his face, he gathered his things. Or thing. Everything he'd brought was Eddie's, or theirs. He had his jacket, the letterman jacket he didn't quite care for anymore but Eddie loved, or more loved to tease him in. He thought it'd lighten the mood when Eddie woke up, he thought it'd spark some fun loving banter between them. Everything else he left behind, the books, the blankets, the change of clothes ready for Eddie for when he woke up, his rings, his necklace, his leather bracelet and a journal Steve had written in on the days it felt especially hard to watch the love of his life breath through a machine and remain so terrifyingly still.

On his way out the door, Wayne had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in for a hug, ever so quietly mumbling, "A love like yous had just doesn't die kid, it's still in there somewhere. It's still in him."

The words shattered Steve's heart even further. Though he wished they were true, there was no way of actually knowing. It was luck in the first place to find someone as incredible as Eddie to love him. He didn't know if he could get that lucky again. 

Steve squeezed a little tighter and turned to leave, standing in the doorway, willing himself the confidence to not turn around 

"Wayne," he whispered, not moving his attention from the hall he was now facing, the old man turned, tears in his eyes, looking back at Steve, "everything should be there for today," Steve struggled to speak, tears in his eyes and pain in his throat as he turned and pointed at the pile of belongings next to Eddie's bed, "just maybe… fuck, " he huffed quietly, "I don't think he should read the journal, that might freak him out, maybe hide it for now."

Wayne nodded once in response, moving to squeeze Steve's arm as he quietly spoke, "I love ya son."

And if that didn't break Steve's heart even more.

—

The days had dragged into each other.

Wayne would call each evening when he got home from visiting Eddie; updating Steve on his condition. His mental health never being the topic of improvement unfortunately, but at least Steve knew he was doing better otherwise. His days were filled with worry and dread that he hadn't been able to visit since the morning Eddie woke up. Maybe he'd poke his head in when visiting Max, but it wasn't like he could go visit the guy as Dustin's friend alongside the curly haired pipsqueak because, like mentioned before, Eddie didn't remember the last year of his life. 

That included the kids too.

Dustin was just as heartbroken as Steve, but it's not like Steve could show it, not in the way he felt really, he could mourn the loss as a friend but that's it. He and Eddie hadn't told anyone about their relationship, save Wayne, and he wasn't going to make it his business outing Eddie.

Mornings and nights Steve liked to think were the hardest, waking up and falling asleep alone, the absence of Eddie felt the richest then. But that's not to say every other waking minute was less difficult. Fuck, everything was difficult.

Brushing his teeth in the morning because he can picture Eddie behind him and the phantom feeling of a tattooed arm around his waist.

Doing laundry because he can still hear the whispers of Eddie's voice singing some made up song to him

Grocery shopping because he can hear Eddie's laugh and picture him on the end of the cart, weighing it down but with the biggest smile on his face as he throws some type of junk food in with their haul

Working at Family Video because there's no call coming through over his lunch break, no "Well hello there Stevie" or "Hey Baby" or a sing-songed "I love you Steve Harrington," on the other end of the line when he does pick up a call.

There's no Eddie bursting through his front door to tackle him into the couch and pepper him with kisses when he's just gotten home from work. 

There's no Eddie pulling him into his arms after a bout of night terrors, pressing kisses to his head with whispered words of praise 

There's no Eddie. Not for him anyways.

Some days Steve would join Wayne for supper or breakfast, depending on the man's work schedule.

At least he had Wayne.

At least Wayne cared and loved him.

At least Wayne still had Eddie.

Their time spent together would sometimes be in silence, occasionally accompanied by the local news or hum of the radio. Sometimes Wayne would pull Steve through the door and drag him out to go fishing or to a ball game in the city. Sometimes Steve was too late or too early to meet Wayne, so on those days he'd let himself in and find comfort in Eddie's bed with a book in hand, tears often times blurring the words past the point of recognition, before soon the exhaustion of grief would take over and lull Steve to sleep.

Many times did Wayne come home to find Steve curled up in Eddie's bed, tears staining the pillow in his tight grasp, book still held in hand as he quietly snored against the cotton fabric. It was common enough that Wayne didn't bat an eye, simply covering Steve with a blanket, setting an alarm for the morning in case the kid had to work the next day and shutting off the lights after gently ruffling his hair.

It was hard and lonely and some days debilitating.

Steve sometimes thought if Eddie was dead it'd be easier. He'd have at least loved Steve and would have at least loved him until the end. But everytime that thought occurs he hates himself a little more.

He didn't know what to do, it's not like he could barge into the hospital room and tell Eddie everything. How they fell in love, how the world nearly ended, how Steve carried him through the literal gates of hell and held his hand until the second he woke up. 

He couldn't. Could he?

No

But that's not to say Steve didn't try to come up with some type of a plan.

---

Sorry for the tears. This baby's on Ao3, hoping to update weekly

#eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steddie fanfiction #steve x eddie #steddie fandom #steve harrington #eddie x steve #steddie #steddie fic #steddie fic rec #steddie fanfic #steddie wip #steddieficwip #strangerthings