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xzaddyzanakinx · 18 days

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Not That Kind of Guy

Part Nine: Stalker!Anakin Skywalker × femme reader series

Warnings: stalking, weirdo behavior, psychotic/delusional behavior, possessive/protective, sexism/misogyny, sexual content/fantasizing, pervy behavior, panty/scent kink, mask kink (Ghostface), gaslighting/manipulation, nude vids/pics, rape mentioned (somnophilia), gen. sexual content, Panic/Anxiety Attack, forced nudity [Be sure to pay attention to future warnings in the series]

Info: Anakin/Ghost having thoughts?? Unselfish ones?? Luke can’t stop roasting/sassing you [diary entries from Ani] [texting/letters/notes]extremely not proofread. MDNI 18+

Diary Entry: August 10th

I think enough time has passed. I think you’re ready to see Ghost again.

I thought it would take longer for you to recover, but as always, the little fawn in you is curious as ever. Quick to forget fear and ready for the newest challenge.

You’ve responded so well to everything. I’m very proud of you.

I’ve been keeping up with my visits, still cleaning, still watching, still following and protecting.

Now that you know of Ghost, I’ve started completing my tasks. I don’t have to leave anything halfway finished, the dishes are done everyday along with the vacuuming and dusting. I even mop twice a week.

And change the cat litter, which might I add, is disgusting. (Worth it though because I love that little menace.)

I thought for sure you’d run and tell me that you didn’t think the alarms I installed weren’t working, but you didn’t, you just repeatedly tested them yourself. It was very loud, very annoying and I know you could hear the woman down the hall banging her pots and pans together to fight back with her own noise. You didn’t care though, you just wanted to make sure the alarms worked.

They do work, I wouldn’t have installed fake ones, that would be stupid. I’m all for keeping you safe so… what’s one more safety measure?

I just know that they can also be very easily disarmed. Even through the inch and a half thick wooden door to your apartment. A piece of sheet metal (credit card sized) and my handy dandy super strength magnet works like a charm.

You’re such an odd bird. You haven’t told anyone, I don’t think it’s really even crossed your mind too much either. You’ve begun to pretend the cameras aren’t even there. You just go about your normal day to day life and occasionally squint and stare at random objects.

You never actually go check them out though. Is it all for show? I think it might be.

I think you like being watched. I bet it makes you feel safe doesn’t it? Knowing I’m always there for you?

——————————————————————————

You know what the best part of all this is?

Ghost will let me love you in the way that is natural and normal to me. I just hope that you’ll be willing to accept that we are one in the same.

Ghost can comfortably do all the things that I’ve been afraid to. I didn’t want to scare you, but it really was difficult not to leave you things. I’m so glad that you brought that up in your list of questions because it gave me the opportunity to act on it without you flipping out.

Do you like them? I love leaving things for you. Especially little notes.

Ghost has been kind enough to stay out of your way when I’m around, but I can resist making you squirm occasionally. Remember when I left you a note, KNOWING I’d be coming home with you later that day?

Oh babe. It was so oddly intoxicating to see the way you reacted when I got back home and pulled up the footage. You snatched up that slip of paper didn’t read it and didn’t toss it in the trash, didn’t put it in your pocket.

You shoved it in your mouth so I wouldn’t see it. Freak.

I saw it all chewed up and gross in the bathroom trash. You didn’t read it. I know you didn’t. So I’ll have to get alittle more creative.

Don’t ignore me.

DATE

August 13th

For the third morning in a row you woke up to a text from your own cellphone number.

‘Sleep well deer?’

Idiot. Can’t even spell. So finally on this third day, you sent a text back and corrected him.

‘Dear*’

Immediately a response buzzed through.

‘No.’

No? What does he mean no?

‘Little doe. My deer. 🦌’

Oh great, so stalkers use emojis and he’s given you a nickname. How cute.

You laid back in your bed and tossed your phone aside, hands covering your face as you rubbed the sleep away.

The longer this went on, the more insane you felt. This wasn’t normal, of course it’s not normal. So why are you allowing it?

You could ask yourself that a million times and you’d never find an answer.

You could throw away every flower he brought you and they’d still keep coming. You could burn every piece of paper in the city and chew every pen until it’s broken beyond repair and he would still find a way to write you a note.

You could swallow every word he writes, throw it up, flush it, whatever. It’s just going to pop back up. Gross and soggy with an amendment attached and in your panty drawer.

You thought maybe it was an important one. So you read it. Quickly discovered it was semi-important, Ghost just wanted to remind you that he loved you and he was proud of you for continuing to drink your tea even though you knew it was drugged. Once you’re out of it, he’s going to set the pills out next to your birth control. So he ‘doesn’t have to fool with measurements anymore’.

The addendum to the note was tucked inside the original:

‘Good girls swallow.’

You could ignore the trinkets, the jewelry or the pretty stones and shells. But he would just move them to a different spot and force you to eventually set it in your jewelry box along with all the others.

He’s not been bold enough to come around with Anakin in your home. The nights that Anakin sleeps over, there are no gifts, no cleaning done. No disturbances.

But Anakin doesn’t deter him completely.

He’s left you one note at Anakin’s apartment, the first time you’d slept away from your own home in ages. Ghost had the audacity to slip a note into the pocket of your shorts while you slept in the same bed as Anakin in his apartment.

It didn’t say anything, no words, just a heart in red ink. Like he just wanted to remind you that he was there and you were his whether you wanted to be or not. Anakin or no Anakin, Ghost didn’t care.

It’s been horrible lying… omitting the truth to Anakin. Sometimes you feel like blurting it out, but something always stops you. Morbid curiosity maybe. Or maybe you just like the thrill of it, that little shiver of adrenaline you get every time he makes himself known.

It would all stop if you told Anakin. Neither would quit until he’d hunted the other man down and gotten rid of him.

They’d kill each other.

——————————————————————————

Anakin worked tonight, so you had plans to meet up with Luke (sans his pet leech) for a late evening dinner. As much as you loved Han and appreciated everything he did for Luke, how happy he made him, you really just wanted some time alone with your best friend.

So you were thrilled to receive a text around 1:00pm from Luke:

‘Don’t be late. I’m dying to catch up babe.’

You quickly opened the message but before you finished typing, a voice message popped up in your notifications, sent from your number.

You abandoned the chat with Luke and opted to open the voice message instead.

‘I’m coming home.’ then a long pause, ‘have fun with Lukey.’

That scratchy filtered voice; you’d yet to hear it over the phone and this being the first time… it sent you right back to the very first time you watched Scream. That icy chill that snuck up the back of your neck, the tightening of your chest… you felt it now, just not because of fear.

You felt it because you were excited.

——————————————————————————

“Okay, seriously what do you keep looking at?” Luke prodded, snatching your phone and sliding it into his jacket pocket.

“Nothing it’s just-“

“My phone is on ‘do no disturb’, because I have missed my buddy, my pal, my best friend.” He paused, his pointer finger jabbing the table between your plate and his.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I haven’t even unlocked it! It’s just sitting there.”

“True, but the obnoxious tapping to check whatever it is you’re hoping for is getting annoying.” Honesty, brutal or not, was Luke’s love language.

“Fine. I’m sorry, I’ll put it in my pocket.” You agreed, holding your hand out palm up.

“No ma’am. This is mine until the check comes.” His answer was definitive, no room for argument there. “What’s so important anyway? I know Anakin is at work.”

“It’s just work stuff.” You huffed.

“Oh? What’s so pressing at the diner?” He scoffed, “got a big shipment of ketchup coming in? Are you ‘on call’?”

“Luke.” You rolled your eyes at his jab. “No and yes. I am ‘on call’ actually. Sara’s son has been sick.’

Not a total lie, he has been sick. Poor guy. But her husband was home with him and he was being well looked after.

“Okay? That’s your problem how?”

“God you’re so negative sometimes.” You sighed. “Her babysitter hates vomit. If he throws up Sara will have to go home.”

“Ew.” He scrunched up his nose. “I’m eating.”

“Okay? That’s my problem how?” You said mockingly.

“Really? Like for real that’s why you keep checking your phone?”

“Yes really.” Giving him a look that screamed duh’. “Her baby sitter is the 14 year old girl that lives next door to her. Do you really suggest leaving a 14 year old in charge of a vomiting 2 year old? When that 14 year old is disgusted by puke? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

It would be a disaster, her sitter is 14. She just happens to be on vacation with her mother right now. Hence the temporary stay at home husband.

“Okay, first of all, 14? Isn’t that alittle young?”

“No? I started babysitting when I was 12.” You shrugged.

“Fine.” Luke sighed. “Here.”

He slid your phone back to you and propped his chin up on his fist. Watching you check it one last time before turning on the sound and putting it in your back pocket.

——————————————————————————

‘I’m walking home now!’

You shot off the text to Anakin after saying your goodbye to Luke at the restaurant. You’d refused his offer to walk you home, you didn’t want him anywhere near your apartment building knowing that Ghost would be there.

Six minutes later he replied:

‘Good girl.🥰 let me know when you get there safe.’

‘Will do💕’

And you did, the moment you stood outside your apartment door.

‘Made it! See you tomorrow💕’

You waited in the hall to receive his response. You didn’t know what would be waiting for you on the other side of this door, and you didn’t want to chance it.

‘Perfect. Sweet dreams doll!’

Your hand poised at the door knob, you inserted your key to discover your door was already unlocked. You very slowly opened the door, but saw no one in your kitchen or living room.

But your bedroom door was closed, boogie hadn’t meowed as loudly as possible and sprinted to you, demanding to be fed. He did say that they were good friends. So they both must be in your room.

Would it be wise to lock your door? The few precious seconds leaving it unlocked would save if you needed to run… no, no. Just lock it. Doorknob. Deadbolt. Chain.

‘Just stay calm’

You kicked off your shoes and tossed your bag to the floor, walking quietly across the carpeted living room to pause in front of your bedroom. A soft yellow glow shone beneath the door, your lamp must be on. You could hear your tv playing something, not quite sure what it was, but it had the all too familiar cadence of a horror flick.

The audacity of this man astounded you.

When you pushed open the door, he was laying in your bed, shoes off, legs crossed at the ankles, propped against the headboard, arms behind his head. He looked like he belonged there. As big a contrast as it was… your soft, pink, feminine room and him. All black, the mask. He just looked so comfortable.

Your cat, the little traitor, was curled up on his chest. It was kind of sweet. How could such an inherently terrifying scenario seem so normal?

Ever so casually he tilted his head toward you, his right hand raising from its relaxed position to lazily give you gloved finger waggle for a wave.

“Have fun?” The filtered voice drifted over to you.

“Yes.” You answered quietly, glued to the spot.

“Are you just going to stand there?” He laughed. “I would come pick you up, but it’s illegal to move a sleeping cat.” He gestured to boogie who had still not moved from her human pillow.

You couldn’t help but laugh, eyebrows raised in an expression of awe filled shock. This was too weird. Too normal. Too scarily alluring.

Yet you found yourself at the edge of the bed, not really knowing how you got there to begin with.

“Sat you some pajamas out.” He said dismissively, the mask fixed onto the tv screen. “Figured you’d wanna change.”

“Huh.” You snorted, seeing that he had.

You expected to see one of your lacy lingerie sets. But he’d chosen something much more modest that you would’ve ever imagined. Loose, thin, stretchy fabric pajama pants, the matching cropped tank top, and fuzzy socks.

“Um. Thanks?” You said awkwardly, picking them up and turning on your heels to change in the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He chuckled.

“To the bathroom?” You scoffed, looking over your shoulder at him.

“You can change in here.” He wasn’t offering. He was telling you.

“No way.” You shook your head. “No I’m not-“

“C’mon little doe.” The filtered voice left little room for change in tone, but you could tell from his body language that it was a challenge.

“Ghost. No! I have Anakin I don’t-.”

He laughed. “I don’t care.”

“Well I do.”

“Mmm… not enough. You’re letting me be here. You didn’t tell him. You didn’t mention me to anyone at all actually.” He pointed out.

“Well that’s not-“

“Hush.” He snapped, making you stall. “I’ve seen that pretty little body of yours plenty of times. What’s one more?”

“But-“ your face was so red hot that you could feel the heat spreading down your neck.

“What? I’m not gonna get up.” He said plainly. “I’m comfy right here where I can watch you.”

“I don’t… this isn’t right.”

“Don’t pull that bullshit with me.” He scoffed. “Nothing about this is ‘right’. But you’re letting it happen, yeah?” He said and got just a nod from you in response.

“That’s it.” He moved his arm to point two fingers at you, “get on with it sweetheart. I wanna see my girl.”

“I’m not your-“

“You were mine first.” He snapped.

“Well, that’s not very fair.” Your voice shaking. “I didn’t even know you were…. I didn’t know about you!”

“That might be true.” He growled, “but it’s your fault for being so ignorant.”

“I-I don’t…” you felt like you were on the verge of a tantrum. This man was outrageous, coming into your home uninvited, being a fucking perv, acting like he owns the place, and now he’s calling you ignorant?

“Do you realize how stupid it is for you to argue with me about the morality of all this?” He asked, going back to his former relaxed state.

“You. Are allowing me to be here. You had all day to call the cops if you wanted to. But you didn’t.” That smug little bastard laughed. “I’ve been here for over two hours. You knew I’d be here when you got back.”

“That’s not-“

“I’m not finished.” He held up a finger and silenced you. “You’re mine. You’ve been mine and you will continue to be mine.”

“I don’t care that you are pretending to be appalled by the situation you are in.” His voice was even and unyielding, he was so confident in his statements.

“You know why I don’t care?” He asked, tilting his head toward you condescension oozing from every pore.

“Why?” You squeaked.

“Because I know, without a doubt, that if I were to stick my hand down your pretty pink panties; you’d be wet right now.”

How did he know what color your underwear is? Better question: why is that the first thing you thought of when there were much more pressing matters at hand?

“That’s not true.” Your voice sounded hollow.

“It’s not?” He laughed. “Show me then.”

“What?” You whispered, eyes bugging out of your head.

“Do it. Prove to me that you’re not soaked.” He snickered.

“That’s not fair you can’t just-“

“You’re not running are you? You haven’t said no, you haven’t come over here and smacked me.” He interrupted.

You stood there with your jaw dropped, you needed a dustpan and broom to sweep up your shattered facade of denial. How could you dispute that?

“Fine!” You shouted. “Fine. I’ll just change in here.”

“Don’t raise your voice at me.” He growled. “You’re awfully bold for a spoiled brat.”

“I am not a-“

“When will you stop disagreeing with me?” He laughed. “You know it’s true. I’ve spoiled you so much that you’ve rotted to your core. You weren’t always a brat, but you are now. You like being spoiled don’t you? Being taken care of, being treated like a princess?”

“Your little boyfriend does the same thing doesn’t he?” He snickered. “Spoiled. Brat.”

“You’re just a little girl who needs a man to hold her hand.”

“You’re being mean.” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“The truth is hard to hear isn’t it little doe?” He said, his voice going back to its nonchalant, flat tone.

You couldn’t argue. He’d been right about everything and it’s difficult to argue with someone who throws fact after fact at you like he’s doing. So you took a deep breath and closed your bedroom door.

“Atta girl.” He nodded. “Show me.”

So you did, you turned around and began undressing, you could feel his eyes on you, soaking up the display you were crafting for him.

“Turn around.” His voice alittle quieter, the voice box crackling.

Slowly you complied, swallowing your fear and embarrassment. You kept your eyes closed, it made you feel the slightest bit better, I’m the way a kid would think ‘I can’t see you so you can’t see me’.

“Gorgeous.” He breathed out.

Behind your eyelids you swear you noticed a change in lighting, briefly, but enough to take note of. Your eyes snapped open and saw him holding up his phone.

He’d taken a picture of you.

“Ghost, no! Delete that right now!” You squealed, quickly getting dressed in your fresh pajamas.

“Cool it.” He waved you off. “Just gonna add it to my special folder just for you. See?” He turned his screen toward you and you inched forward.

He wasn’t lying. He scrolled through over one hundred images and videos, some of you in public, some nude, some of you sleeping. All in a folder titled ‘little doe’.

“These are for me.” He said simply. “They’re not going anywhere so don’t worry about that.”

“But these…” he turned the screen back to himself and tapped twice, scrolled and then tapped again before flipping it around.

The images in front of you made you nauseous.

You, spread legs and wet cunt, up close.

You with your hand being held up by Ghost, your fingers buried deeply between your folds.

A short video of your pussy being lovingly stroking by a leather glove. Another of one long digit pumping into you slowly.

A picture of your lips wrapped around his cock.

“S-so you did… you did touch me?” You recoiled.

“No.” He said flatly, before you could protest he laughed.

“You loved it.” He snickered. “Never let you cum. I wanted you to be needy for me.”

“Until… until I saw you.” You whispered.

“Mhm, that’s right.” He nodded. “Took care of your poor swollen pussy properly that time.” He cooed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“You’re sick.” You breathed out. “That’s disgusting… you-“

“Call the cops.” He said gesturing to your phone laying on the bed.

“What?”

“You heard me. Call ‘em.” He snorted. “If I’m so sick and disgusting and you’re soooo horrified by my actions; call the cops. I’ll wait right here.”

“Are you gonna send those to Anakin?” Your voice wobbled as you ignored his challenge. You both knew you wouldn’t call.

“Not if you’re good.”

“Are you gonna hurt him?” You asked quietly.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” He scoffed. “I want you all to myself, but I want you to choose me. I’m not gonna go all Dexter on your boyfriend.”

“You promise?” You sniffled. “Swear it?”

“Pinky swear.” He said confidently, holding out his hand with his little finger raised.

For some reason you took it. You believed him. He hadn’t gotten up and forced you to do anything, he stayed right there the whole time. He had yet to share those pictures with Anakin. A million other twisted reasons you’d started to accept that this was becoming a new normal. A thousand other things that pushed you to believe him.

He’d only bruised your self image with his cold, hard truths about you. That’s not a crime. That’s a reality check.

“Good choice little doe!” You could practically hear the beaming smile on his face behind the plastic mask.

“Now come up here.” He patted the spot next to him. “I don’t like seeing you upset, I’m sorry.”

He was apologizing? He was apologizing.

“You’re sorry?” You repeated in shock.

“Of course I’m sorry. You’re on the verge of tears and I’ve caused it.” He said, holding out his hand palm up for you to take.

“I’m not a monster.”

You hesitated before accepting his hand and climbing into bed beside him. You sat a safe distance from him at first but he lolled his head to the side in what you assumed was a dramatic eye roll and tugged you to his side in a one armed swoop.

The action had you frozen. This was it. He was gonna hurt you. You’d been naive and stupid and he was going to violate you, this time while you were conscious, you’d remember it this time.

“Relax.” He soothed, tucking you comfortably against his side, his bicep behind your head as a pillow and his gloved hand on your side in a way that was almost comforting. “I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You whispered, what the fuck is happening?

“No, it’s not okay. I could’ve been more gentle with my words.” His opposite hand rubbing his knuckles across your cheek lovingly.

You were quiet for a moment, debating on the course of action you should take. You were in fact very much allowing this to occur. Would it be so horrible to try and enjoy it? He was warm. He smelled nice and familiar, the cologne… you must have a subtle memory of it from all the times he’d been here while you slept. He was comfortable. He was surprisingly kind.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Before you get comfy.” He spoke quietly, the voice box crackling from his low voice, “you didn’t take your pill.”

“Oh yeah you’re right.” You moved to get up, pink cheeked because once again he proved that you were in fact helpless without him.

“Don’t get up, I have it right here.” He chuckled, reaching over to the nightstand and handing you the pill packet and a thermos. “Tea.”

“Huh.” You stared at him. Gods this was so fucking weird. “Well… wow okay.” You huffed out a laugh and took your medicine with a sip of your tea.

“Tastes different.” You said, handing the packet back to him.

“Mhm. Yeah I poisoned it.” He said nonchalantly, making you almost choked on your second sip.

“You what?” You shrieked, waking up the cat who bolted from his lap.

“Aw look what you did,” he groaned gesturing to the empty space with a few stray cat hairs.

“You- are you serious?” You started to almost hyperventilate. “Should I make myself throw up?”

Why are you asked the man who poisoned you that? Like he’d tell you.

“No, that would be a waste of good tea.” He snorted. “I put cinnamon in it you idiot.”

“What?”

“Cinnamon.” He repeated. “It’s just cinnamon. It was a joke.”

“That’s not fucking funny!” You shouted, smacking his shoulder.

“Ive already told you once.” His hand shot out and grabbed your jaw firmly. “Do not. Raise. Your voice. At me.” He growled.

“I believe you meant to say ‘ha-ha, ghost that was funny. you got me!’” He snickered and released your jaw, soothing you with his hand now gently raking through your hair.

You were stunned. Absolutely shook by his quick turnaround, this should be terrifying. This man can be so gentle one moment and the next he’s speaking to you like he’s ordering you to lay down at the guillotine. It wasn’t terrifying in the right way. Not the type of fear you should be feeling at his unpredictable actions.

You weren’t scared of him at all. But yourself? Yes. Who is this girl? Why is she… why do you like this? It’s scary because you’re not scared. It’s horrifying because you want more. It’s terrifying because you’re morbidly curious about what he’d do if you acted out again.

You shook your head and picked your jaw off the floor, deciding the best course of action was to just tuck yourself back under his arm and watch whatever movie he had paused when you entered the room.

Might as well. You’ve already come this far.

Date

August 14th

When you woke up the next morning Ghost was gone. Your home was devoid of any trace of him, no note, no gift, no messages. Nothing.

He had hardly moved while you sat with him, the only consistent movement was the gentle twist and twirl of one long lock of your hair around his finger. It was repetitive and soothing, just like the calming rise and fall of his chest.

How could he be so calm? So off guard?

You could’ve turned on him at any moment. Ripped off his mask and saw who he was, grabbed your lamp and wacked him with it. Punched him in the nuts and ran.

But, to be fair, he could’ve done the same to you. Yet you stayed there, albeit anxious and on high alert for majority of the time spent with him. Despite the fact that you knew he carried a weapon, even though you were well aware of what he’d been doing to you all this time, even after he’d manhandled your face when you smarted off to him.

It must be a twisted form of mutual trust.

Or you might just be delusional.

Either way, it was wrong and you knew that. You intentionally got naked in front of another man, while he laid on the bed your boyfriend so sweetly makes love to you in. You fell asleep in the arms of this man. Not just *any* other man, the one who has been stalking you relentlessly for months.

You’ve cheated on Anakin. If he knew, it would crush him. It would break apart his big, soft, velveteen heart. Your betrayal would rip a hole right through the middle and slice up the fabric so badly it couldn’t be sewn back up without ending up smaller, weaker, and deformed.

What could you do? Was there anything to do? Telling him to his face… the thought of it soured your stomach so badly you thought you might form an ulcer.

Telling Ghost to fuck off and leave you alone wasn’t an option either. No matter what you did, the precautions you put in place; he would find you. Not only would he find you, but he wouldn’t allow Anakin the privilege of breathing anymore.

You couldn’t tell Luke. He’d lecture you until your ears bled while he dragged you to the nearest police station. Then Luke would be in danger, Anakin would know, and Ghost would still be your problem. And if Luke didn’t believe you, he’d ship you off to the long term care loony bin.

Your sister? Of course you couldn’t tell her either. She has her own family. Ghost already knows where she lives, he’s told you so.

He knows everything about you. Your family tree, your friends list, your schedule, your medical information, banking account, he has complete access to your home, your phone…

You are a canary in a cage and he is a cat pawing at you through the metal bars.

It’s only a matter of time before one of those claws nicks you. A feather or two might come loose, open up a weak spot on your frail body. The next swipe might draw blood, maybe it won’t. Or maybe he’ll be lucky enough to bat you to the bottom of the cage.

It’s hard enough to escape when there’s someone always watching. When there’s a lock on the door. But to attempt to flee with broken wings? You couldn’t hobble your way to safety anyway. Bird cages don’t have doors at the bottom, they’re halfway up. They don’t have horizontal bars. You can’t climb.

You are stuck.

It’s up to you if you want to be trapped there intact, or if you’d rather wallow at the bottom in pain.

——————————————————————————

Maybe you should just break up with Anakin.

Ghost said he wouldn’t hurt him, but how long will that last? How long until he gets tired of waiting? Should you ask Ghost again? Just to make sure? Make him sign a fucking contract?

Maybe it would be best if-

“Sweetheart?” Anakin whispered softly, waving his hand in front of your face. “What’s going on? I’ve been standing here for almost a minute.”

Anakin was here.

“What?” You whispered back, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of your surroundings.

The diner. You were at The Bluebird. You were working. A glance to the clock told you that you’d been here for over two hours, a quick scan of the tables and the counter proved that you hadn’t neglected any customers. Your notepad and pen were in your hand, there was money in the tip jar.

Anakin was here.

“Hey, c’mere.” His voice soft and concerned.

He gently took the pad and pen from your hands, put an arm around your shoulder and held your hand as he led you through the kitchen. Not an uncommon occurrence, Anakin was well known to everyone at the Bluebird due to his frequent visits to see you. He often walked with you out through the kitchen to sit on the curb with you while you took a break and he smoked a cigarette.

“Vigo, I’m taking her out back.” He said quietly, speaking to the dishwasher.

“I was about to call you man.” He spoke back in a hushed voice. “She’s been actin’ like that since she got here.”

“Yeah? Well next time don’t wait to call.” Anakin grumbled, scowling at your coworker.

The heat of the afternoon sun soothed over your skin, making you painfully aware of the cold sweat lacing the back of your neck. You blinked and it felt like it was the first time you’d closed your eyes in hours. Your mouth was dry, your teeth felt cold and your brain might’ve been better described as soup.

Anakin sat down on the curb and pulled you down with him. Placing you sideways between his legs, your arms immediately threw themselves around his neck and you curled up into him.

“Jesus baby.” He whispered, the wind getting knocked out of him at your aggressive tackle.

“An-” You started to sob before you even finished his name.

“W-what’s wrong?” You could feel his heart beat quicken beneath you, hear it pounding in his chest. He was feeling real, true panic.

“Hey, hey talk to me. Breathe.” He tried to soothe you by petting your hair, rocking you gently, kissing your forehead… anything, anything he could think of and nothing was working.

You were sobbing so loudly that Anakin was glad there wasn’t a back parking lot. If someone wanted to see where this horrible wailing was coming from they’d have to walk all the way around back, thankfully most people didn’t care enough to do such a thing.

Unfortunately though, your coworkers did care.

The back door creaked open and you could hardly hear the conversation over your own tears.

“Anakin!” Vigo whisper shouted. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t do this!” His voice angrily gritting through his teeth. “What happened today?”

“Nothin’ man! I dunno!” Vigo squeaked raising up his hands in surrender. “She just clocked in like that, no cryin’ though. She’s hardly said a word.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t call me!” Anakin grunted, “I’m her emergency contact for a reason you idiot.”

“Hey? Don’t get mad at me!” Vigo scoffed. “I figured she was in a funk because of you, why would I call if I thought it was boyfriend troubles?”

“Jesus- did you even ask her?”

“What?”

“Oh my fuckin’-“ Anakin took a breath to regulate himself, one arm firmly holding you while the other was wildly gesturing as he spoke. “Did you ask her what was wrong?”

“No?”

“Are you stupid? God just fuck- go back inside before you end up crying on the ground too.” He snapped at him, huffing as the back door shut behind a quickly retreating Vigo.

“Sorry baby, I’m sorry,” He whispered, petting your head and squeezing you tightly. “I’m sorry, that probably didn’t help did it?”

“N-not really.” You hiccuped out a laugh.

“She speaks.” He gasped, “want me to yell at him some more? I’ll do it just say the word-“

“Anakin-“ you snorted, wiping your eyes and nose on his shirt. “Aw shit sorry.”

“You think I’m worried about alittle snot?” He scoffed, “Sweetheart, I’d lick it out of your nose like a cow if you’d let me. C’mere I’ll prove it.”

He stuck out his tongue and flicked it at you, chasing your face as you squirmed away from him. Despite to horrible ache in your lungs and the scratchy feeling in your throat, Anakin had a way of making everything better. Even if it was accomplished by making a fool of himself.

You laughed in spite of trying to catch your breath, fighting those awkward stalled inhales with a the goofy little giggle only he could force out of you. He relented finally when you gave up struggling, opting for a kiss on the tip of your nose rather than his tongue up your nostril.

“Wanna talk to me now?” He asked quietly, his playful attitude tucked away and replaced with seriousness.

“I don’t know Ani.” You sighed, feeling horribly conflicted. “I just want to go home.”

“Then I’ll take you home.” He said, not leaving room for argument. “But I’m not letting you get up until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Please? Please I don’t wanna talk about it.” Your eyes already filling back up with tears.

“It’s nothing really! It’s okay.” You pleaded with him, “I’m just… I’ve been thinking about a lot of stuff and it’s all overwhelming.”

“That’s not okay, don’t say it’s okay. You just wailed like a banshee.” He said sternly. “Talk, let me help.”

“I just feel like I’m losing my mind.” You scoffed, “Im going nuts. I don’t… I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it without you thinking I’m insane.”

“Princess.” He said, his voice cracking with pain. “You can tell me anything. You know that.”

“W-what if hypothetically…” you whispered. “It’s only hypothetical okay?”

“Okay. Imaginary scenario, let’s hear it.” He nodded solemnly.

“Hypothetically, if I was having… nightmares of someone being in my house. What would you say.” You whispered.

“Hypothetical nightmares?” He asked, one eyebrow raised. “Well… I’d suggest that maybe you… go to therapy? See if you can find the root of the problem.”

Therapy? To find the root of the problem? That would work if you didn’t already know where to find the problem: in your apartment at any given moment. Hell, he was probably there right now.

“Are you having these dreams because of that night at the bar?” He asked softly, tucking loose hairs behind your ear. “You know we didn’t see anyone put anything in your drink. No one left at the same time as you but your friends.”

“Now like I said before, just because we didn’t see it on camera… it doesn’t mean that no one slipped something in your drink. Stuff like that unfortunately happens all the time.” He sighed.

“I know.” You nodded, your eyes wet and sad, you knew you weren’t drugged there. You were drugged in the security of your own home. “I know, I think maybe I was just alittle more tipsy than I thought I don’t-“

“Hey, no… it’s okay.” He soothed you. “I believe you.”

“But there was no one who followed you home from the bar. I can say that with 100% certainty okay?” He said sternly.

“Ani but-“

“Look at me.” He said sharply, his voice turning soft again immediately after. “No one followed you home. I watched that video a hundred times over from every angle possible. No one else left the bar until about 17 minutes after you and your friends left.”

“Now don’t get upset baby okay? Listen I know, I know that it scared you shitless.” He said in a pained way, his face not quite matching his tone of voice like he was having a hard time trying to decide how to respond.

“Which is perfectly valid. It’s totally okay to be terrified if you saw something like that.” He soothed you, squeezing your upper arms. “I’m not saying it didn’t happen, I would never say that. If you say that you saw something, I believe you.”

“But, just because you saw it… doesn’t mean that it was truly there. Those kind of drugs can really fuck with your head baby.” He said gently.

“I know.” You sniffled, wiping your eyes and hiding against his chest again.

Gods… this man. He really was one of a kind, not just any man or person in general for that matter, would respond so well to such a strange temporary delusion. Your past boyfriends would’ve run for the hills. But not Anakin. It was clear he wasn’t deterred easily, he was your personal emotional support pet leech.

It was strange, feeling so comfortable like this with someone you hadn’t known for very long. After this conversation you thought maybe it would be okay to tell Anakin the truth about it all. He’d handle it perfectly well wouldn’t he?

But, you can’t risk putting him in harms way. You wouldn’t know if Anakin would be safe without first speaking to Ghost. If Anakin was your pet leech… Ghost was the the neighborhood street dog who’d decided your porch was the safest place to sleep. Who would be heartless enough to kick the poor thing out without a proper meal first?

That’s the problem with strays. Give them a scrap and they’ll love you for life.

Diary Entry: August 14th

Jesus baby I’m sorry. I thought things went well last night, I didn’t mean to make you so upset. I really didn’t. I guess you weren’t ready to see Ghost after all.

That’s my fault, I apologize. I should have known better.

It’s just… you seemed kind of excited for it you know? I thought we had a good time. Was the stripping down in front of me what freaked you out so much? Or seeing the pictures? I shouldn’t have done that. I really shouldn’t have, that was too far, too fast.

I see now that I made a mistake and I plan to rectify it as soon as possible. I’m going to give you a choice, one that I really don’t want to give you. But I will for the sake of your sanity.

I’ve been selfish for too long.

I’ve not truly considered your feelings on the situation, I’ve taken your response at face value and never attempted to dig farther than that. It won’t happen again I can assure you of that. Ghost will still be Ghost, but perhaps just a bit more considerate of your opinions and boundaries.

You must understand though, it’s hard to deal with this for me too. I know it’s not fair to compare our separate sides of the situation like this, but it’s true. It’s painful to watch you get so upset over something I’ve done, knowing I can’t really resolve the issue. I don’t know how to help, or fix this.

I’ve dug myself into a hole. A Pit if you will.

How could you ever forgive me now? After all this time that I have been so stupidly self-centered… I imagine it would be unlikely that you could find it in your immensely kind soul to forgive and forget my transgressions.

Maybe not though? I do see you as a godly entity, my own personal deity. If I leave enough at the altar, bow at your feet for long enough, serve you unconditionally… maybe then you would see that I have discovered the error of my ways. You could see that I am truthful in my pursuit of repentance.

Date

August 15th

Anakin drove to the opposite side of the city to purchase your apology gifts from Ghost. He knew well enough that Luke never had a set schedule, Han was always at the gym and you were at book club. There was limited space in time and even smaller proximity of location for him to safely collect the supplies he needed.

If someone saw him buying a dozen red roses and told you about it without his knowledge… well there goes Ghost. It’d be real hard to explain that away.

So he went to the florist, chose the most beautiful bouquet he could find and tucked it away in a large brown bag with tissue paper over the top so he wouldn’t accidentally bruise the petals.

He strolled down the side walk to another small mom and pop store, just to browse through stationary and cards. Ghost needs to be alittle more classy in his opinion. Maybe if his notes are on nice paper and written in plain black ink… that could ease the discomfort of it. It’s probably not super welcoming to find a ripped scrap of paper with red ink scrawled on it now that he’s come to think of it.

It was amusing to him before, but after your display of emotion, he’s feeling guilty. Very, very guilty. There was no reason to go the extra mile on stupid little things like that.

So, pretty grey paper and matching envelopes join the bouquet.

Now he just has to find something else. It can’t be chocolate or something generic. It has to be something meaningful. Something thoughtful to solidify the sentiment behind his offer for you. Something that will push you to make the right decision.

——————————————————————————

Anakin walked into your apartment, and went straight to your bedroom, it was time for Ghost to set up his apology present.

The big red bouquet was carefully placed in the center of your bed along with the pretty stationary propped against it. Your name carefully and neatly written in **black ink** on the envelope.

Your other gift, had turned into two. A small black box accompanying a short and squat black gift bag with grey tissue paper.

He was proud of his staged display, so proud that he couldn’t wait for you to see it. He was itching for you to get home, he needed to know what you’d choose. He was dying to see your pretty face light up with joy at his thoughtfulness.

So against his better judgement, he snapped a picture of himself standing at your bedside. The photo taken from a high angle to capture just the corner of your red rose bouquet, with himself taking up majority of the frame. His mask tilted to the side and his free hand held up a gloved peace sign.

He’d wait to send it.

He wanted to see your face when the message came through.

Anakin was prepared to be patient, but he didn’t have to be patient for long. He got the notification that there was movement out front of the building, he pulled up the live feed from the stairwell camera on his laptop and excitedly jolted up out of his seat before sitting back down quickly to scoot his seat back up to the table.

He rubbed his hands together and practically combusted from the inside when he confirmed it was you. His fingers moved quickly to send the text message and just as he thought you would, you paused and pulled your phone from your hoodie pocket.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a bit of panic and maybe a bit of excitement. But mostly, Anakin was saddened to see fear. You were scared, but so brave as he watched you sprint up the steps. He shook his head and let out a deep breath, pulling up the split screen of all the cameras in your home.

You burst through the front door and slammed it shut, tossing your bag aside. Anakin turned up the volume just a bit and immediately realized that was a mistake because you yelled directly underneath the kitchen camera. The audio crackled as you shouted out for Ghost, Anakin realized then that you must think he’s still inside your home.

‘Just missed me.’ He texted quickly, watching you check your phone quickly and let out a sigh of relief as you muttered under your breath.

He thought you might text back, but why would you when you knew he was watching at that very moment?

“Hey!” You said, spinning in place, your eyes darting around to scan the room. “Where did you go? I didn’t see you!”

You rushed over to the living room window and down to the alley below, then up the fire escape, your gaze traveling over to the next building’s roof.

‘You won’t see me unless I want you to.’ He texted back.

“Jesus.” You muttered, rubbing your wrist anxiously. “I guess you want me to go to my room huh?”

‘Yes please.’

“Fine.” You sighed, kicking off your shoes as you walked over to the bedroom door, flinging it open quickly just incase he was still hiding out.

Your eyes drew to the center of your bed, the roses, the bag and box, the envelope. If the situation weren’t so strange you might consider this a romantic gesture. But it’s not, it’s not romantic and you shouldn’t want to open the gifts and sniff the pretty, sweet smelling flowers. You should want to call the police and have them haul the shit off for evidence.

“What’s all this for?” You asked alittle quieter than before, holding up your phone to read the text as it came through almost instantly as you knew that it would.

‘Letter.’

“Letter? That’s all?” You scoffed, “you did all this for a letter?”

‘It’s important.’ The response came quickly, followed by a second in rapid succession. ‘Gifts first.’

“Okay… alright. Gifts first.” You sighed, pulling your hand back from where it was inches away from the grey envelope.

The small box seemed like a good first thing to open, easy enough to snap shut if you didn’t like what you saw inside. Tentatively shifting the lid back and forth you wiggled it free and lifted the small square of padding to reveal a very nice, very ornate, obviously hand crafted hair-pin with a silver rod for the pin.

You gingerly lifted it from the box and held it in your hand to examine it, walking over to the window to open the curtains and see it more clearly. Smooth, black ceramic, gorgeously curved and curled silver fittings. But the most intriguing, the most breathtaking part of it, was the delicate lines and the daintily carved cameo in the center of the ceramic oval.

A woman standing under a willow, with a fawn at her feet.

You wanted to hate it, but how could you hate something so beautiful? How could you pretend to be unappreciative of something that clearly took time and effort to find, it wasn’t just vintage, it was antique. The fact that he’d searched for and seized the jewelry was a feat in itself.

You gingerly laid it back in its box, almost too afraid to hold it. Afraid of its fragility, afraid of what it stood for, how it made you feel. The tiny claws of emotion ripping at your throat stole your voice, you could only hope that Ghost couldn’t see your face from where you were standing or he would clearly see what he’d stirred up inside you.

You picked up the small bag and lifted the tissue paper gently, hoping it wasn’t another emotionally draining surprise.

It wasn’t draining, but it sure as hell was a surprise.

“What’s this?” You snorted, turning the bag over and dumping out a few cat toys.

You waited, checking your phone periodically but got no response. You knew he was still watching, so why wasn’t he answering? Sighing you shook your head and opted to take a look at the toys.

A felt kicker toy shaped as a bloody knife. A couple of fluffy spiders, eyeballs with bells inside, and a little vampire bat that was almost too cute to be a cat toy.

“Thanks.” You said quietly.

It was infuriating how well he knew you, he knew how to crawl into your brain and make you want more. How could you not when he did things like this? Thoughtful, well planned gifts, including your pet too. He knew that your cat was your baby and he’d taken the time to befriend her, cared about her enough to buy her things.

It made it all the more irritating that his choice of toys was just alittle funny. But you’d die before you admit that seeing the knife made you crack a grin.

Finally you decided it was time to open the envelope, as soon as you did, you understood why he’d asked you to open the gifts first.

LETTER

Little Doe,

I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you. The hurt I saw, the words heard… I felt it in my soul when I watched you crumble.

My purpose is to love you, my job is to keep you safe, my goal is to make you happy. I’m only doing one of those things, it’s selfish of me to love you the way that I do. I know that.

What I’ve done is wrong, I’m aware. I can’t justify or explain it to you. Just know that the long and short of it is love, it’s not a normal love, but it’s mine and I’m giving it all to you.

There’s no way you’d understand the lengths I’d go to, the things I would do for you. You’d never comprehend how deeply I adore you. That’s okay. It’s hard for me to understand myself too.

The hairpin, it’s the goddess of the hunt and her fawn. I thought considering it all, it would be more than suitable for our situation.

You’re a saint, a deity, someone worth the labors of worship.

Goddesses aren’t meant to be touched, held, loved corporally. They’re meant to be imagined, a comforting presence that you feel all around you, bowed to in hopes of receiving grace. I’ve tried to go beyond the altar to reach you and for that I’m truly sorry.

Please, please take my offerings.

I love you, I need you, but I don’t deserve you. No one deserves attention from the heavens, especially not me. But if you are listening, if you’re willing, I’ll try my best to be the perfect follower.

So I’ll ask for a boon from my goddess:

Grant me passage on the road to repentance, or take my hand to walk through the valley.

You sat on your bed in silence for a long while, your cat coming to join you and accept the gifts left for her excitedly. It brought you a moment of peace to watch her waller around and smack the eyeballs across the floor.

So the overwhelming weight of the thin grey sheet of paper in your hand felt even heavier when she scampered off with her brand new bag toy hanging from her mouth like a fresh kill. She’d left you alone and undistracted again. Just you, your thoughts, and the suffocating silence surrounding you, the creeping tingle on your neck that told you he was still watching the cameras.

He was waiting.

So you sighed and crawled off the bed with your bouquet in tow, cutting the stems into the kitchen trash can and filling a glass vase with water to display them on the counter.

The grey paper followed you from room to room, seat to seat, from one hand to the other as you read it over and over. You could recite it by memory, it was burned into your retinas, you could still feel the indents of his pen on the paper long after you’d sat it aside, the smell of the paper dye singed your nostrils and didn’t leave even after your shower.

You thought you could clean yourself, wash your hands of the problem both literally and metaphorically.

No amount of scrubbing could rinse your brain well enough to wash away the thousands of jumbled words swirling around. You’d been trying to formulate one, just one, coherent sentence for a response. But each time you made progress, you changed your mind on the decision, you scrapped the idea, sent it to the shredder and recycled it into a slightly different, just as illegible mess.

He’s giving you an out. Take it.

Who cares if he still watches you? He won’t interfere. He won’t show up for visits, he won’t leave you gifts or notes.

He’d left you with an offering. A little piece of himself in exchange for your so called ‘divine intervention’. He was asking for the hand of god to stir the pot and serve it too. At least, that’s how he saw it.

For you it was just an awkward toss up of a bunch of jumbled pros and cons.

On one hand he was offering you freedom. Opening the bird cage and giving you the option to escape but clipping your wings, ensuring you can’t go too far.

He’d still watch, just not make an appearance… keep himself hidden like before.

This would also solidify Anakin’s safety, which you valued highly. You’d be free to have your beautiful blossoming relationship, without the worry and stress from the Ghost that haunts your apartment.

On the other hand he gave you the choice to join him in some capacity. To walk through the valley with him; would he walk two steps behind? Two in front? Or side-by-side?

It’d give you the opportunity to explore this stranger you’ve discovered living inside your mind and body. That weird itch that only Ghost can scratch, the thought of him alone just doesn’t do it for you anymore.

You’d have the chance to see who is under that mask and that was more intriguing than anything. You felt like the more you spoke to him, the more you watched him in person… maybe you’d be able to narrow it down to a few people. That might be worth the risks that come with allowing him to continue visiting.

So, you swallowed your fear and closed your eyes. A few silent moments later you spoke aloud, assuming Ghost was still listening.

“I’ll walk with you.” You said slowly, tasting the words as they left your lips. “On two conditions.”

‘What are they, deer?’ His response came instantaneously.

“You leave my friends and family alone. You swear on your life they’re safe and that includes Anakin. I mean it, I’m not fucking around about it okay?” You said confidently. “I already feel guilty enough, don’t make it worse for me.”

‘Guilty?’

“Yes guilty! I have a boyfriend, who I really, really like.” You said, feeling exhausted from the complexity of your choice. “This isn’t fair to him!”

“But it’s… it’s not fair to me either!” You said frustratedly as you blew out a long breath of air through pursed lips. “I deserve to know who you are! You’ve been watching me for god knows how long and I haven’t even heard your real voice.”

“And… and it’s not fair for you either.” You admitted quietly.

‘Why?’

“You’ve been… mostly harmless. Kind.” You confessed, considering saying more, much more. “You’ve been helpful. Despite everything you’ve done, you obviously care about me. I can’t ignore that especially now.”

‘Mostly harmless??’

‘Why ‘especially’ now?’

“You’re joking right?” You snorted in disbelief, shaking your head and trying to stifle a laugh of indignation. “You… well I mean it feels wrong to call it what it is. But- you.. you know what you did!” You crossed your arms frustratedly.

‘Ah… the extracurriculars.’

“Sure if that’s what you want to call it.” An expression of, strangely enough, amusement, crossed over your features. “What it is… well you know what it is.” You sighed.

“But for some reason… I don’t want to call it that.” You said quietly.

‘Hm. I’ll remember that.’

“I’m sure you will.” You huffed in spite of yourself, because if you were honest you’d be telling him you liked it. Your body liked it, your brain liked it, asleep or not, he’d affected you in ways you were unsure you could get with anyone else. Including your sweet and precious boyfriend, he’s too tender and loving.

“Second condition: you promise me that you’ll eventually tell me who you are.” You said firmly. “I deserve to know.”

‘I accept.’

“Okay then.” You sighed with relief and a bit of resignation. “You still have to warn me if you’re gonna be coming to visit though!”

‘Yes ma’am.’

“Ew. Add that to the list. Never call me ma’am again.” You snorted and it rolled into a full laugh when you finally looked up and caught your own gaze in your bedroom mirror. You were sitting in your room alone, speaking aloud, having a fully fleshed, seemingly one-sided conversation.

If anyone were to walk in on this scene playing out, they’d think you’ve lost your mind.

Maybe you already have.

Part Ten

The pendant that inspired the hairpin! I forgot to add it in sorryyyyyy

Tag-List:

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THE TAGS LIST IS FULL! But if you want to be tagged I will comment ur username for you. Love you all so many.

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svngiem-remade · 1 year

Text

#! — I THINK I DESERVE A KISS | w/ SKZ

pairing. OT8!skz + gn!reader

genre. fluff, slightly suggestive on Changbin's and Jisung's part, mentions of food.

warnings. mentions of food.

wc. 2.5k

synopsis. scenarios where the phrase above is used, enjoy

... ♡ | bang chan — in his studio!

“Guess who.” you whispered in Chan’s ear as you covered his eyes with your hands.

He quietly chuckled, which made your smile turn even brighter than before, and hummed, pretending to think, “Mmmh…” he reached up with his hand and slowly traced your fingers, “Bin?” he inquired, and you scoffed.

“Beeep! Wrong.” you said, sliding the palm of one of your hands to cover both of his eyes and let your other hand pinch his cheek before sliding it down his left bicep, squeezing it.

He leaned his head back on the edge of his seat’s headrest, “Wait, is it…” he bit his bottom lip, trying to hold back a snicker, “...my beautiful, amazing and absolutely perfect partner?” he asked, knowing full well how much compliments flustered you.

Your cheeks heated up, “That’s not fair! Why you gotta do this every time?” you whined as you moved your hands away from his face to cover your own.

He chuckled and spun around on his chair, pulling you down on his lap and softly kissing your hair, “I’m only telling the truth, love.” he hugged you, softly stroking your sides before his lips broke in a wide smile, “I think I deserve a kiss now, though.” he teased, and you felt your heart flutter when he gently pulled you closer as he puckered his lips.

And, with a shy smile, you leaned in, sealing your first kiss with your boyfriend.

... ♡ | lee minho — at home!

You let out a long sigh the moment you stepped in your home— the eventful, very long and stressful day finally wrapping up brought a small smile to your face, and the happy meowing of your three cats rubbing their fluffy heads on your feet and calves widened your smile even more, “Hi, babies.” you muttered, petting each of them on their heads before removing your coat and stepping further into your apartment.

That was when your nose picked up the most scrumptious smell your nose had ever picked up, coming from the kitchen, “Weird. Wasn’t Min supposed to come home late today?” you mumbled as you walked into the lit room, just to find your husband chopping up some green onions on the wooden cutting board, locking eyes with you when he heard your steps.

“Hi.” you smiled, and he mirrored it.

“Hi, jagi.”

You looked at the pots and pans on the stove with a curious look, “What are you making?”

“Your favorite. From your texts today, I guessed you were feeling pretty down, so I came home early to make dinner for us.” he explained, now chopping up some mushrooms.

You gazed at him as you pouted, “You’re so sweet.” you whined, back hugging him and pecking the nape of his neck, making him chuckle.

He looked back at you, smirking, “I think I deserve a kiss then, right? On the lips this time.” and you obliged.

... ♡ | seo changbin — at a restaurant!

“Your puppy eyes won’t work on me this time, get it?” your boyfriend grumbled as you sneakily rested your hand over his with an overexaggerated pout.

“Come ooooon… Please?” you whined while squeezing his hand, trying not to make a scene— after all, he’d brought you to a fancy restaurant for your first anniversary that was just slightly out of Seoul, and you didn't want to embarrass him or yourself in front of strangers, “Why won’t you share?” you frowned, and he huffed, taking a spoonful of the most delicious looking ice cream you’d ever seen in your entire life, which made your mouth water.

“You said that none of the desserts inspired you! It’s not— hmpf, my fault!” he said with his mouth full, scrunching his eyebrows as he munched.

You glared at him, “Okay, but those fancy names need to be paraphrased or something— how could I have ever guessed that Knickerbocker Glory was literally fruit with ice cream on top? Or that Nipples of Venus were chocolate truffles? How is that my fault? You didn't even tell me what those were, li—” you rambled, and he rolled his eyes, sliding the ice cream cup towards you with an annoyed look.

“Here, but I’m doing this just because I love you.” Changbin stated, leaning back on the backrest of his chair as he crossed his arms over his big chest.

Your eyes lit up and you immediately grabbed the cup before he could change his mind, “THANK YOU, BABY! I love you so so so much!” you said excitedly as you took a spoonful of ice cream and ate it, humming at how delicious it was.

He smiled fondly at your reaction, “I think I deserve a kiss for my kindness, to be honest.” he leaned over the rather small table while tapping his fluffy cheek with his index, which brought a smile to your face.

You leaned in and pecked it with your cold lips, “Oh, you’re so getting much more than a kiss after we get home.” you whispered in his ear, making their tip go completely red as he nervously cleared his throat and adjusted the tie around his neck.

... ♡ | hwang hyunjin — at home!

Pampering your boyfriend was your love language, and the thing you loved most was doing his skincare routine— putting on his delicate features masks, creams and oils felt therapeutic to you; seeing the way he relaxed under your touch as you conversed about pretty much anything that came to mind was your favorite part of the day.

So, when while having an early dinner he asked you if he could do your skincare routine, you bit your lip nervously and shyly agreed, though you felt slightly uncomfortable. “Y/N.” Hyunjin called out to you, so you opened your eyes and looked up at him, who was leaning over your less than relaxed figure on the couch, “If you don’t want me to do your skincare, you can just say so. I can feel how tense you are.” he said with worry in his voice and face, running his long fingers in between your locs gently.

You panicked, “No! I want you to! I just… I’m not used to people doing stuff for me. That’s it.” you smiled reassuringly and cupped his cheek with your hand.

Hyunjin smiled, “You better get used to it, then.” he said, before quickly pecking your lips and starting to apply a face mask on your face with his finger pads.

His touch was so tender you'd fallen asleep, lulled by his soft humming and the quiet lofi music he’d started playing on his speakers as he waited for the cream to dry out on your skin before continuing on with the other steps. When he finally completed your nighttime skincare routine about an hour later, he gently nudged you awake, showing you a toothy grin, which you mirrored, “I think you deserve a kiss after being this good for me.” he murmured, placing a long peck on your lips.

... ♡ | han jisung — at his dorm!

Spending the entire weekend with Jisung meant eating trash food, barely getting out of his bedroom and binge watching, and finishing, a series or anime you'd started together the week prior— and you absolutely loved it, because it meant kissing and cuddling him until one of you eventually fell asleep, which, most of the times, happened to be you.

“Baby!” he excitedly said as he squeezed the life out of you with a hug as soon as you’d walked in his dorm, which you had all to yourselves for the entire weekend, “I missed you.” he mumbled in your hair while his hand rubbed your back lovingly.

“Missed you too, Ji.” you said with a big smile, leaving a warm kiss on his cheek, which actually reminded him—

“Ah! By the way, I think I deserve a kiss on the lips now. I’ve been a very good boy.” he puckered his lips out and leaned down, waiting for your lips to meet his.

You frowned and pressed your fingers over his mouth, gently pushing him back, “Why? What did you do?” you inquired, tilting your head.

He huffed and stroked your waist as he explained, “I’ve held out from continuing to watch Demon Slayer without you, since you couldn't come last week.” he proudly said and puckered his lips out once again— but you scoffed.

“Okaaay? And? That was the bare minimum, we started watching it together, may I remind you.” you tisked, and his grip around you loosened, his eyes clouding over with sadness as he walked away.

You immediately felt guilty, “Awww, come on Ji, I’m sorry.” you started following him towards the kitchen, where he was silently heading to, “Here, baby. I’ll kiss you, you’ve been a great boy.” you whined as you took a hold of his arm and pulled him towards you, grabbing his face between your hands while you locked eyes with him, which, surprisingly, held a mischievous glint.

“I knew you wouldn't be able to resist my charm.” he teased, dipping his head down to kiss you as he pushed you against the kitchen counter.

... ♡ | lee felix — at home!

“Bubs, I’m home.”

You pouted as you slowly opened your eyes, pretty much convinced it was the dream you had every time you particularly missed Felix while he was away on tour, focusing your gaze on his kneeled down, smiling figure in front of you. “Go away.” you murmured at your boyfriend, who immediately stopped stroking your cheek.

Felix’s smile faltered and his eyes clouded over with worry, “What? What did I—” he tried to say, but you interrupted him by rolling over on your other side, now facing the backrest of your couch, a light sniffle leaving your body.

“I know you’re just an imaginary Felix, stop playing with me.” you muttered, having had enough of your dreams where he magically came back early from tour, making you feel ecstatic and happy, just to wake up the next day with no Felix in sight, making you feel even more miserable and lonely.

“Imag— What?” he blinked rapidly, trying to piece everything together— until, he let out a hearty laugh, making you puff out your cheeks and cross your hands over your chest. Still in a fit of laughter, he stood up just to lean down behind you on the couch, sneaking a hand on your stomach and slowly rubbing it, his low giggles reverberating on your back, “Bubs, I’m very much real.” he whispered in your ear, gently biting your lobe and pinching your tummy.

Oh. My. God. You felt pain. That— he was NOT, in fact, a dream.

You gasped and suddenly turned your body to face him, engulfing him in a tight hug as you pressed warm kisses on his collarbones and neck, his chuckles and soft rubs on your back making you finally feel at home, “I think I deserve a kiss after the mini heart attack you just gave me.” Felix giggled, rubbing your nose with his before crashing his lips against your own.

... ♡ | kim seungmin — at home!

You sprung up the couch when the doorbell of your apartment suddenly rang, though you weren't expecting anyone, “Coming!” you yelled, quickly running over to the front door.

As you always did, you took a glance at the peephole, widening your eyes when you noticed what it was. Your heart picked up its pace as you opened the door, “Flower delivery!” a man said with a big, very customer-service, smile as he held the most beautiful bouquet of flowers you’d ever seen.

“Woah, are these for me?” you asked with surprise in your voice, pointing to the flowers.

The delivery man tilted his head, looked at the small piece of paper he was holding in his free hand, then at the name stamped under your doorbell and, finally, at you, “Are you Mx. Y/L/N Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Then yes. Have a nice day!” he said in a cheery tone as he stretched out his arms towards you to give you the bouquet, which you happily took with a smile and a fast paced heartbeat.

You walked back inside of your flat, careful not to trip over anything on your way to your living room windowsill, where you kept an empty flower vase in case you saw any cute flowers while out on a walk and felt the need to bring them back home, which happened regularly. You giggled as you carefully put the bouquet inside of it, your eyes never leaving the small piece of paper that stood proudly right in between the petals that said “For my beautiful flower. —Minnie <;33”

You internally screamed from happiness, picking up the white paper giddily and flipping it over, but rolled your eyes after reading “I think I deserve a kiss after being the bestest and most romantic boyfriend ever, don’t you think?”

“Come home, bestest boyfriend ever.” you texted him a few seconds after with a big grin on your face.

... ♡ | yang jeongin — at the arcade!

“I want that one, Innie!” you said excitedly when Jeongin asked you which of the big stuffed animals you wanted him to win for you, pointing to the massive teddy bear standing right in the middle of the cubicle of the claw machine. He gulped nervously, taking one of the arcade tokens you’d exchanged for money a few minutes ago from his front pocket.

He glanced at you, his heart fluttering when you smiled widely at him and said “I believe in you, Innie!” in tiny, with your fist up in the air— in full cheerleader mode.

What he didn't expect, was for that damned teddy to not want to get caught by him, which made him feel extremely embarrassed— but, when he failed at his fourth attempt and you proposed to him to go play another game with a reassuring smile and a warm hand on his shoulder, he felt recharged. “Wait, Y/N-nnie! Let me try again one last time, I’ll win, you’ll see!” he said confidently, rolling up his long sleeved shirt to his forearms, which made your cheeks warm up.

And, a few seconds later, the teddy finally let itself get caught by Jeongin, who proudly handed it to you, “See? Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” he grinned, showing you his foxy eyes and white teeth.

You chewed your bottom lip, looking into his dark eyes, “I think… Uhm, I think you deserve a kiss for winning it for me?” you said, unsure if he was down for it. After all, that was your first date and—

“I— Uh. Yes, I— I think I do deserve a kiss.” he smiled shyly and took your free hand in his, rubbing the back of it with his thumb as he cupped your cheek with his other one. You gulped and moved your gaze from his eyes to his parted lips quickly, tugging his hand as a signal for him to lean down and finally take the kiss he deserved.

please reblog, comment and like, feedback is very much appreciated, plus, I love reading your thoughts!

→ masterlist.

taglist: @strayingawayy

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steddieas-shegoes · 8 months

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Headcanon: Steve having a migraine and Eddie unintentionally making it worse

The music was a lot louder than Steve could handle, but he kept his mouth shut.

It wasn't Eddie's fault that his migraine was unbearable and the noise was just making it worse.

Plus, anytime Eddie was willingly washing the dishes was too much of a win to let a stupid migraine get in the way.

But it's just that Eddie's music was already pretty loud, even when the volume was low. It was a bit overwhelming even at the best of times.

And with Eddie singing and banging the pots and pans around while he washed them, Steve was going to end up passed out on the floor.

"Going to bed," he said suddenly, standing up and trying his best not to fall over.

Eddie didn't hear him. He was pretty quiet and the music was loud, so it made sense.

He walked to their bedroom slowly, carefully. He didn't need to get dizzy and fall over.

The music was still ringing in his ears, even with the door closed, even with his head under his pillow.

He didn't want to be the asshole; This was their house and Eddie should be able to listen to his music when he wants to. He's earned some freedoms.

But Steve couldn't even see straight anymore.

The migraine was making his head pulse, his vision blurry around the edges.

The music shut off.

"Stevie?" Eddie's voice rang out. "Where'd you go, sweetheart?"

His voice was too loud, even from the other room.

Steve groaned in response, closing his eyes and hoping that he could get through this conversation without throwing up or being too bitchy.

"Why didn't you tell me you have a migraine?" Eddie asked from the doorway.

"You were busy."

"You know you can always interrupt a chore, sweet love."

Steve couldn't help giving a small smile at that.

"You want me to hold you or do you wanna be alone?"

"Hold me. Quiet, though."

Eddie leaned in to kiss his forehead, lips barely putting pressure on his skin.

"I can do that."

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #drabble

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ambrosiagourmet · 2 months

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I love Marcille SO MUCH I'm banging pots and pans together look at her. Look at her!!! No one in hungrier no one is more ambitious. She loves her friends so much that she would swallow the world for them. And she loves them enough that she gives that up. She lets herself be hungry. She lets herself love. She lets herself love!!!

#ONLY person that can match her in aching hungry love is Thistle. imo.#(this is all stated in the the extremes for dramatic effect but yeah. man. Marcille. Love her)#truly though I think that. both her and Laios end the story with a hunger that will never quite be sated

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generalllimaginesss · 5 months

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"Every morning I question why I moved in with you." Can you write an older Hughes sister one where she moved in with Jack and then Luke when he started with the Devils and they’re always asking her to do things for them. Like waking her up in the morning to make breakfast because only she knows how to make pancakes like their mom used to when they were kids. She pretends to hate it but loves to be able to take care of her baby brothers. I imagine they’d all be obsessed with their sister if they had one.

Hughes sister has a chokehold on me and I make no apologies for it. I hope this is something along the lines of what you were thinking!!

••

It had been a long week at work, major changes in the computer system that your office used was causing you to work overtime, so you looked forward to sleeping in on Saturday.

However, Jim and Ellen both agreed that the youngest Hughes boys could benefit from having their big sister live with them as they adjusted to life without their mom and dad. Luckily you had a job where you could work from home and were able to move to New Jersey with ease. At least with ease regarding your job. Your brothers were anything but ease...

With there being a three year age gap with Jack and four with Luke, they looked up to their big sister, relying on you a little more than they should at their age. Most of the time it didn't bother you, but you just wanted this one morning to yourself.

The sound of pots and pans banging revealed that you had wishful thinking, causing you to groan when you rolled over and saw that it was only 7:00 am.

You could tell that the boys were bickering back and fourth about something, but you would let them work it out like the adults that they were. Or at least the adults that they should be.

The walls weren't thick enough to block their argument out though.

"Dude, no that's not how she did it. She added more flour."

"Are you dumb? We're not making waffles. It doesn't need that much flour."

"Well it doesn't need that much milk. It's pancakes, not soup."

"Go get her, we clearly have no idea what the fuck we're doing."

Footsteps, you determined as Jack's, began to come closer to your room, causing you to put a pillow over your head, wishfully hoping it would suffocate you into a deep sleep that wouldn't be disturbed by your brothers.

Three knocks on your door let you know that your wishful thinking was to no avail. You didn't understand why he even bothered knocking when he barged in and jumped on the bed, landing right on top of you, momentarily knocking the breath out of you.

"Jack, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?!" You yelled, shoving him off the bed, the thud resonating throughout the room.

You watched as he winced in pain, holding his knee as it took the brunt of the fall.

"You realize that I have a job that requires me to be healthy?" He groaned as he stood up, causing you to throw a pillow at him while rolling your eyes.

"Don't jump on me and you wouldn't be in this predicament, now would you?"

"Whatever....me and Luke can't remember how to make mom's pancakes. Can you help with that?" He asked, sitting on the side of your bed and falling back onto you.

"You two are hopeless..." You trailed off as you hit his stomach, trying to get him off of you. He swatted your hand away from his stomach, but moved enough to let you out of bed.

As you walked into the kitchen, Jack trailing closely behind and Luke sitting on a barstool on his phone, you noticed that it was an absolute disaster. There were egg shells scattered across the counter, way more than they should have needed. The flour bag was busted, a trail of flour showed where the boys had carried it around the kitchen. There was now only a half gallon of milk left from a previously unopened jug.

You groaned, wiping the sleep out your eyes as you recalled the way that your mom made pancakes your whole life.

"I feel like kids would be easier to raise than the two of you," You said under your breath, pouring the bowl of goop that the boys made down the drain.

"Jack is supposed to know how to make pancakes," Luke spoke up, not tearing his attention away from his phone.

"You watched her make it the same way we did, Luke," You pointed out.

"Yeah, but I'm the baby. I've got you all to do it for me," He smirked, watching you as your glares sent daggers towards him.

"I don't think the argument of being the baby of the family is valid after the age of 18. If it has to be brought up after that, then something's wrong," You rebutted, measuring out the ingredients and mixing them together.

Jack snorted, finding amusement in his oldest and youngest sibling arguing. He wasn't safe from your attitude though.

"You have no room to be laughing over there, Jack. You're older than him and still have to ask me to cook. It's funny...I've never had to do anything for Quinn," You knew when you said it that they would groan, and they did.

"Why don't you go live with him then?" Jack proposed, trying to sit next to Luke who shoved him away.

"Why the hell would you say that while she's making our pancakes, dude?"

"Trust me, I would get a lot more work done because he wouldn't be bothering me nonstop," You flipped one of the pancakes, a golden brown reflecting back at you.

The three of you were quiet as you finished flipping and plating them. You had made enough for the boys to have three and you two.

"Thank you," Jack snatched the plate from your hands, causing you to snatch them back.

"You will not snatch these from me when you rudely jumped on me at 7 in the morning. Take them nicely. We use easy hands in this house," You didn't budge, not giving him his pancakes until he slowly took the plate back. If looks could kill you would be long gone by the look he was giving you.

"Yeah, Jack, easy hands," Luke mocked, trying to grab the plate you held out to him. You brought it back closer to you and out of his reach, preventing him from grabbing it.

"What do we say?" Talking to him like a child elicited a glare from him as well, but he said his 'thank you' and you gave him his plate.

They ate quickly, mentioning that they were running late for a meeting. When they put their plates in the sink, you realized that they were leaving you with the mess that they had made.

"Who do you two think I am? Your personal maid?" You asked rhetorically.

"Love ya, Sis!" Luke called as he walked out the front door.

Jack didn't bother to say anything, only throwing up a peace sign as he followed Luke.

"Every morning I question why I moved in with you," You muttered under your breath as you rolled your sleeves up to clean the kitchen.

As you went to load the dishwasher, your phone vibrated on the counter, Jack's name flashing across the screen.

"What do you need?" You sighed, knowing he had forgotten something.

"I forgot my suit for the game tonight...can you bring it when you get a chance? Preferably before lunch?" You could hear Luke chuckling in the background.

"What do you say?" You were bound and determined to teach him some manners while staying with them.

"Oh my God, just bring it-"

"Do you want the suit or no? Because I'm not the one that has to wear it tonight..." You trailed off as you rinsed a bowl out before loading it onto the top shelf of the dishwasher.

Jack sighed, causing Luke to laugh.

"My wonderful sister that I love so much, would you do me a favor and please bring me my suit before lunch? With my Air Forces?" Sarcasm seeped from his voice, your eyes rolling in response.

"I don't appreciate the sass, but since you said please I will," He didn't bother saying thank you, hanging up immediately when you finished your sentence. He would learn one day.

You would never admit it to them, but you loved being able to help them. The early mornings and late nights that they caused you were inconvenient in the moment, but you would hate to miss out on the opportunities to spend so much time with them. They were, after all, your baby brothers that you loved so very much.

But unbeknownst to anybody...Quinn was still your favorite.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #jack hughes #nhl fanfiction #quinn hughes #trevor zegras #alex turcotte #cole caufield #jack hughes imagines #nico hischier #Luke hughes #nj devils #hughes brothers #jh86 #lh43

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crimsonbubble · 4 months

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*banging pots and pans around* JOHNSHI W PLUS SIZED READER!! JOHNSHI W PLUS SIZED READER!!

I love ur blog so much hehe, it brings me life <33

cw. vaguely suggestive, thicker gn!reader, poly johnshi x reader *not proofread, just pure brainrot

[im slightly crazy about them]

CUDDLE PILES

ALL THE TIME

They like to keep you sandwiched between them

So you can lay on either of them and the other will lay on you to keep you between them

GIFTS!! ALL THE TIME!! BC JOHNNY CAN’T HELP HIMSELF

He buys both you and Kenshi small gifts, treats and knick-knacks all the time

THEY’RE SO FUCKING HANDY

They just love the feel of you against them :((

PRAISE

Especially from Kenshi

Johnny praises you too but he mixes it with degradation

PET NAMES

They call you and each other nicknames so often so using your real names seems weird at times

Also, you need to get rid of that “but im too heavy” mindset bc neither of them care

Like they’re both more than strong enough to hold you

Johnny has a bit of a possessive streak, at least it’s more than what Kenshi shows

I’m saying this bc Johnny bites and marks

Not only bc he’s just that teeny bit possessive but also bc he just loves to see the marks on your skin the next day

Especially the marks on your neck, thighs and hips

Kenshi is the one to leave finger-shaped bruises on you bc he can’t hold back from giving you anything and everything that you want

But Kenshi still loves to reinforce discipline

(in my mind, both Johnny and Kenshi are doms but Kenshi doms overall in terms of discipline and keeping you and Johnny in line lmao)

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lotstradamus · 24 days

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do you have some favourite go-to recipes? i would love any of your recommendations!! xx

we eat the same few things on rotation in our house, as I do all the cooking, and I like a) one-pot meals, and b) pasta, preferably. most of these are fairly low effort but you get a lot of bang for your buck flavour-wise, and they're endlessly customisable!

also, listen, I don't do measurements. follow your heart and taste as you go.

the tiktok viral baked feta pasta from like 4 years ago ingredients: plum or cherry tomatoes, a block of feta (or boursin if you're feeling flush), garlic, pasta optional extras: spinach, cannellini beans, chili crisp recipe: whack your tomatoes, sliced garlic, and olive oil in a big dish. nestle your feta in there. I like to add a tin of drained cannellini beans at this point to bulk it out/cut down on the pasta/make the texture confusing, but you don't have to. stick it in the oven at like 180-200C for half an hour ish. after half an hour boil your pasta. retrieve your oven dish, stir everything up to desired consistency (I'm a chunk girl). you can add spinach while you do this for extra greenery, or a massive spoonful of chili crisp for heat and crunch, but it's good on its own. add the pasta and some pasta water if you need. voila. you simply cannot go wrong.

gochujang and hummus pasta ingredients: gochujang (this keeps forever in the fridge so it's a good kitchen investment), a tub of hummus, garlic, white onion, parm optional extras: parsley recipe: chop onion and garlic, sling them in a pan with butter and a splash of EVOO. when the onion is sufficiently sweaty and nice, add a dollop of gochujang (the bigger the dollop the spicier the end result) and stir it all in, followed by the whole tub of hummus. boil the pasta. add the cooked pasta to the pan, along with some pasta water, a shit load of grated parm, and garnish with parsley. my friend sent me a vegan version of this recipe about a year ago and I've made the non-vegan version roughly once a week since. it is so fucking delicious. butter bean thing ingredients: butter beans, garlic, red onion, tomato paste, cream/double cream/greek yog, lemon, sourdough/nice crusty bread optional extras: parsley recipe: throw chopped garlic and onion in a pan with butter and EVOO and really let them sweat it out. add tinned butter beans WITH THE JUICE. yes, I know. add in a few good squirty piles of tomato paste and stir, then let it all heat through. at this point start toasting your crusty bread of choice because I ALWAYS forget until the end and then I'm rushed. I recommend splurging for the good bread, slathered with melty butter. add whatever creamy thing you have to hand (the og recipe I saw said double cream, but I usually have greek yoghurt in and that does the job) to the beans, along with some lemon juice, garnish with parsley if you like and serve. use the bread as a giant spoon. you are welcome.

sausage soup/stew? casserole?? ingredients: celery, white onion, carrot, sausage/s, cherry tomatoes, tinned tomatoes, chicken broth, parm optional extras: creamy thing of your choice, spinach, orzo recipe: dice the celery, carrot and onion (mirepoix!), and throw it in a big big big pot with some EVOO. now: I get a pack of nice sausages and either mash or chop them depending on how much energy I have, but if you live somewhere with a butcher or whatever you can save your mashing arm and just get ground sausage. throw in the ground, mashed, or chopped sausage and cook for a bit. follow with a tin of chopped tomatoes and chicken broth. I usually put in about a litre. chop the cherry toms and toss them in. follow with a load of grated parm. if you have any parm rinds, throw em in and leave it to bubble away. this doesn't sound like much but it is so good. the longer you leave it the more flavourful it will be! towards the end I like to add in whatever creamy thing is in the fridge (double cream, greek yog, milk), along with lots of chopped spinach and a cup of orzo to really bulk it up. we can happily live on this for DAYS, especially if we have leftover fancy crusty bread from the gochujang pasta. oh and remember to take out the parm rind.

thai chicken curryish ingredients: chicken (thigh/breast), garlic, ginger, yellow peppers, spring onion, cashew nuts, rice, coconut milk, chicken broth optional extras: sriracha, coriander recipe: I love this one cos it is SO quick and SOOOO easy. cut chicken into chunks and brown it in the pot. whip it back out and throw in the chopped garlic and ginger (I have a tube of ginger paste in the fridge cos WHO has the time?) with a big glug of EVOO, then a cup of rice. jasmine works, but I've also used risotto rice. toss in the chopped peppers, spring onion and cashew nuts (if I have the energy I'll chop the nuts, but you can put em in as-is), then add coconut milk (a tin's amount, be that an actual tin or some of the melted stuff that costs 1/4 of the price - thanks Asian supermarket!) and chicken broth. put the browned chicken back in, give it all a stir, cover it, and stick it in the oven for like 25ish mins. here’s the NYT recipe if you need liquid measurements/an actionable recipe that isn’t me riffing. (as always, 12ft.io/ in front of the address to bypass the paywall.) serve it with sriracha squirted all over it (HIGHLY RECOMMEND) and coriander if you like it.

delicious little rice waffle ingredients: leftover jasmine rice, chili crisp, an egg, kewpie mayonnaise, sesame oil, spring onion, A WAFFLE MAKER optional extras: furikake recipe: full disclosure, you need a little waffle maker for this. mix the rice with chili crisp, a little sesame oil, and egg yolk. dollop it into the waffle maker and cook. garnish with kewpie mayo, sliced spring onion and some furikake if you have it, or just toasted sesame seeds if you have those, or neither! delicious little spicy umami snack, my beloved.

tuna melt of dreams ingredients: you know what's in a tuna melt recipe: swap the butter on the outside of the bread for kewpie mayonnaise and thank me later.

ADDENDUM: this goes without saying for me but sadly I know it does not for everybody: SEASON YOUR FOOD WITH SALT. IT WON'T MAKE YOUR FOOD SALTY IT WILL MAKE IT DELICIOUS. COOK YOUR PASTA IN SALT. WHEN IN DOUBT, ADD SOME SALT. THANK YOU.

#these are our staples #every so often I will come home with a bunch of new recipes and try them all and add some to rotation #Bon Appetit's dan dan pappardelle was a fixture last year cos it is SO FUCKIN TASTY but also a bit of a faff to make #SEND ME ALL YOUR EASY BREEZY ONE POT RECIPES!!!#THANKS!!!#answered #this was fun thanks

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flwrshee · 1 year

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✉️ MESS

duo ﹒ jay x fmr genre fluff word count 04k warnings reader is insecure

jay had always been the cook in the house between you two and today was the day that it would change.

you got your hello kitty apron and neatly made your long brown hair into a ponytail ready to cook for jay. you were beyond excited.

taking all of the equipment out, you already made a mess when a couple of them fell on the floor resulting in a bang. you scoffed at yourself annoyed that you could not even take some pots and pans out.

your dish for jay was simple pancakes and whipped cream which jay usually made for you, you wanted to surprise him.

everything was onto a great start, you put all the ingredients together, added the right amount of each and even managed not to spill anything. or so you thought.

luck was not on your side whenever you tried cooking and today seemed no different.

taking out the electronic mixer, you dunked it into your bowl full of ingredients which resulted in a big mess everywhere. the batter you had carefully made was now all over your kitchen and over you.

goddamn it.

when tidying up you heard footsteps from the stairs and soft yawns. it was jay.

he had his matching pyjama set, messy morning hair and was rubbing his eyes out of tiredness. opening his eyes he took a quick scan across the kitchen and just stood infront of you, in shock.

"love, what happened?" he asks confused and worried.

"i wanted to make you some food but i messed up, really badly" you reply quite embarrassed.

"you dont need to do this yn, i dont mind cooking for you, i actually like it better when i cook and when you enjoy my food."

that instantly lifted your mood up and brought a smile to you.

both of you cleaned up the mess and jay was busy cooking for you while you back hugged him melting into his soft scent and warm embrace.

"thank you for doing this jay, im sorry i made you clean up my mess"

he turns arounds from the pan and cups your face in his hands and says, "dont be sorry, i love you so much that cleaning up doesnt matter to me right now" while kissing the top of your forehead.

"your so sweet im going to cry"

"dont cry love, you have jay"

but he was right. you did have him.

#⠀⠀ ౨ৎ flwrshee works⠀⠀#enhypen #enhypen jay #park jongseong #jay #enhypen park jongseong #enhypen fluff #jay fluff #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen oneshots #jay drabbles #jay imagines #jay oneshot #jay x yn #jay x reader #enhypen x yn #enhypen x reader #flwrshee

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its-vannah · 1 year

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The Alternative | Warren Rojas x Reader

A/N: Again, this took over a week for me to write because I get distracted easily. It's a shorter one, more like a blurb, but it's cute and does the job 💕

Request: hiiii warren request🫣 can you write a one shot where warren and reader sneak off at camilla’s housewarming party in ep. 4 to get high and there is a lot of sexual tension and they end up hooking up. THANK YOU

Warnings: Getting high, mentions of the band fighting, reader and Warren sneaking off

Taglist: @celestialstar111 @stokzr

Daisy Jones and The Six Masterlist

There were many things you could look past when it came to The Six's behavior. Their constant arguments were one of them.

Once the disagreements started, you knew better than to stick around and watch it play out. So you just took your things and sat on the back porch, waiting for the yelling to die down.

On most days, it was Billy telling everybody to fuck off. Other days, it was Eddie telling Billy to fuck off. And some days, it was Karen telling them both to fuck off.

Being their neighbor, you heard most of their arguments. I mean, there wasn't much space between your houses and they weren't exactly quiet people.

Regardless, you had grown to love them. You, Karen, and Camila hung out every Thursday night at your place so they could get a break from whatever shit the boys were getting into.

Other days, Warren came over with his drumsticks to test how they sounded on your pots and pans—which he claimed "sounded different" than the ones they used at their house.

He'd spend hours just banging on different pieces of metal until he found a beat he liked. Then, he'd take your face in his hands, loudly say, "I'm a genius", and run back to show Billy what he's figured out.

Of course, Billy told him to talk to him when he wasn't high on marijuana—which wasn't often.

Those were the moments you enjoyed. Not wanting to ruin your friendships with the band, you stayed out of any drama that ensued between them for your own sanity. Sure, you had plenty of things you could say, but you'd never be able to finish a sentence without being spoken over.

So you kept your mouth shut, grabbed a bottle of wine, and sat in what had become "your chair."

Tonight was like most nights, the band was having a small spat. Billy was irritated that Daisy was there, Graham and Karen were God knows where, Eddie was sulking, and Camila was trying to fix everything.

You were in the same spot as always, rocking back and forth with a bottle in your hand, looking up at the endless array of stars.

It was peaceful and oddly humbling—knowing you were just a tiny fragment in the world. God, you were drunk off your ass.

Light footsteps behind you broke your train of thought and you watched as Warren came into view.

"Hey, neighbor," He said with a smile, nursing a bottle of beer, "Mind if I join you?"

"They're still fighting?"

He shrugged, sitting beside you in the other rocking chair, taking a swig of his drink, "Billy's not happy."

"When is he?" You scoffed, throwing back your wine, finishing the bottle, "He's always in a fucking mood."

"That's Billy for you. Always grumpy."

You dipped your head back with a groan, "I don't know who's worse—him or Eddie."

"Oh, Billy. It's definitely Billy."

Unable to stop yourself, you burst out laughing. The alcohol was starting to take a toll on your physical state, "So, what brings you out here? You stargaze often?

He grinned at your teasing tone, breaking eye contact and looking down at his feet, shaking his head, "No, no, just wanted to keep you company. And see if you'd do weed with me."

"Better than the alternative."

"What's the alternative?"

You gave him a knowing look, "Not doing weed with you."

- - -

You and Warren were laying on the floor of the back porch, laughing hysterically at something he said—but you couldn't exactly remember what he said—and neither did he. That itself added to the humor of it all. At least, it did for you.

Nothing could disturb the two of you, not the lights going out, Julia's crying, or the loud sound of the swarm of people inside of the house.

"So she walked in to see Eddie in a dress and Graham in nothing but his—his—" You couldn't even get the words out without laughing.

Warren slapped the wooden boards beside him, laughing so hard he was practically snorting, "I wasn't any better, I was a pirate."

You kicked your legs, holding your stomach, "I can't—I can't breathe—"

Warren sat up, leaning over you, "I can give you CPR."

You were pretty out of it, but you understood what he was saying. The thing is—you didn't want him to give you CPR.

"We could just go to my place instead."

Warren raised his brows, "You think we can make it that far?"

"I think we can at least make it to my front lawn."

He got on his knees, grabbing the rocking chair to pull himself up. The chair swung back, causing him to fall back down to the ground.

You looked over at him—and as soon as his eyes met yours, the two of you burst out laughing.

Pushing yourself up off the ground, you reached your hand out, "Come on, let's get you out of those clothes."

You've never seen him run faster in your life.

#fanfiction #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones & the six #daisy jones and the six fanfic #daisy jones fanfic #djats #daisy jones #dj&ts #warrenrojas #warren rhodes x reader #warren rojas x reader #warren rojas #warren rojas x y/n #warren #warren rojas x you #warren rhodes #taylor jenkins reid #the six #taylor reid

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chialebeauf · 1 year

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Dispatch from Absurdist France

Just so you know we're still living in our own weird Kafka/Ionesco fusion timeline.

Macron's a pompous authoritarian dick and we hate him, so the good people of France started a little informal competition amongst ourselves to see which city or town can fuck his redemption tour of public appearances the most. Besides the usual booing, heckling (shoutout to the two old guys that called him a butthole to his face and called his government corrupt while shaking his hand on live TV yesterday, dudes rock!) etc, we've seen a revival of the ancestral tradition of the casserolade/cacerolazo. Which is basically bringing pots and pans and banging on them to make as much noise as you can to drown out government bullshit, thanks to our Latin brothers and sisters for keeping that one warm for us.

Since he's also very sensitive and his minions the préfets -kinda like a local police chief+mini-governor thing- are very attentive to his feelings, they're taking Measures. This morning he went on a visit in the beautiful, beautiful Languedoc backcountry, my only true love, and the local préfet wasn't about to be outdone in fascist shit by his colleagues.

He invaded the small town of Ganges (4000 souls) with 600 riot cops, not a typo, and illegally used an anti-terror law to forbid the carrying of various things in the municipality, including "portable sound devices".

WHICH, Y'ALL, APPARENTLY INCLUDES FUCKING POTS AND PANS!

Irony and parody are dead, here's the video of popo opening people's bags and seizing saucepans. Also they got manhandeld by a buch of dads with an average of around 0,64 baldspots per scalp and then threw CS gas from 5m away while being downwind.

To top it off, the word for saucepan (casserole) is actually slang for a political scandal, which Macron and his gov are full of (2 or 3 ministers in exercice and his Chief of Staff currently under indictement and 4 or 5 former ones still under indictment or convicted, I lost count)

All of that happened before noon.

I'm done with this clown state, I'll start an Occitan independentist guerilla, this is too stupid.

#upthebaguette #no saucepan is illegal #keep going buddy you're doing great!#south of france #how rambling was that rant seriously #there so much more to the whole thing I didn't even mention #Macron is in his Trump-era #france

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astroboots · 2 years

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RED FLAGS ║ PART 5

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector

Summary: You try to befriend Marc with mixed results. Or alternatively: God this man is cranky.

Word Count: 7080

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The thing about vanishing off the surface of the earth is that even if the missing person themselves doesn’t notice, people around them will.

We live in a society where we’re all accountable to someone or something. Your landlord will want the rent paid at the end of month. Your parents will ring to moan about you not calling them often enough. Your boss is going to send chaser emails asking for progress reports. A person cannot just disappear for a week, reappear and expect nothing to come of it. There are always going to be repercussions.

So it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when Steven stands before you, looking absolutely gutted as he tells you that his supervisor has assigned him the worst possible schedule. He’ll have the unenviable honour of manning the gift shop every Saturday and Sunday for the rest of the month, and on top of that he’ll be on the second shift most weekdays where he’ll be stuck unboxing inaccurate ancient Egypt souvenirs late into the night.

“I’m sorry, love.” Steven looks down at the ground, then back up at you, all contrite apology and puppy-dog eyes. “I tried talking to Donna about it, but she just threatened me with more inventory. Not sure why she’s got it in for me, but it’s been worse than ever this last week.”

You hum sympathetically, though you’ve got a pretty good idea of why his supervisor might be hacked off—missing a whole week of work can’t have endeared him to anyone at the museum.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry that I’ve gone and messed things up again.” He looks like a sad puppy in a rescue video, disappointment and remorse colouring his features.

“You haven’t messed anything up,” you reassure him, reaching over to touch his arm. “You don’t have control over your schedule. Besides, we can still spend the nights together, even if we can’t laze about together in the morning. And maybe you can ask Donna nicely to switch you back to your old schedule when you have your performance review at the beginning of next month?”

He gives you a small nod, but he still looks like the world is ending. It’s frustrating and painful to watch him struggle with the consequences of a disappearance he knows nothing about and couldn’t control. Having his body arbitrarily borrowed and spirited away is hardly something he planned just to spite his supervisor. Not that you could tell her that (or Steven for that matter).

“We’ll have plenty more weekends together.” You slide your hand up his arm until you can cup the back of his neck and pull him close, resting your forehead against his. "Not going anywhere, remember?"

You hope it’s the truth.

Steven smiles a bit at that, and warmth blooms in your chest. All you want is to make him feel better.

“Maybe I can phone in sick tomorrow?” you offer up as a consolation prize, “Skive off work so we can have a proper lazy morning together.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree at your suggestion. “That’d be amazing!” he enthuses, then hesitates. “But are you sure you can do that? I don’t want you to get in trouble for chucking a sickie on my account.”

“It should be alright. I haven’t taken a sick day for years, I can afford to do so now so long as we don’t make a habit of it. One day shouldn’t cause too much trouble.”

You’re wrong about that.

The situation in Steven's flat the next morning proves as much.

You’ve never understood the expression cooking up a storm, but there’s no other words to describe the way Steven Grant lays waste to the kitchen.

It’s chaos.

Steven whirls through his kitchen space with the uncoordinated choreography of a drunk elephant. Pots and pans are banging. There are tomato specks spattered across the kitchen tiles like a scene from an Alfred Hitchcock movie. Smoke is rising, and there’s a strong burnt smell permeating every inch of his flat. The fire alarm has already gone off twice, and no doubt would be doing so again now if not for your executive decision to remove the batteries.

Even with the smell of smoke hanging heavy in the air, you’re smiling as you watch him destroy his kitchen. His enthusiasm is contagious, lighting up the whole of the room.

Half an hour and two fully open windows later, the storm subsides, and Steven makes his way over to where you’re seated on the bed, balancing a tray in his arms.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, setting it down on the duvet with a flourish, and you can’t help the bubbly laughter that rises to your lips at the grandiose theatricality of it.

You watch his expression, enjoying the way he beams with pride as he starts plating out the cutlery and leans down to steal a confident kiss before neatly folding a napkin on your lap.

He’s gone completely overboard, but you can’t help but love it, love him.

“You know," he muses as he takes a seat beside you, "I’ve always wanted to do this. Serve someone a romantic breakfast in bed I mean. And now, here we are, and I’m just… I’m thrilled! Can’t believe I’m lucky enough that I get to do it with you, but I’m thrilled.”

And suddenly the joy is gone.

You sit on the top of the duvet, staring down at the breakfast tray of burnt toast and charred baked beans that Steven has prepared for you with such love and devotion, and all you feel is guilt.

You can’t help but wonder how much of his over-the-top enthusiasm is simply because he is so excited to finally have something he's been denied for such a long time. And he has no idea why he’s never been able to have it before. (But you do, and you’re lying to him about it.)

The happier the two of you are, the deeper the guilt festers in you like rot spreading under the still-shiny skin of spoiled fruit. It doesn’t matter that you haven’t seen Marc again. The very fact of his existence is impossible to ignore, haunting your time with Steven like a dark shadow that looms large in the corner of every room you share. You know now that somewhere underneath that shy and sweet exterior, there’s another man hidden behind the curtains, controlling his life.

You can’t go on like this. You need to tell him. Steven deserves to know.

Squaring your shoulders, you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to initiate the conversation. You can do this. It will be okay.

You look up to his warm eyes, which narrow slightly in confusion, and for the briefest of moments you think you see a reflection of Marc within them. That’s all it takes for you to lose your nerve.

You don’t want him to be taken away from you.

“Everything alright, love?”

Steven’s voice snaps you back to reality and you refocus your gaze to find those gorgeous brown eyes filled with concern.

You can’t tell him.

“You looked… worried.” Steven picks at the charcoaled edges of the toast with his fork, brows knitted with concern. “I’m sorry, this is really quite burnt, isn’t it? I’ll make new.”

You’ll lose him forever.

You glance at the charred bread and try to smile back at him. Wouldn’t it be nice if burnt toast was all you had to worry about?

No one else is going to save him from Marc. You’re the only one here, the only one who knows. You’re the only one he has.

The words falter on your tongue, and when you open your mouth they’re replaced by a different sentence entirely.

“You don’t need to make me a second breakfast, just come back to bed.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and drag him in towards you, feeling the curve of his smiling lips against your forehead. He’s warm and solid in your arms, yet the precariousness of his position has never been so apparent.

You need to protect him.

“Oh? And just what exactly are you planning for us to do in bed?” Steven asks, and you hear a hint of amusement in his tone. “Cause I don’t think it’s sleep, now is it?”

Your fingers thread through his curls, as you pull him downwards to your lips. “We can sleep after.”

It's noticeably lighter in the room when you wake, you can tell that much even with your eyes still shut. You must've had quite a lie-in if it's gotten late enough to be this bright.

Despite the warmth the afternoon sun brings to this space tucked up under the eaves, the bed feels colder than it should. It's only when you open your eyes that you understand why.

Steven is not in bed with you, which means...

In a panic, you lurch upright, head swivelling frantically as you search the cluttered flat for any sign of– There! You let out a sign of relief when you spot his familiar figure in the kitchen. He’s standing at the counter with his back towards you. Shoulders square and stiff, his movements sleek and sparse. Calculated.

It’s all very… un-Steven-like.

“Morning,” you call out hesitantly even though it must be well into the afternoon. You’re trying to confirm your suspicions, and sure enough, he doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t answer you either.

Definitely not Steven.

You draw up the covers and clutch them tightly to your chest. It feels like a distorted deja-vu of the first night. But unlike that night, you’re not engulfed in darkness; the slanted golden sunlight is streaming through the large windows of the flat, illuminating every dusty nook and cranny. Unlike that night, he has yet to speak to or even turn towards you, and you don’t have to fumble for your clothes this time. They’re there, neatly folded, in the empty spot of bed next to you.

Carefully dipping your toes onto the floor, you wrap the covers securely around you before slinking into the loo to get dressed. When you emerge, he’s still there, ignoring you. The silence is unnerving, a warning sign.

Stay away. Do not engage.

Given the experiences you’ve had with this man so far, you really should heed that warning. Anyone with half a brain or a scoop of survival instincts would quietly gather their stuff and flee the flat immediately, but not you. You hesitate. If this were a horror movie, you would be yelling at the daft woman on the screen to get the bloody hell out of there.

But if you do, then Steven is bound to wake up to an empty bed and an empty flat. You don’t want him thinking you’ve disappeared on him again, not after he told you how much it upset him last time. Particularly not after you’ve had a taste of the experience yourself. You don’t want to do that to him again. You need to leave Steven a note or something at the very least.

Your eyes skim the clutter, settling on a yellow pad of sticky notes on Steven’s desk. Perfect!

As quietly as you can, you tiptoe over to the desk and reach over for them. There’s a loud crash, and you jump, startled, your eyes darting to the floor by your feet. Steven’s pyramid paperweight lies there, staring back at you accusingly. You must have knocked it off the desk, a casualty of your graceless attempt at stealth.

So much for being inconspicuous.

When you look back up, Marc has turned around to stare at you.

It’s uncanny how unalike they look. It’s like one of those spot-the-difference photo games. The same face, the same body, but where Steven’s gorgeous dark eyes are wide and vulnerable, this man’s are narrowed and impatient. His brows perpetually drawn together and a constant stubborn set to his jaw as he grinds it.

He’s staring at you like that now, arms flexing where they’re crossed over his chest, and it feels like another warning.

A red fucking flag.

Every inch of your skin prickles at the hostile attention, but you can’t leave yet. You haven’t written the note. You can’t leave Steven in the dark again.

Doing your best to pretend that your heart isn’t trying to beat its way out of your chest, you take a deep breath and bend down to pick up the paperweight trying to steady it with your slightly trembling hands. It’s undamaged thankfully, and you quickly find a more secure spot on the desk to set it down, then search out the stack of sticky notes and a pen.

You can feel Marc’s penetrating gaze on you as you scribble down a quick message to Steven, and it’s all you can do to keep your shoulders from creeping up to your ears. You sign off with a heart for good measure. Hopefully that will allay some of Steven’s anxiety when he inevitably wakes up alone with no memory of seeing you leave.

Sneaking another look at Marc as you finish, you find that he’s still looking at you. Somehow though, it feels different than it did that first night. Less predatory and more... cautious. He is no longer a wolf eyeing his meal, but a wary stray sizing up whether you might pose a threat.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin as you walk over to the fishtank, more aware than ever that he’s watching your every move. He’s eyeing you with all the distrust of a shopkeeper who suspects you of shoplifting. You wonder with nervous annoyance if he thinks you're somehow planning to smuggle the gigantic tank out of Steven’s flat in your handbag.

“I don’t want him to worry,” you explain as you stick the yellow note onto the side of the fishtank.

At this, Marc finally officially acknowledges your presence.

“The fish?” he asks, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow in apparent confusion.

The… fish?

You stare stupidly back at him, not quite able to understand what he’s referring to until you follow his line of sight, turning your head to trace his gaze back to the fishtank.

Dear God. Is he joking or does this man seriously think you’re writing a message for Gus’ benefit? What kind of daft, idiotic—

“No, not the fish!” You interrupt your own mental tirade. “Steven. I don’t want Steven to worry.”

Marc doesn’t seem to have anything further to say to that. He just watches you with narrowed eyes as you finish gathering your belongings in silence. He doesn’t mention the dropped paperweight, or check in on your promise to keep his existence a secret from Steven. Apparently, Marc’s biggest concern is how the crazy lady Steven is sleeping with on a regular basis has learned to communicate with fish through written language.

The fish. Good God.

You want to laugh. All of a sudden, the formidable, larger-than-life image you’ve held of the man in your mind cracks, crumbling slightly around the edges. Amusement at the sheer knob-headed stupidity of his question lingers at the corners of your mouth as you turn and head to the door.

“Bye,” you call out, but he doesn’t respond to you as you close the front door behind you. You can’t believe you took a sick day for this.

Steven goes missing again.

When lunchtime rolls by and his trademark silly texts and photos of the odder artefacts from the museum’s collection fail to show up on your phone, you know that Marc must have disappeared into the ether and taken Steven with him again.

God. No wonder Donna always has it in for Steven if Marc keeps pulling stunts like this. If Steven was in the doghouse before, you can’t even imagine the torture she must be planning for him now. She’ll probably drag the doghouse into the inventory dungeon and throw away the key.

You glance at your phone where it’s lying next to you on the sofa, then at the palm of your hand where the numbers Marc had once scribbled down have long since washed off.

You’re allowed to initiate texts, right? He never mentioned that you couldn’t. And why else would he have given you his number in the first place?

Your hands are sweating as you swipe up your contacts, fingers a little shakier than you would like. It makes it hard to type correctly, despite your text being only three simple words.

You Is Steven okay?

You stare at the screen and watch the single tick turn into two. The message has been delivered. There’s no reply, but that makes sense, he hasn’t seen it yet.

Nothing further happens, but you watch the screen for a long time before eventually forcing yourself to put the phone down. This is not healthy behaviour. You try to busy yourself by pottering around in your flat, tidying the laundry you’ve left strewn about haphazardly, hand washing dishes and clearing out clutter. Anything to keep yourself distracted. But you still find yourself obsessively checking your phone every two minutes.

An hour goes by, then two. Still nothing.

And then, on yet another check, you notice the two ticks have turned from white to blue. He’s seen it. Still no reply though. Shit, this was a mistake.

The phone dings and vibrates in your hand, and you nearly shriek with surprise.

Marc He’s safe.

You When will Steven be back?

You don’t receive a reply to your second message, even though the two ticks turned blue almost immediately. But, just like the previous time, Steven returns shortly after, safe and sound and still none the wiser.

Your daily life settles into an odd sort of routine. You spend as much time as you can with Steven, but Marc is never far behind. In your early dating days, you only saw Steven a handful of times a week. It had never occurred to you before how omnipresent Marc was in Steven’s life.

The pattern goes like this: you and Steven get to play house and enjoy your relationship uninterrupted for a few days at most until, lo and behold, you wake up in the morning to an empty bed and neatly folded clothes next to you. Then it happens all over again.

At this point, your life has become some bizarro remake of Groundhog Day.

Wake up in bed together with Steven, and he’ll lovingly make you burnt toast for breakfast, blow up your phone with cute nonsensical texts during lunch, and surprise you with your favourite takeout for dinner.

Wake up alone in bed, and Groucho Marx is there serving you cold silence instead, and you spend the hours (or days) alone until Steven, still oblivious returns.

Rinse and repeat.

Eventually it occurs to you that mostly ignoring Marc isn't going to get you anywhere in the long run. He is clearly an all-time world champion at the quiet game. If something is going to change, it’ll have to be because you make it happen. You’re going to have to at least try to talk to the man if you want to get enough information to be able to protect Steven from him.

It’s this half-baked plan that comes to your mind, some weeks after, when you find yourself in Steven’s bed again, with no Steven next to you.

Instead you find him in the far corner of the kitchen, and your clothes folded on the bed next to you.

You’re not dumb. The odds of you chumming it up with this man are about the same as an ice-cube’s chances in hell. Your interactions so far have informed you that Marc is not the friendly type. In fact, he seems to be allergic to chit-chat. It makes the act of trying to befriend a person you still find somewhat intimidating all the more difficult.

Still though, these recent encounters have been downright bland compared with the time he revealed himself by threatening you in your bed. And even that was nowhere near as unnerving as your first encounter.

Maybe he isn’t as intimidating as you had made him out to be in your head.

“The fish?” he had asked with genuine confusion in his voice, and you almost crack up all over again at the memory of it.

Hell, if you do spend enough time with him, perhaps he’ll stop being scary to you altogether (unlikely, the little voice in your head tells you, but necessary, you rebut).

The end goal isn’t to befriend him. You’re never going to be besties. You just need things to be cordial between you, friendly enough that you can make sure that he doesn’t actively put Steven in harm’s way.

You call out a greeting on your way to the loo. Marc doesn’t answer and he doesn’t even look up or turn around when you emerge, ignoring you completely while you dress.

He's putting away dishes from the sink from last night at a snail’s pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he runs out of dishes, he stands there tapping his fingers as he looks around the kitchen, opening and closing a few cupboards, before he chooses one apparently at random and starts organising the items inside.

For a second, you just observe him, confused by his actions. Then it occurs to you that he’s busying himself in the kitchen so he doesn’t have to talk to you. That could be rather insulting if you allow yourself to dwell on it, so you don’t.

Instead, you turn your head, eyes roaming the walls of the space, desperate to come up with some topic of conversation to ease the tension. Your gaze catches on the heaps and heaps of books in the flat. There’s nothing that sets off Steven into an excited flurry of conversation like the mention of Egyptian history, if you’re lucky, their body isn’t the only thing that Marc shares with Steven.

“Do you have an interest in Ancient Egypt as well? Steven’s told me he’s read all of these books at least twice.”

Marc goes still, then turns slowly to face you. The silence is thick and heavy, and his eyes are mere slits as he looks at you. You suspect he’s hoping to scare you into dropping the subject so he doesn’t have to engage in conversation. But instead of looking away, you stand your ground, meeting his stare with as politely expectant of a gaze you can manage under the circumstances, waiting for his answer.

Kill him with (strained) kindness, that’s your strategy now.

After what seems to be an eternity, he opens his mouth to answer.

“No.” Statement made, he turns his back on you again.

One word. Apparently all you get is one, single, word, in the negative. Then it’s back to silence.

Even Steven gave you three words on your first date. God. The all-familiar frustration and deep desire to bang your head against the wall returns, and it takes more of your willpower than you would like to resist the urge.

You walk over to the fish tank, trying to give yourself a moment to think. Trying to recover. You find yourself smiling indulgently at the one-finned champ through the glass, as you watch as a row of bubbles leave his mouth.

"Do you think you’ll be gone for long this time? I don’t want Gus to get lonely."

Marc doesn’t answer, and your eyes catch the postcards that Steven has hung haphazardly all over the wall above the fish tank.

It’s a collage of iconic landmarks from various holiday destinations, and you read the locations of each postcard hanging on the wooden ledge. Morocco, Venice, Porto, Iceland, Moscow… Gosh, Steven’s mum is quite impressively travelled, isn’t she?

“Oh hey,” you turn around to face Marc. “When’s your mum coming back to London?”

He jerks around to stare at you, shoulders raised in a painfully firm line that’s stiff and defensive, even for Marc, and you have to stop yourself from apologising, though you’re not sure for what.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The words are said with such caution. He’s on guard as if bracing for a blow.

“From her travels?” you try to clarify.

His eyes narrow. The hostility is back. “What travels?” He asks.

You point to the postcards.

“Steven tells me she’s currently on a trip abroad. She’s sent him these?” You don’t know why the pitch of your voice rises as you speak, turning the last sentence into a question. There’s just something about Marc’s behaviour that makes you doubt every word coming out of your mouth.

“I don’t know. I don’t–” his voice breaks, fingers flexing as he curls them into agitated fists then releases them again.

“We don’t really talk anymore, we’re…” he stops and looks up but not at you. Instead, he looks to the ceilings as if the words he’s searching for will be etched somewhere in the wooden beams. “Estranged.”

That’s not right. You know that can’t be right. The cards are from Steven’s mother, who is always off travelling on some new adventure or other. It’s why he’s never introduced you, despite his excitement to show you off to her.

“What do you mean? Steven talks to her on the phone almost every day. Where do all these postcards come from then, if not from her? Surely they weren’t sent by a ghost?”

Something painful flashes in his eyes. Marc bites into the bottom lip, so hard it goes bone-white, and you know you must’ve struck a nerve, you just can’t tell which one or what it was you said that’s upset him.

“Marc?” you try again, voice cautious.

“I send the postcards,” Marc finally says.

“Then why does Steven think they’re from his mum?”

Marc doesn’t answer you, just turns his head to look away, and you’re getting more confusing by the second.

What the hell does he mean he sends them? And if so then why does Steven think they're from his mum? Either Marc's lying to you or–

“Wait! Are you sending these postcards to him while pretending to be his mum? Why are you lying to him?"

“Steven doesn’t need to know.”

“You say that a lot,” the words, sharp and bitter, come out before you think to stop them.

He stays quiet at your accusing tone. Doesn't move and stays seemingly unemotional. But there’s something there. It’s subtle. From the distance between you, it would’ve been easy to miss.

There’s a tick in the small muscle of his jaw. His nostrils flare ever so slightly.

Regardless of how hard Marc tries to hide it, trying to school his expressions, you know every intimate detail of this face too well for him to hide from you. It’s not an expression you’ve seen on Steven’s face, ever, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it all amounts to.

He’s really quite upset, isn’t he?

Any sensible person would stop right about now. You’ve always prided yourself on being a sensible person, but since you met Steven, sensibility seems to have flown out the bloody window.

“Whatever it is, Steven can handle it. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.”

“Steven shouldn’t have to handle it," he snaps back at you. Voice losing any restraint he held before.

Once again the sensible thing would be to drop it. But the dismissive, know-it-all tone in his voice rubs you entirely the wrong way.

“He deserves to know. It’s not right for you to keep him in the dark like this. He deserves better. He’s an autonomous adult, and he should be allowed to make decisions over his life just as much as you do. You have no right to control his life the way you do. You’re torturing him.”

“I am not,” he all but shouts back, voice raised for the first time since you met him. “I'm protecting him. You know nothing about the world I live in. If Steven finds out about me, about the work I do, he will be drawn into that world. Steven will be in danger. Do you understand? Is that what you want? For him to know he's sharing body with a– ” Marc stops himself mid-sentence. Eyes wide in shock, as if surprised by his own outburst.

A silence falls between you, and he steps back, physically distancing himself from you. He continues to retreat until he bumps up against the kitchen counter, grabbing onto it to steady himself as he looks down to his feet, sharp eyes now hazy and unseeing, a guilt ridden tinge to his usually unshakeable expression.

You appreciate the space he’s giving you, but a more pressing thought pushes to the forefront of your mind. What was Marc going to say before he stopped himself? Did you want Steven to know that he’s sharing his body with… what, exactly?

You search his face, free to stare as much as you like now as his eyes remain downcast. “Just what is it that you do, Marc?”

“You don’t want to know,” he answers, voice quieter now, devoid of any emotion.

His stance is no longer as straight and firm and usual. His shoulders sag as he continues to stare fixedly at the ground, avoiding all eye contact. The lines around his eyes are marred with sadness, a mark of defeat. He’s curled into himself, the entirety of his body shrinking like he’s trying to make himself invisible. For a beat of a second, he reminds you all too much of Steven, and your heart breaks for him.

Even though this isn’t Steven you’re looking at, that all-familiar instinct to protect swells up in your chest. Your arms want to curl around him, drape yourself over him and tell him it’s okay.

You open your mouth, trying to come up with something to salvage the situation. The first words that come to your head is ‘sorry,’ but the problem is that you’re not. Not really. Sorry means that you condone his perpetual lies.

You hesitate for a long moment, but you don’t know what the right thing to say to him is. Probably because there is no right thing. And you’ve already bollocksed things up quite enough for one night, haven’t you? Perhaps it’s best to cut your losses now and try to do better next time.

As quietly as you can, you gather up your handbag, and head towards the door. “I’ll see you around, Marc.”

There’s no answer, and you don’t look back, as you close the door with a quiet click behind you.

Blue Planet is on in the background at your flat. It’s become yours and Steven’s weeknight ritual, but Steven is nowhere to be seen.

You sit on your sofa, a dull weight perched oppressively on your chest, as you think of Steven’s other half.

His words ring loud and sharp in your ears, overpowering Attenboroughs sombre narration on the telly, until Marc’s voice is all you hear.

“I’m protecting him,” he’d said.

You think of how small he’d looked this morning, completely unlike the other times you’ve seen him, but somehow, heartbreakingly, you suspect it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him as well.

What reason does he have to lie to you? None.

Fishing your phone from your handbag, you pull up Marc’s contact details. You stare at it, fingers hovering over the keyboards, unsure of what you want to say.

You Are you and Steven okay?

Marc Steven’s fine.

It’s only a half an answer, and not quite the answer you would’ve liked. But part of you is surprised he responded at all considering the way things ended earlier.

You When’s Steven coming back?

He doesn’t answer you (surprise, surprise), and you’re just about to call it in for the evening when you remember Steven's upcoming performance review. If Marc is telling the truth– If he cares about Steven’s well-being the way he claims to, then he wouldn't want him to miss it, surely?

You He has his performance review at work on Monday.

There’s no reply, and you’re left on read once again.

Still, despite Marc’s lack of acknowledgement, Steven returns in time for work on Monday. He’s even on time for once.

You’re awoken in Steven’s flat by the quiet clattering of dishes being put away. The bed beside you is cold and as you reach out your hand, patting the mattress, instead of Steven, you find your clothes folded into a neat square.

You sit upright in the bed turning your attention to the kitchen, sure enough Marc is standing by the sink, tidying up after you and Steven the previous night.

“Good morning,” you call out.

Save for a brief pause in his work on the dishes, he doesn’t respond. The silence between you has taken a different tone now. It’s not unnerving or scary to you this morning. Instead it makes the heavy weight settle even deeper, until it’s carved a hollow dent into your chest at the thought of how you two last left it.

Dipping your toes onto the floor, you gather your clothes and once again make the habitual walk of shame to the loo to get dressed.

When you emerge, Marc predictably pays you no attention. You pad across the room until you find yourself standing in front of the fish tank.

You wonder how long you could stand here, without saying a word before he would have to give in and acknowledge you. An hour? A day? You suspect that you could very well stand here until you both grow old enough to claim pensions, and he’d still keep his silence.

It’d be easy to just walk out of the door. You have no obligation to Marc. He’s a stranger who wants nothing to do with you. The thought makes you sad.

You grab the shaker of fish food and sprinkle some into the water. It’s at least double the portion size Steven would usually give, but God knows how long he’ll be gone this time. Gus deserves a decent meal before he’s left to fend for himself.

When you’re done, you put the food back away above the fish tank. A postcard of the Alps catches your eye. Green fields full of cows peacefully munching away against the backdrop of ice-clad mountains. It’s so picturesque and idyllic.

“This one’s new,” you say out loud, and you observe Marc through the glass panes of the fish tank where he’s standing at the opposite end of the room. He looks over at you, and you gesture to the postcard.

“It’s so pretty. We went to Switzerland once when I was a kid.”

No response to that, but you continue to natter on mindlessly, “I got a cheap music box as a souvenir. I loved that thing. Used to listen to it for hours. I cried for a week when it broke and my dad threw it out.”

Marc doesn’t answer. He’s clearly still upset about last time. But instead of capitulating, you keep going. Sooner or later he has to crack and respond. Right?

“The melody was from The Sound of Music. It was my favourite movie growing up. Used to watch it on repeat on my mum’s old VHS player every day after school until it was completely worn out. Tried to run away once just so I could join a nunnery thinking I could work as a nanny for a handsome colonel and his kids”.

He hums in acknowledgment. A hum. Stubborn…

“I was kind of hoping I could take Steven for a weekend trip one of these days. A couple’s holiday.”

Still no reply, but as you watch him through the glass-panes of the fishtank, you can see his shoulders loosen, body language visibly relaxing.

“If you don’t mind, that is. Since we’d be bringing you along as well.” You say it facetiously, with as much humour in your tone you can muster, trying to invite Marc to share the joke. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t take the bait.

"We don't have to do this," he says. Zero inflection in his voice, but at least it’s a response.

You straighten up slowly and meet his gaze over the top of Gus’ tank. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

"This,” Marc reiterates. He gestures to the space between you. "You and me. Conversation. We don’t have to be friends,” he clarifies.

Wow, this man is blunt.

“I know we don’t have to. But…”

But what exactly? What are you trying to do here, really? The man has made it perfectly clear that he’s not interested in your friendship, barely willing to tolerate your mere presence in his vicinity.

“But,” you start again, “I’m hoping to be with Steven for a long time. And my understanding of the situation is that you and Steven are not…” you hesitate, unsure of what wording to use. If there’s a way to make this sound pretty, you can’t think of it, but you forge ahead anyway. “Well– That you two come as a package deal.”

Across from you, Marc straightens his posture, folding his arms. He assesses you guardedly from top to toe.

“It would be good if we could be friendly with each other,” you add hopefully, “Maybe even friends? We don’t have to be, of course, if you’re not willing, but… I think it would make Steven’s life easier. Better.”

There’s a subtle change in his face, and he rolls his shoulders, looking up at you from underneath his striking lashes. His expression is softer somehow, not the stern, unsmiling face he’s been perpetually giving you. It makes you hold your breath waiting for his answer.

Except it doesn’t come.

Seconds tick by, and the line of his lips presses down firmer. He looks away, something akin to frustration in his face, eyebrows pinched tightly together. Once again, you’re left to linger in the limbo of awkward silence. He clearly doesn’t want to continue this conversation.

You try to think of something else to add to your filibustering, but your well of potential topics to keep this one-sided conversation going has run dry. At least you tried. Giving up with a sigh, you flash him a resigned half-smile and turn to pick up your bag. You’re collecting the rest of your things when he finally speaks.

“I like Switzerland.”

You turn to stare at him, and you can feel your mouth gaping in what is probably a very unattractive imitation of Gus. You’re in complete disbelief that he actually volunteered information, completely unprompted. Well, mostly unprompted.

Marc shifts his feet slightly, redistributing his weight, and then miracles of all miracles he actually continues. “The mountains are nice. Quiet.”

You manage to snap your mouth shut, disproportionate elation building in your chest. You can’t entirely contain the gleeful smile that wants to spread across your lips, but you manage to tamp it down to something a bit more muted so he won’t think you’ve lost the plot entirely.

“They really are,” you agree warmly, “Nice and quiet.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment, and he doesn’t quite smile back, but something in his face relaxes marginally from the ever-present frown he likes to sport.

You can’t help but be happy (happier than you probably should be) that he finally opened up to you. That moment of joy and relief, of simply staring at this man as he softens before your very eyes extend into a much longer one, until you’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there but you’re too afraid to move in case this armistice breaks the moment you blink.

Out of nowhere, your stomach cramps. Before you know it, a growl of hunger reverberates across the cluttered walls of the flat.

Shit…

A shiver of embarrassment runs down your spine as you stiffen. Surely, it’s one of those moments where the silence of the room intensifies any sound. You’re just aware of it because it’s your own stomach. Surely Marc didn’t hear it.

“You’re hungry,” Marc states.

Oh for fuck’s sake!

It’s the sort of comical nonsense that constantly happens between you and Steven… Not with Marc. If only the Universe had gotten the memo.

Turning his feet, Marc walks towards Steven’s fridge—or is it his too?—which immediately starts whirring noisily as soon as he opens the door. “There’s not much, but I can manage scrambled eggs and sausages.”

“I… um…” You hesitate. Not sure if you should take him up on the implied breakfast invitation. You can’t help but feel that you’ve pushed your luck about as far as it will go already this morning, and that you’re bound to upset the delicate progress you’ve miraculously managed to achieve if you stay. “I don’t want to impose…”

Marc looks back at you, eyes narrowing as he studies your reaction, and it’s like he can read you like an open book.

“You’re not imposing. I’m no gourmet cook, but my food won’t kill you. Can't be worse than Steven’s. You ate that and survived.”

You’re stunned. Blinking at his comment, it takes you far too long to realise he means it as a joke. A rush of laughter rises up to your lips, once you do. He’s offering you food and joking with you. That’s a friendly gesture if you’ve ever seen one.

You stay, and he’s right. The slightly runny eggs and soggy vegan sausages left in Steven's fridge are nothing to write home about, but you eat them with a smile on your face.

You Hi. Have you taken Steven again? He’s not answering my texts.

Marc Yeah. He’s safe.

You When’s he coming back? We have a date on Saturday. I’ve made a reservation and they’ve taken a deposit. Do I need to cancel?

Marc No. He’ll be back.

You Thank you.

You’ve just put your phone face down on your nightstand when an impulse you can’t quite explain pushes at the corner of your mind, and you reach for it again.

You Be safe.

Placing your phone back down, you expect that to be the end of it. When your phone pings and vibrates against your night table a moment later, you jump, startled. You unlock the screen to see the new message.

Marc Thanks.

~ CONTINUE~

Credits/Dedications

Forever and always to my wonderful, amazing and most perfect friend and co-writer @thirstworldproblemss. I'm just going to keep this simple and true. I love you, in fact I love you the m💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗st

Also a shoutout to @the-ginger-hedge-witch @radiowallet @write-and-buried who have listened to me scream about this.

And last but absolutely not the least to everyone who's followed and read this story. I appreciate you so big-ly!! I am so so excited to share this chapter with you and finally get to delve properly into Marc beyond... mystery guy who frowns a lot. Whether you're lurking, liking, commenting or reblogging, thank you all so much for reading this little work of ours!

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