she would be smiling if she could

Remember Me

Pairing: Reader x Chanyeol

Genre: Angst (not a happy ending, just letting y’all know)

Warning: Mentions of; suicide and abuse (If these are sensitive topics, read at your own risk)

Word Count: 2,872

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

not my gif

She had this certain sadness to her.

A certain sadness that persisted even with the biggest smile she would show you, with the loudest laugh she could muster.

Did he regret meeting her? Caring for her? Loving her?

Absolutely not.

Even though it hurt with every breath he took, when he saw someone that reminded him of her, a loud laugh in the quiet library, he loved his memories with her as much as he hated them.

Holding the bottle of sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed him, he contemplated taking them all like her to join her in the afterlife.

He remembers the first time she had caught his eye, the memory so clear in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

As cliché as it sounds, it started out as any other day.

Classes at the same high school he went to every day, Chanyeol and his friends made themselves comfortable at their usual lunch table in the middle of the cafeteria, food over piled on their trays to the point of spilling and was set on the table with extreme care.

Their table was by far the loudest, eyes always on their group, some expressions they were given were of annoyance but some were of admiration, mostly from the female population.

He knew their group got a lot of attention but it wasn’t like it mattered much. Sure, Jongdae and Minseok and Sehun totally took advantage of it but Chanyeol didn’t really pay much attention to the stares he got on a daily basis.

Kyungsoo was threatening Kai like usual when his eyes caught on a figure he had seen before somewhere. You were leaning against a pillar in the middle of the cafeteria, right next to a table, earbuds in and your gaze was fixed on him.

Chanyeol narrowed his eyes in confusion. What is she doing? Did she want to say something to him?

He looked at your worn down white converse, tight light blue jeans and a plain maroon shirt that was loose but somehow still showed off your slender and curvy figure. When he set his eyes on your face and studied it for a while he recognized you from a few of his classes.

He knew your name was Y/N, and that you were really smart with a bluntness in the way you talked to the people around you with that slightly deeper and huskier voice than he would have expected, dark eyes observing your surroundings ceaselessly.

Your dark hair cut off right before it hit your fragile looking shoulders, the waves prominent with every move you made. It was really pretty, he admitted, and when you would tuck the strands behind your ear on the left side he thought you looked elegant.

Not that he was constantly looking at you or something, no, in fact he has never spoken to you once. Not because you were shy, but because it seemed to him that you liked to be alone, the way you would laugh along with the jokes but kept the blank expression when someone tried talking to you.

You had that same expression on when he caught you looking at him in the cafeteria, the only difference being the slight furrow in your full brows and the slight pout in your full lips.

Your dark eyes felt like they were looking him deep in the soul, but you had a faraway look in your eyes so he didn’t know what to think of it. Why does she keep staring over here like that?

A painful slap on his exposed arm made him exclaim in surprise and he tore his gaze from you to Baekhyun who had on his signature rectangle smile as he giggled childishly. Chanyeol mocked him and glanced your way again to find you gone.

Something in your expression haunted him that night.

He remembers when he had first spoken to you.

It was the day of the new quarter and Mr. Song had changed the seating arrangements and as twisted fate would have it, he found himself sliding into the seat right beside you, slightly nervous (for what reason, he didn’t know).

The teacher had given you the last ten minutes to get to know the person beside you and while the classroom buzzed with conversations and laughter it was completely silent between the two of you.

“Um… it’s Y/N, right?” He awkwardly tried to strike up a conversation, eagerly turning towards you, a wide smile on his face.

Instead of answering you took your time to study his face, eyes darting all over his face, making him feel a little embarrassed. Then a soft smile that stunned him for a moment came onto your wide lips, the smile never reaching your eyes. You nodded gently at his question, answering him non verbally. “Chanyeol, right?”

He was nodding even before you finished speaking. He found that he really liked his name on your lips. He kept up the majority of the conversation, his voice probably too loud but he didn’t really care. He laughed harder when you joined in, your humor-he found out-was like his, the interjections you would make him kept him on his toes and entertained.

How did I not notice her sooner? He thought to himself, watching you with an unconscious doopy little smile on his face.

Even back then he knew there was something unusual about you.

He remembers how hard you studied.




Poke. Poke. 

Hey. Y/N.”

You turned your body towards him so suddenly he didn’t have much time to react as you grabbed his pencil that he was holding in between his fingers in your hands and bent the pencil until it broke in half and threw it back at him, an adorable annoyed expression on your face, your bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

He cleared his throat and quietly turned his body back to his side of the table and got out another pencil. He glanced your way and saw you had tucked in the strands of hair behind your ear to keep it from falling in your eyes as you read the instructed passages.

He got ready to mess with you once again but your quiet whisper had him scrambling to open his own book.

“Touch me and I will kill you.”

The playful smile that you gave him actually did kill him.

He remembers the way you laughed.

Sometimes it was a chuckle, your smile wide and your eyes downcast.

Sometimes it was really loud, not caring at all who was around and who could overhear, your mouth wide open, head thrown back and eyes shut.

That was his favorite.

Sometimes it was a snort, when the joke was really funny and you were trying to be quiet but the moment you snorted, all hell would break loose and you would be complaining of your sides hurting when it was done.

Sometimes it was a cackle, which you would hate when Chanyeol mocked you.

You never really laughed much at all.

He remembers the first time you both got drunk together.

You had asked about his parents and confused he reminded you that they were on vacation visiting friends out of town and later that night you showed up with a huge bottle of vodka and some shot glasses in an overnight bag.

Woah, woah, what are you doing?” He asked you as you got everything ready on his kitchen counter, searching for beverages in his stocked fridge.

“Oh, come on, Chan. You said your parents are gone, right? What’s the big deal, it’s not like you’ve never drank before.” You replied, pulling out the 2 liter of soda out of the fridge.

You were smiling but the look in your eyes made him pause and really observe you. They were slightly glossy and if he paid close enough attention he saw that your hands were shaking slightly.

He knew better than to push you to talk, but looking back on it he realizes that he should have pushed.

So with a sigh he agreed and poured the shots.

Ten shots later you were singing your heart out to sad songs, screaming into the remote of his TV while he tried dozing off on the leather couch.

The sniffling caught his attention and he opened his tired eyes and turned his gaze to you and caught you sweeping your fingers under your eyes and continued on with the song as if nothing had happened.

He found himself caring after you until you passed out in his bed.

He remembers the first time you two kissed.

It was a normal Sunday night, you and him were nestled into his huge couch and was watching a comedy movie, probably too close to each other for being just friends.

For him, you two haven’t been just friends for some time now, whenever you were around he grew flustered by your beauty that you couldn’t seem to see, his feelings for you bubbling up to the surface but he was fearful it would ruin your friendship so he never said anything but at this moment, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around you and lay your head on his chest.

Feeling your eyes on him he turned his head from the TV and looked at you, your expression making his heart stop for a few moments before starting back up. A smile that finally met your eyes adorned your lips and your eyes looked his in the soul and all of a sudden you leaned forward and placed your lips on his.

They were as soft and as warm as he’d imagined. He moved his lips against yours immediately, the movie entirely forgotten. One hand found its way around your waist and your hands found themselves in his hair.

You pulled away before it could get too heated, both panting slightly and his heart felt like it was going to come right out of his chest.

“See you tomorrow,” you said with a cheeky grin and another peck on his cheek you grabbed your stuff and left his house in a rush, leaving him looking back at you like a little lovesick puppy.

He remembers the first time he saw you cry.

Loud hiccups escaped your parted lips as you tried to muffle the loud sobs that were threatening to come out without permission. Your eyes were squeezed shut as the tears streamed down your cheeks

His legs couldn’t take him to you fast enough and he pulled you to him, one hand encircling your shaking shoulders, the other gripping the back of your head and held it close to his chest.

Your loud sobs were muffled by his shirt, the tears that fell from your eyes felt like bullets on his skin, his heart hurting with the pain of not knowing how to help, the only thing he could do was to hold you.

Your arms gripped him so tight and he did the same in return, letting you feel that he was there with you, that he was there for you, he held you tighter as his own tears came out.

When your legs gave out he knelt on the floor with you, never letting you go for even one second.

He just wished that he was there every single time you cried.

He remembers when he first saw the bruises.

He thought that it was weird how you were wearing such a thick cardigan when the weather was beginning to warm up, but knew how cold you got so he shrugged it off.

Setting your textbook in front of you, you turned to the correct page and reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear back when your sleeve lifted and he saw it.

Bruises in the shape of fingers along your delicate wrist.

His hand acted on its own and grabbed your arm before you could put it back down. He made sure he was quiet enough to not be overheard by the other students in the classroom.

What is this?” He kept his eyes on the dark purple marks on the girl he loved in disgust, waiting for an explanation.

Your expression was new. Eyes wide, lips parted in surprise. You was scared. You pulled her arm out of his gentle grasp and placed it in your lap, away from his line of vision.

“It’s nothing,” you mumbled, turning your attention back to your schoolwork but he could still see how stiff you were.

“This is not nothing, Y/N, what happened?” He tried again in a gentler tone, not even trying to pretend like he was doing his work now, all of his attention was on you.

He froze when your tear filled eyes looked at him, face desperate. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.

It was then that he realized that all the other bruises weren’t just “accidents” as you had otherwise told him.

He remembers your confession.

“I’m depressed.” You said to him one night over a phone call. 

“What?” He laughed, thinking you were maybe overreacting to something like you usually did.

A sigh was his response. “I’m serious.” That was when he sobered up.

You proceeded to tell him your whole story, how your mother left you with your father for another man when you were eight.

How it felt like your father hated you for looking so much like her when she left him, how he abused her mentally and physically when she younger.

She could leave if she wanted, but you were all he had and even though your father had put you through so much, you still loved him as much as you hated him, same goes with your mother, who you haven’t seen since she left the house.

His comforts fell on deaf ears.

He remembers the first time you slept over.

You didn’t want to go home.

Who was he to refuse?

His parents were conveniently out again that night so he brought you to his room, with no bad intentions of course, but when you snuggled up to him and started to kiss his neck, running your hands over the skin of his stomach and played with his hair (you knew how much he loved when you did that) and begged him to make love to you, he was over the moon.

He took his time, committing every part of your bare body in his memory and made sure his lips ran over all the skin he could reach, the emotions in his heart making the experience so much more powerful to him than any other hookup he’d ever had.

After, he held you in his arms, running his fingers over your bare back and occasionally playing with the strands of your hair (he loved your hair so much for some reason) and planting kisses on your forehead he held you tighter to his body and wished that every night could be like this one.

He remembers the first and last time you said “I love you.”

Putting on the watch that you had surprised him with he looked at it with joy and leaned towards you and gave you a sweet kiss on the lips.

You had been down for quite some time and he was getting worried but here you were back to normal and he couldn’t be happier.

“What’s the occasion?” He asked, referring to the watch he mentioned he wanted.

You shrugged, your eyes never leaving his form for even a second, a small, even sad smile on your lips. “I just wanted to give the man I love what he wants.”

He froze. It was the first time you had said the word love to him and was actually talking about him.

“I love you, Chanyeol.” His eyes were on you, your eyes glossy with tears and a wide smile on your face.

It was a moment he’d remember until the day he died.

The day you died, he died on the inside.

At the funeral, they had her smiling face blown up on a big photo card for all to see. He didn’t think it was fair to have that picture up there. Not of her smiling. Like how she smiled at him the last night he saw her.

The speeches made were generic speeches.

“I will gravely miss Y/N, she was a great and loving student of mine…”

“Y/N was the greatest friend anyone could ask for…”

“The world has lost such a wonderful soul…”

He thought he could make it til the end of his speech to break down.

But the moment he opened his mouth, all that came out were sobs that he couldn’t control.

It didn’t help that right in front of him was your mother, who looked so much like you. He liked to think that you would’ve looked like that if you had given yourself the chance to grow old.

He told himself to stop imagining the future with you, you were already gone.

To just relive the memories he did have with you and

Remember you.

So this is probably trash idk

I’ve always wanted to try out angst and this was probably confusing as hell but I would love feedback~!!! Thank you!

To everyone who hasn’t met Taylor yet… I know you’re happy for them who did but you’re also sad that you didn’t! And that’s ok. Your time will come! I mean if Taylor weren’t Taylor, she would have you pay an insane amount of money to get a picture with a fake smile in a hurry.

Instead she welcomes you into her world as if you were a dear friend or family member. She hugs you tight, she is genuinely happy to meet you, she remembers your name, gives you words of support and has a chat with you! There is even the possibility that you get invited to her home or that you hear her new songs before anyone else, she wants the unfiltered connection to her fans and next time, you could be on the receiving end! Remember that. Taylor wants everyone of you as happy as you want her to be!! She loves You and wants to meet You!!


Heather knocked sometime after midnight.

I think she secretly hoped no one would answer. She’d give herself a pat on the back for trying and leave.

“HEATHER! Oh my gosh! It’s been so long. Sorry life’s been so crazy.”

She laughed, “I bet with 4-” Her smile fell a bit, “5, with 5 kids you probably don’t get a moment to yourself.

It was heartbreaking to see her in so much pain. She put on a brave face, but I could see right through it.

“Would you like to see her?”

A soft, cool breeze curled through the air like the gentle whisper of a friend’s breath on your ear, cutting deliciously through the rays of warmth cast down by the midmorning sun. 

Stood atop a steep slope of loamy soil and crisp autumn leaves, Morrigan tilted her masked face towards the sky, and breathed in the fresh, fragrant air deeply, feeling it tingle all the way down to the tips of her wings. Up here her mind felt clear, and not for the last time, she smiled a real smile; the kind borne of contentment and knowing.

Lazily the skydancer brushed her tail along the thick bark of the tree that was rooted behind her, and at its familiar sturdiness, a rush of relief swept through her tired bones.

Her part was over. Morrigan had done all that she could do, and that would have to be enough.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write fic where Noelle gets really stressed because of school and has a mental breakdown and Akarsha is there to help her calm down

Noelle swore under her breath as she realized her pen was out of ink. Briskly she turned to her bag to fish out another, but found to her surprise that none were there. 

She let out an exasperated sigh. Why now? Why in the middle of the biggest project of the year? Her mind was already racing in panic, the idea of failure looming directly in front of her. What could she do? There was nothing she could do. This was it, her parents would disown her. She wouldn’t get to go to college, she’d have to work at a fast food joint, her life was ruined. 

Akarsha heard Noelle and turned in her desk to see what was wrong. “Noelle, you okay?” She asked with a concerned smile.

“I’m out of pens…” Noelle admitted as she held up the dead pen. “Can I… borrow one from you?” The question left her tongue feeling sour. Her mother would surely kill her if she knew she had used one of Akarsha’s sparkly pens-or anything that wasn’t just a standard black fountain pen for that matter. Still, she didn’t have any other options.

Akarsha nodded and started rummaging through her bag. She was tempted at first to hand her the sparkled pen that said “PROUD SEME” in bright pink, but she knew just how stressed out Noelle was over the assignment. She handed Noelle a normal black fountain pen, albeit not one of the ones Noelle normally had. 

Noelle looked at the pen being held out to her with suspicion. Was this some kind of joke? Why would Akarsha have a normal pen? Akarsha noticed the suspicion and laughed a bit. 

“Noelle, please, just trust me. Just for today,” Akarsha pleaded, her eyes filled with sincere concern. “I’m here if you need help, okay?”

Noelle took a moment to process what Akarsha was saying before taking the pen from her hand with a calm smile. The sentiment put her more at peace, and now she at least knew she wouldn’t have to deal with Akarsha’s pranks, at least not for now.


“Yes, Noelle?”

“Thank you.”


Ever since she’d been a little girl, Agnes had dreamed of the moment she and her soulmate would meet. She’d hear bells. Feel a pull. And most importantly-

Her one true love would share her enthusiasm for music.

Cristian paused by the window to admire Agnes’s violin. “You know, I used to take lessons when I was younger.”

Agnes could hardly contain her excitement. “Really? I’m a music teacher myself. Do you still play?”

Cristian picked up the violin and smiled, more handsome than Agnes could have hoped for. Her heart fluttered.

“A little.”

And he began to play.

It wasn’t beautiful. Or angelic. Or eye opening. It was an assault on Agnes’s ears. Her hand flew to her heart in horror.

“Oh, Cristian. I don’t think this is going to work after all.”

“My mom doesn’t believe in love. I think she stopped after my dad painted her soft skin with the harsh colors of blue and purple one too many times. Or maybe it was after the nights he came home smelling of cheap perfume she’d never wear. Or no, I bet she stopped when he picked their son as the canvas for his unwarranted anger. Growing up, she’d tell me that she’d pray God would make her heart like stone, like the rocks that the sea beats against over and over; she craved their inability to feel. She claims her prayers were answered, but sometimes, when she sees old couples walking hand in hand still very much in love, she turns to me with a sad smile and reveals that she always thought that’d be her and him and I have to look away. That smile, it’s her achilles heel; it tells of her shattered dreams and whispers softly of her broken heart.

My mom doesn’t believe in love. As soon as I could understand the concept she drilled it into my head that there was no such thing. She thought it was a waste of time, sneered at those who tried to say it was one of the things worth living for. Unnecessary, dangerous was how she described it. She said she’d be damned if I fell into its trap and ruined my life for a boy that would leave me broken.

Now I don’t know how to tell her that I feel the things she warned against. I dont know how to tell her that my heart jumps when I look into his eyes or press my lips to his. I don’t know how to tell her that I fell for a boy with plain brown eyes and a smile that reminds me of the sun. I don’t know how to tell her that I gave him my heart and now he has the power to ruin me.

She’s going to be so disappointed.”

- n.g //

Bruise [ IX ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 6k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: He wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, but that couldn’t stop your heart from believing otherwise.

Bruise Masterlist

Originally posted by loverkoreanasian

Red was the color that painted your skin through the sleepless night alone. Your eyes grew red from the endless stream of frustrated tears that dripped down your temples. Your cheeks changed hue from rawness, the sleeves of your sweater scratching away at them until they near bled. Your phone battery drained to zero, red painting the icon when you stared at it, debating calling him so his voice could fade your consciousness. Your lips drew too much blood to the surface when you bit down on them to stop another sigh from slipping out, desperate for it to all stop. Desperate for everything to be a dream you could wake up from rather than something you had to deal with when the sun rose back up into the sky.

Keep reading

the end. [ damien x reader ]

summary: the reader and damien were lovers before WKM. they still care about eachother even after the events of WKM

warnings: angst and spoilersTM

a/n: needed to get this out my system bc i’m still crying

if you like my stuff and want to support me, don’t forget to treat me to a KO-FI! take part in the 7K followers gift HERE!


Gray. A whole world of nothing but gray tones and colors, a vast emptiness that has no start or finish…That is what you see, or at least what you think you see. The first time you had been here was right after being shot, faced with a dilemma whether to live on as a…being or die as yourself. Putting your trust into the wrong people had driven you to the first option. That day there was darkness all around you. Now it’s all simply gray. The surface of this place is wet, calm streams of water rush by your feet, but why or to where you have no clue. Gray. Time passes neither fast nor slow, you cannot dream or eat or do anything but exist and feel certain things. Only strong emotions though, the ones that are powerful enough to break the shell of indifference that constantly surrounds you. Those emotions flash in bright violent colors, namely blue and red, representing of the two other people stuck here with you. Celine and…Damien.

Keep reading

pitviperofdoom  asked:

Hey so I've loved your Retold Fairytales for some time but I just binged your entire Gods and Monsters and I??? love Styx. A lot. And I'm curious about Hephaestus and Styx growing up as best friends in the Underworld. If you could work your magic when you have the time, I'd love to see a story about them!

Styx does not have a home in the underworld, not really. She has a room in Hades’s palace, of course, and a nook in Hecate’s house.  Charon has a cottage by her river, a humble thing for a being of such great power, and she’s shoved her way onto his narrow bed and curled into the warmth of his chest more than once. She darts through the horrors of Tartarus, and plays in the Elysium Fields.

All of the underworld is open to her, and she’s lived here the entirety of her existence. But she’s yet to find a piece of it that feels as if it belongs to her, that doesn’t feel borrowed.


Hecate brings home a baby with no legs beneath the knee and wide, curious eyes.

Styx adores him instantly.

Hecate is a busy woman – her duties in the underworld keep her constantly moving, and she spends much of her time shrouded in her secrets. She is the goddess of magic, and there are things that only she can do, things that other people can’t even know about. She is not a person with much time to spare, and babies take a lot of time.

Hades watches him often, directing the traffic of souls and overseeing construction with the child held to his chest. Charon fashions a sling, and the baby sleeps against his back while Charon ferries souls across her river.

Time passes. The baby is not like her.

The baby grows.


Hephaestus is a child, and he lives in a dangerous place. His aunt raises him, and she is a busy woman who does important things, and it seems to him like nothing in their home is safe to touch, that it is all cursed or corrosive or even, at time, sentient.

The palace is not much better. Hades always welcomes him, has a warm smile for him, but is too busy to linger. He walks on wobbly legs of glass that Aunt Hecate fashioned for him, and they allow him to walk, but they pain him too. He cannot run or jump, he cannot explore the edges of the underworld like he so desperately wants to because his legs are delicate, clumsy things. They are glass, and they shatter too easily.

“Don’t be sad,” a voice says in his ear, and he’s grinning before he even turns around. Lady Styx is there, smiling at him. She looks to be his age, although she is much older, and she has black skin and grey hair and eyes. Her skin is the color of her river’s water, and her hair and eyes the color of the foam when it rushes too fast. For as long as he can remember, she has always had kindness to spare.

“I’m not sad,” he says stubbornly. “Aren’t you busy?” She is a goddess, one as powerful and important as his aunt or Hades. He wants to grow up to be just like her.

She shrugs, “My river knows what to do. Do you want to go on an adventure?”

“Yes,” he says instantly. The only time he’s allowed to explore is when Styx is with him. If his glass legs break, she can carry him, and if anything tries to attack or hurt them, she can stop it.

She grabs his hand, smiling. It’s cold. She’s always cold, the same icy temperature as her river. “There are volcanos in Tartarus. Have I taken you there before?”

He shakes his head, and in the next instant they’re gone.


Styx and Hephaestus manage to get in all manner of trouble, including, but not limited to: accidentally giving Cerberus two extra heads, devising and implementing a manner of torture for Tantalus that is so brilliant Hades can’t even get mad at them for it, and figuring out it is possible to surf of Styx’s rough waters with glass legs, but only if you’re very, very stupid and have the goddess in question by your side and laughing so hard she forgets that her primary job here is to prevent you from dying.

When he’d found them, Hades had given them the worst admonishment he knew how to give: a disappointed frown. Hecate had laughed and told them to be careful of his legs.

Hephaestus’s childhood had its bright spots. Almost all of those bright spots included Styx.


Hephaestus looks older than her now, a young man when she is, as always, a child. He’s gotten quieter as he ages, his dark eyes permanently thoughtful.

“You shouldn’t come here without me,” she scolds, sitting down beside him. He doesn’t respond, swinging his hammer down on glowing metal with a boom loud enough that the volcano shakes with it. “You know Hecate doesn’t like you going into Tartarus alone.”

“You were busy,” he says, not accusatory, just a statement of fact. “Here, cool this for me.”

She sighs, but cool water rushes from her hands and onto the superheated metal. It hisses and steams, but when the air clears Hephaestus holds it up and appears to be satisfied. “Must it be in a volcano? We can make you a forge in safer part of the underworld.”

“Volcanos are useful,” he says, the same answer he always gives her. “I have more of these to do if you want to stick around.”

Helping him build whatever he’s currently working on is pretty boring. But he’s her friend, and it must be important if he’s risking his life by going into Tartarus on his glass legs to do it. “Sure,” she sighs slumping down to sit crosslegged next to him. He pats her on the head, which she’s all prepared to be insulted by - she’s a kid, but she’s not a kid – when she sees his lips curled up around the corners of his mouth. He’s making fun of her on purpose, which is still annoying, but is less hurtful than him treating her like a kid just because he looks older.


The first set of legs that Hephaestus makes for himself are made of iron. They’re not as pretty as he’d like them to be, but that’s all right. He can run in these legs, jump in them, fight in them. He is no longer a being made of glass, no longer someone who can be easily broken.

Styx is the first person he shows them to. He leaps and somersaults in them, something he could never do before. She’s delighted at first, smiling and clapping, but by the time he finishes, arms out-thrown and beaming, she’s wilted. She sits hunched and tries to keep her smile in place, but it’s trembling.  

“What’s wrong?” he asks, kneeling in front of her. “I thought you would be happy for me.”

“I am!” she hiccups, and now she’s crying, big fat tears that he wants to wipe away but can’t. She cries the water of her river. If he touches them, he’ll burn. “I am happy!’

He risks it, tugging the end of his sleeve down to quickly wipe her left cheek, then ripping it and throwing the cloth away as it burns. “You don’t look happy.”

“You’re going to leave,” she says, and he goes cold. “You have legs, and now you’re going to leave, and I’m not. I am the Goddess of the River Styx, I must stay with my river. But you’re going to leave.”

His heart breaks seeing Styx cry. He loves Hecate, loves Charon, loves Hades. But if there is one person in this realm he can truly call family, it is her. They share no blood, but she’s the only sister he’s ever known. “I’ll visit! You can visit me too. I wasn’t born here, Styx. Hecate isn’t my mom. I was born on Olympus, and I can’t hide in the underworld from Hera forever. I don’t want to either.”

“I know!” she says, her breath coming in stuttering gasps as she tries and fails to stop crying. “You’re so smart, and all the things you make are amazing. You need to go out there, so other gods can see you, so that people can see you. I just – I’m going to miss you.”

He’s a god – a little river water won’t kill him. He pulls Styx into his arms, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as her tears burn through his skin. She resists for a moment, then goes slack, throwing her arms around his neck. He says, “I’m going to miss you too.”


Hephaestus does not want to cause an uproar. He’s had fantasies of storming Mount Olympus, of confronting Hera, of doing any number of foolish, stupid things. But he is not a foolish, stupid man.

Hecate has picked out a volcano for him already, one she tells fits all his requirements and is not in the domain of any other god, even the lesser ones. He will go slow. He will build, and improve the lives of the mortals. Temples will be erected in his honor, tributes placed at his feet, his name on all their lips. He’ll build his power the hard way, until they can ignore him no longer, until Hera and Zeus have no choice but to offer him a place at their table on Olympus.

But not yet.

For now, he builds something else, something even more important.


“Can I open my eyes yet?” Styx asks, pouting.

Hephaestus’s hands are on her shoulders, pushing her forward. “No.”

She scowls. She can tell they’re by her river, in a bend where no one travels through, but that’s it. Her knowledge of the geography of the underworld is always in relation to her river. “What about now?”

“Yes,” he says.

She wasn’t expecting it, so it takes her a moment to blink her eyes open. “Did you make this?”

“Hecate helped,” he admits, “I wasn’t sure what to do for things like curtains and windchimes. Do you like it?”

It’s a house. A small one, not much bigger than Charon’s. It’s made of obsidian, but not several pieces put together. It looks like the whole things was carved out of one massive piece of obsidian. The walls are black and smooth and shining. There’s a large, round bed in the center that’s a pale blue, the chairs in a deep purple, and her curtains are a soft yellow. The house is black, but Hephaestus has filled it with color, given her a rainbow tucked in every space. Copper pots hang in the kitchen, and there are signs of his forging everywhere – in the cabinets, the door knobs in the shape of flowers, the singular windchime hanging in her open window, even though there is no wind here.

“Do you like it?” he repeats. “I know you tend to just – end up wherever, but I thought you should have a place that was just yours. If you want something different I can change it–”

“No.” She swallows and touches her wall, the silver design in her walls that he must have inlaid himself. “It – it’s perfect.” Quieter then, “You gave me a home.”

No place in the whole of the underworld has ever felt like it belonged to her. This one does. It doesn’t feel borrowed.

Hephaestus ruffles her hair, “It seems only fair, since you did the same for me. This realm wouldn’t have been my home without you.”

They’re smiling at each other, and the tension she’d been carrying ever since she realized Hephaestus would be leaving drains out of her.

He’s older now, almost an adult, and he’s leaving the underworld. But he’s not leaving her.

“You’re my best friend,” she tells him, in case he’s forgotten.

“Good,” he tells her, “because you’re my best friend too.”

gods and monsters series, part xxiii

read more of the gods and monsters series here

Damn you’ve got it bad

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: What would have happened if Peter had gone to the pool in D.C.?

Warnings: peter being ripped, a few mentions of this because why not

A/N: I know I haven’t been very active lately, so I hope this makes up for it. I am currently working on something though :)

Keep reading

Dear Friend,

Hi. How are you? Hope you’re well. Hope everything’s well.

It seems that I’ve only caused more problems for myself. “How?” Is probably what you could be asking yourself.

How…I don’t know how exactly it happened.

I’ve known about The Moon for almost four years now. I’ll admit, the first time I saw her was when she was singing for everyone looking deep into the sky. I shouldn’t have felt any special as I heard her mesmerizing voice echo out through the night. It was her way of showing everyone of her love for music. To prove that she was worth of her shine. That besides the beautiful glow, there was more to her that any of us could ever see from earth.

It wasn’t long ago that I heard her voice again, except this time there was something different about it. The song was slow and tender. I could hear her voice whither from the sobs she tried to hold back. Looking up into the sky I saw The Moon. She was crying. Tears streaming down snow white cheeks, even through closed eyes they escaped. I could hear the pain her heart suffered through the words she managed to keep in perfect harmony. I could even see the stars trying to comfort her with soothing words, charming compliments, and incredibly horrible jokes you’d most likely hear from a stereotypical father figure.

Maybe it was low of me, but I was jealous of them. Jealous of the stars for they got to be near The Moon while I helplessly watched from the ground. There was never a time more than that moment that I wanted to be off this earth.

I thought of everything I could do.

How could I get The Moon to notice me?

Before I knew it, I’d begun to sing the song I’d always heard her sing. It having been engraved in my memory from the first moment only to surface when I needed it most, along with all the thoughts I had of that night when I laid my eyes on her.

The way her voice sent a wave of chills to crash through every inch of my skin.

The way her eyes showed how much love and wonder she had for everything.

The way I felt at peace when I was under the light of her beautiful glow.

The best of it all though…the way her smile sent my heart into a wildfire that spread rapidly throughout me.

Singing her song that night, I realized what it was that I felt. I questioned and scolded myself for barely seeing this now.

For now, I’d set myself up for a long and painful fight.
The crying ceased and I opened my eyes while continuing to sing only to see her now noticing how the stars had come to her side. She thanked them for their effort and told them how much she loved them, but I knew she was simply withdrawing her pain for them, not wanting them to worry. The Moon was willing to put on a façade for those she loved because if she were to fall then others would follow. She hid that part of herself.

The darkest side of The Moon.

I’d not stopped singing. I wasn’t going to. I was going to keep singing until the day The Moon would notice me. See how there was someone willing to understand and listen for she too should be allowed to be sad.
I look forward to that every night. Going out and looking above to find her. Bringing myself to sing, no matter what condition I was in.

Even if she didn’t notice me, I never stopped hoping for her happiness. To never see her smile fade away. That maybe one day I could become a star, so then I could possibly have a chance of speaking with her. Telling her my worries and how I’d be more than willing to help her get back the side she suppressed in the dark.

She had not noticed me, but I never stopped hoping. If were never meet, then the only thing I want for her is to be happy.

The Moon is nothing without her luminescent smile.

A Grounded and Stranded Admirer.

—  foreverdreaming252  // the letters that never reached you #1

anonymous asked:

Could you do either jealous!draco or jealous!harry? You're writing is amazing btw!!!💚

thanks for 5k followers!

“I can’t believe Potter is dating that she-weasel!” Draco groaned and threw himself on an armchair dramatically. “I mean, what does she even see in her!”

“Potter’s dating Ginny? I thought they broke up end of sixth year?” Pansy inquired.

Draco sneered. “They got back together. I hate it. They way they’re always snogging in public where everyone can see. It’s disgusting.” He crossed his arms and pouted. “Stupid Potter.” Pansy closed her book and smirked at him. “What?” He snapped.

“You’re jealous!”

Draco scoffed. “Oh please. I am not jealous.”

“Could you want him more?”

“I’m am not jealous, Pansy. I am envious. Jealousy is being protective of what you already have and since I do not have a Potter I cannot be jealous of the Weaslette.” He explained irritable. Just then Harry Potter walked in with Ginny Weasley. Draco glared at them while Pansy looked at her best friend sadly.

“Okay. I’m going to go to the library to study with Luna.” She told her boyfriend.

Harry smiled brightly at her, a smile that Draco always wished would be directed at him. Harry kissed her and she left. He sat down on the couch that Pansy was on, smiling softly to himself. The three of them had gotten close ever since Pansy and Hermione started going out. Draco flipped a page in his book forcefully.

“Isn’t she just great?” Harry sighed dreamily.

“Yeah she’s a real doll.” Draco said, trying to sound bored. Harry laughed. “What?”

“Nothing. That just reminded me of a joke Ginny told me. When is a doll not a doll?”

Draco didn’t answer, but flipped another page in his book violently, almost ripping it. Pansy turned around to face Harry and put on a smile. “When?”

“When it’s a dollar.” Harry started giggling and so did Pansy. Draco gave a fake, meek laugh, without taking his eyes off of his book. “You okay, Malfoy?”

Draco looked up. “Yeah I’m fine. Just tired.” He faked a yawn and shut his book. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed. Good night.” He left the room just as Hermione walked in. She sat next to Pansy who put her arms around her girlfriend.

“Hey.” She greeted them, kissing her girlfriend. “What’s up?” Pansy kissed her back, lingering a bit longer, hoping Harry would leave. Eventually he did so they pulled apart. Hermione smiled softly. “What was that for?”

“I wanted to get Potter to leave… also because I wanted to.”

Hermione giggled and kissed her nose. “Why did you want Harry to leave?”

Pansy smiled. “Draco likes Harry.” She sang.

Keep reading

Hello and welcome to hell—I mean the Halloween AU because I mentioned vampires for Halloween and there are entirely not enough vampires in my fic.

Tiny!Steve runs a supernatural diner. He’s not a supernatural creature himself, but he finds that his asthma and other ailments are… eased when he’s around the supernatural. And he’s always loved a good, greasy burger, so why wouldn’t a ghoul or a goblin? Not to mention that he’s tired of every diner he and Bucky go to throwing them out after pointing to a ‘no supers allowed’ sign. And it works out for him in a big way; the supernatural creatures of Brooklyn love diner food. He has enough profit to start hiring people to help him work the grill and Bucky serve the customers within the first two weeks, and he definitely needs the help with all these hungry supernatural creatures ordering his lamb burgers and onion rings.

Of course, out of all the supernatural creatures that show up, they never really expect a vampire. Steve only realizes that something is amiss when the diner slowly falls silent. He peeks out into the dining room to see that everyone is staring out the window, hushed, and even Bucky looks spooked. Then apparently the vampire leaves because everyone slowly relaxes and conversation starts buzzing again. He asks Bucky about it later, and the werewolf looks kind of confused, as if he doesn’t quite know how to explain. “Vampires are solitary,” he finally explains. “Most of ‘em, anyway. Some have nests, but the older ones… don’t like each other.” “So the vampire was old?” Steve asks curiously. Bucky stares at the wall pensively. “Felt like it,” he finally answers after some thought.

The vampire comes by several times and makes the diner hush, but they never actually come inside. Steve can only take so much. He doesn’t like his loyal customers being terrified every night. It’s bad for digestion. Also Steve has never backed down from a fight in his life and he’s not going to start now especially if Bucky’s gonna be a BIG FUCKIN’ PANSY and hide inside with everyone else. (“Legit how has nothing eaten this kid yet,” a specter asks Bucky, and Bucky shrugs because honestly it beats him how Steve is still in one piece in general when he wants to fight everything and their mother.)

Steve zeros in on the vampire because there’s literally no one else outside. “What do you want?!” he snaps, and the vampire stops talking to itself, flinching, before turning toward him. “What do you mean?” “I mean you keep showing up, scaring my customers, and leaving,” Steve explains angrily, because how doesn’t this vampire know? “Do you do it for kicks? I just want you to know that if you say yes I’m morally obligated to kick your fucking ass.” The vampire squirms uncomfortably before stepping into the light from the diner. He’s very handsome but that’s not going to stop Steve from punching him in his stupid face. “I was just checking if you’d changed the sign,” he explains miserably.

Steve actually pauses. What. What does that even mean. “If I changed the sign,” he repeats slowly. The vampire motions at the blinking neon OPEN sign, looking defeated. “I just—everyone says you’ve got the best food and you’re supernatural-friendly, so I thought—but I guess you don’t allow vampires. But that’s okay,” he adds hurriedly when Steve’s mouth drops open. “I wouldn’t want to—ruin the atmosphere of your diner. I’ll just go.” “But I’m not,” Steve begins, but finds he’s talking to thin air. “…That would be discrimination,” Steve finishes quietly, shoulders hunching a little.

“Oh,” Bucky says when Steve tells him what happened. “Shit.” “Oh shit what?” Steve asks sharply, because he doesn’t want to ever be accused of discriminating against any creature that just wants a goddamn burger again. “You have to—they need to be welcomed,” Bucky explains. “They can’t enter a place unless they’re invited inside.” “THAT’S IT,” Steve exclaims angrily. “He’s been creeping because I don’t have a fucking welcome mat?!” “Hey,” Bucky snaps in response. “He didn’t ask to be like that, Steve.” Steve wilts. That’s right. No supernatural creature asked to have quirks that made their lives harder.

Steve purchases a little cardboard sign that says ‘Welcome! We’re open!’ with a little smiley face on it to put in the door even though it’s probably too late. He honestly feels a little terrible. The poor guy just wanted a burger and he couldn’t even come inside to get one. No matter how old and dangerous he was, he should have been welcomed inside. No one ever said anything about Bucky, or Natasha, or Bruce, and they were all plenty dangerous. It’s not like the vampire could bejewel everyone in the diner. No vampire was that powerful. “It’s called beguiling or compulsion, Steve,” Bucky deadpans. “Don’t call it bejeweling in front of a vampire. I won’t save you when they rip your head off.” Steve knows Bucky would step in and he seriously considers calling it bejeweling to the next vampire he meets.

A terrified hush falls over the dining room a few weeks later and Steve peeks out of the kitchen. The vampire has come into the diner. Everyone looks terrified, even Bucky. But the vampire pays them no mind, peering around the diner for an empty booth and, not finding one, instead moving to sit at the bar. The harpies on a date skitter to the opposite side of the bar from him in terror, but the vampire doesn’t look at them, instead perusing the little menu card Steve keeps at each bar stool. No one is moving to serve him. Steve pauses a moment to think about how useless supernatural creatures are before he comes out of the kitchen and grabs the pad from his apron. “Hi! What can I getcha?”

The vampire doesn’t speak for a long time, and Steve considers repeating himself, but it doesn’t seem like he’s being willfully ignored. Still, it’s annoying to wait. “…A cheeseburger,” the vampire says slowly. “Beef, turkey, lamb, or veggie?” Steve answers immediately. The vampire drags his eyes up from the menu, frowning, and the hair on the back of Steve’s neck stands on end, having to meet eyes older than him—perhaps older than his parents and grandparents. “…Beef,” the vampire answers. “As pink as you can make it.” “Alright,” Steve replies. “Swiss, cheddar, pepper jack, American, or provolone?” The vampire says nothing, thinking. Steve fears that he’ll be there until they open the next day. He hasn’t even asked the vampire about sides or a drink yet.

The vampire eats as slowly as he orders. The late night crowd has thinned out and Steve’s pretty sure it’s not just because of the vampire sitting at the counter making things tense—it’s getting very near closing time. “Is it rude to tell him he needs to leave when we close?” Steve whispers to Bucky. Bucky opens his mouth, but it’s the vampire who answers, “I’ll be finished by then,” making them both jump and yelp. Still, he doesn’t hurry, and Steve is sincerely beginning to doubt the vampire’s word as they clean up around him. However, as they finish mopping up, the vampire hands over his empty plate. There isn’t even any ketchup on it. “What,” Steve says, but when he looks up the vampire is already halfway out the door, and he’s left a crisp hundred dollar bill on the counter.

They don’t see the vampire again for a month. Steve remembers his order because it had taken so fucking long to decide on it, so he hopefully says, “A beef patty with cheddar, waffle fries, and a strawberry milkshake?” The vampire looks down at the menu, lips pursed. “…Not tonight.” Steve nearly weeps and hopes that Clint will pull the fucking fries so they don’t burn this time. Again, Tony eats like a fucking tortoise, hands over a gleaming-clean plate just before closing, and leaves a crisp hundred dollar bill on the counter while Steve and Bucky stare at this fucking plate they watched him pour ketchup onto the plate for his home-cut fries.

Eventually, the vampire comes enough that the diner stops going silent when he arrives. Still, everyone nearly faints when a young swamp monster running up and down the length of the diner bashes into the vampire’s leg and flops backward onto their diapered-butt. The mother swamp monster actually prepares herself to die protecting her child. But the vampire just squats in front of the sniffling tot, pats them on the head. “There, there. You’re alright. Sorry my stupid leg got in your way.” The swamp monster giggles reluctantly and wipes their eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t run without looking where you’re going though. You might hurt someone. I can tell you’re going to be big and strong, so you’ll have to be more careful.” The swamp monster nods, grinning a gummy smile. “If your mother’s alright with it, would you like to join me for a scoop of ice-cream?” The tot’s head whips around, and their mother looks mightily concerned, but she also doesn’t want to insult a vampire, so she nods.

The young swamp monster finishes their scoop of chocolate and helps the vampire finish his scoop of vanilla, babbling all the while in swamp monster speak. Typically only other swamp monsters understood, but the vampire nodded along seriously and asked questions that the tot continued to answer. The vampire was probably much older than anyone had previously thought if he could understand the nuances of swamp monster speech. “Creepy,” Bucky mutters after they’ve gone to bed. “It’s creepy. Something so old shouldn’t exist.” “Don’t be rude,” Steve slurs into his chest. “He could have killed that kid and he didn’t.” “Oh boy, the bare minimum of decency.” “You thought he was going to kill you because you turn into a giant wolf on the full moon.” Bucky sighs.

Everything’s fine until one night the vampire arrives, eyes red, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, staining his mussed-up shirt. The diner goes silent and cold as he walks toward the bar, and he lifts his hand to wipe his mouth idly as he looks at the menu. “…Can I just have a glass of milk?” The fuck you can, Steve wants to say, but wordlessly gets him his drink. Tony drinks it in three long gulps, sets the glass down, and leaves as quickly as he’d come.

There’s a crisp one hundred dollar bill next to the glass.

jane sloan is the ultimate bff cause you can tell her you like girls and she’ll still get undressed/change in front of you without a second thought and won’t make any off hand comments that make you feel weird about your sexuality or like you’re being predatory and making her uncomfortable anyway guys watch the bold type

Purr Purr Purr

Blame that trailer.

“Did you hear that?” Sabine glanced at her husband with a frown.

They were just about to head off to bed, when they heard the odd noises from Marinette’s room.

“Maybe she is working on a sewing project again?” Tom suggested while glancing at the roof of the kitchen. She didn’t have school tomorrow, so it wasn’t really a problem if she wanted to stay late.

“No, listen carefully.” Sabine motioned for him to be silent.

The noises from the streets weren’t that audible, but the odd sounds coming from Marinette’s room were. It sounded familiar but still weird.

“Maybe we should check on her.” he suggested and Sabine nodded.

They went up the stairs, trying to not to make too much noise. Once they reached the trap door, the sounds were very clear. Purring. Tom and Sabine exchanged a glance. Marinette wasn’t allowed with pets in the bakery. Did she just find an injured stray and took it in? Knowing Marinette, it was possible. But she should have told them about it. They exchanged a look and Sabine gestured for Tom to open the trapdoor.

They certainly didn’t expect to find their daughter cuddling with Chat Noir.


Marinette giggled against Chat’s lips as she stroked one of his ears. “I still can’t believe you purr.”

Chat, seemed pretty much gone, his face was red and he had an open-mouthed smile. If she had to take a wild guess, she would say he was close to drooling.

“Oh, minou, minou.” she cooed while petting him. “Who is the most adorable kitty ever?”

Chat’s purrs got even louder as he answered. “Meeeee.”

She stopped abruptly, making Chat whine. Then, she laid back on the chaise, opening her arms wide. “Here, Chaton.”

He lunged into her arms and rested his head against her chest purring loudly while Marinette cuddled him. She really loved his cat tendencies. It was way too adorable. Maybe they could even go to sleep now. Hm…


She almost jumped out of her skin and screamed when she noticed her parents looking at her. Even Chat stopped purring and looked up in alarm.

“Maman, papa, I can explain.”

Well, no, she couldn’t really. How do you explain to your parents that you are cuddling with a superhero because his cat tendencies made him adorable beyond possibility and you couldn’t resist?

“Don’t worry honey.” her father said, taking his phone out and snapping a picture. “Chat Noir, you should come to dinner sometimes.”

Sabine nodded along. “Yes, yes. We will leave you two now.” she took Tom’s arm and guided him back down the stairs and followed. Before she closed the trapdoor she smiled at Marinette.

“Don’t forget you have condoms in your nightstand, dear.”


Onsra | Part VIII

(v.) – to love for the last time; a bittersweet feeling of knowing a love won’t last

Words: 14.9K

Genre: Demon au, angst, smut

Read: Part 1 | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

A/N: Warning: Suggestive content. Smut. Swearing.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You hold out your hand to him and you notice the slight hesitation in his eyes. Just as you were about to pull your hand away, he reaches out and takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.


“It’s nice to meet you,” You smile up at him.

“Likewise… Thank you, Y/N,“ The brown haired boy chuckles and you can’t help but laugh light heartedly with him. "I would’ve seriously been lost without your help. Forget about making it on time to any of my classes on the first day.”

"I’m sure you’d be alright. It’s just right down this hall,” You smile, picking up the pace a little. Your mind was on anything but school at the moment and the last thing you wanted to do was sit through that boring class. “Taehyung, right? What year are you?” You ask him in an attempt to think about anything else and anyone else besides Jeon Jungkook.

"Third year technically,” He grins and you nod before looking his way again. What did he mean by technically? He looked young and honestly not any older than you were, yet he had two years on you. Taehyung was also… good looking, very good looking.

It must have been his signature boxy smile that made him stand out or maybe it was his height. Not to mention he had relatively softer features, and if you were to compare him to Jungkook’s almond shaped eyes and— wait. You were just subconsciously comparing him to Jungkook; what was wrong with you?

“Are you ok?” Taehyung leans down to ask you, pulling you out of your thoughts quickly. Your face reddens with embarrassment and you nod fast, more surprised at how close he had brought his face to yours; you hadn’t meant to zone out. He shoots you another bright smile before moving away.

“H-Here it is,” You point towards the open classroom and motion for him to enter first. He nods gratefully and you chew your lower lip, unsure if there was even a point in going to class if the only thing on your mind was going to be Jungkook. It really would be a waste of time to be sitting there absentmindedly thinking of Jungkook and not finance. Maybe you’d use this time to go find him; he couldn’t have gone far. You’d go to his room…

“Are you coming, Y/N? You’re in this class, aren’t you?” Taehyung calls your name softly and asks. He once again breaks your train of thought as you look up at him.

“What? Yeah, but—”

"You space out quite a bit.” He says observantly before reaching for your hand. “Let’s sit in the back.” Taehyung gives you a tug and you find yourself entering the classroom with him. The professor had already begun to teach as the both of you slowly made your way to the seats in the far back left corner of the room to ensure no disruption.

Why did he reach for your hand? You had just met him and needless to say you were surprised at how forward he was. In this case, you didn’t even need to think twice when it came to removing your hand from Taehyung’s grasp. His eyes suddenly meet yours and you give him a small courteous smile as you sat down in your seat, hoping it wouldn’t offend him. Taehyung simply looks down at his own hand before turning his attention fully to the professor.

How strange.

Keep reading

Unfaithful (Bill Skarsgård)

Based upon: Waiting up for Bill but ending up passing out on the couch. He comes home early the next morning, only to find you asleep on the couch. He slept with another woman that night, and plans on breaking the news to you in the morning.

It had been a pleasant day; work went well, plans were made for Saturday night and she had arrived home an hour earlier than usual. She would have the house to herself for the night, due to Bill’s plans with Alexander, so she decided to order in some takeout and watch a film or two. She had made him promise to be home around midnight because they had to get up early the next morning to drive to his father’s place for the day.

It was two in the morning and he was not answering his cellphone. The sky was pitch black, lit only by the street lamps and passing cars of the people still awake, and it was pouring rain.

She leant against the wooden frame of the window at the back of their apartment which looked over the water, wearing only her white slip. Her eyes watched the rain pound against the window glass before her, the droplets hitting in rough, arrhythmic beats. The weather could not have represented the difference in how she felt between twelve and two o'clock better. She fell into the foreboding, depressing haze; waiting for the impending disaster to unravel.

She took a drag of her cigarette, then blew the wisps of smoke from her lips slowly. She had finally quit smoking just over a year ago, but the feeling of the roll-up between her lips and the smoke leisurely filling up the space around her was comforting. More than anything, it gave her something to do to keep her mind off of him.

For another half hour she leaned against the window and stared at the water below while mindlessly going through cigarettes. Once she finished one she would stub it out in Bill’s dark blue ashtray and fish another out from his stash, pick up his silver lighter, light another and return her position against the window frame. This kept her busy.

The rainfall never let up once, never slowed or never quickened it seemed, it only kept the same harsh pace. She watched as the raindrops hit the glass, stuck, then began to slip down the window slowly, only to be replaced again and again. She ran a finger down the glass, which was cool under her touch, and followed the rolling drops.

Again, her gaze fixated on the powerfully lapping waves in the water below. “Bill…” She whispered absent-mindedly, not aware she had even muttered a word.

She stubbed her last cigarette and sat down on their black leather sofa. It was clear that he was not coming home, but why, she did not know. It was too much for her to process anyways; she was tired, beginning to feel disoriented and utterly exhausted after a day in the office, so she let herself collapse against the plush, supple fabric. The second her eyes closed she fell into a deep slumber.

It was five in the morning.

Bill fit his key into the lock, turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly, as to not wake his girlfriend. The fact he could even consider her in his intoxicated state was a miracle to say the least.

He shut the door and tossed his silver keys onto the kitchen counter. He rubbed his fingers against his tried eyes and pushed his hair back; he was hammered. However, the sight of his girlfriend passed out on the living room couch sobered him up immediately.

She was sleeping on her side, head laying on the arm of the sofa and body curled into a fetal position. He knew then that she had tried to stay up for him, angry of course, but still waiting to see him. It felt like he had been stabbed in the heart; she had been waiting up for him while he was fucking some other woman.

As he stepped closer to her, footsteps light as not to wake her, he noticed the pile of smoked cigarettes in his ashtray. His thoughts drifted to how happy she was when she finally stopped, how she felt free to do whatever she pleased and gloated about how she was going to live a longer life than him. He looked at the cigarettes and felt riddled with guilt; it was all his fault.

Carefully, he pulled her unconscious body into his arms and lifted her up against his chest. He began to make his way to their bedroom.

“Baby?” She asked incoherently, barely awake.

“Sh, sleep.” He told her, entering their bedroom.

She sluggishly squirmed in his arms. “I tried waiting for you.” She said drowsily.

He gave her a sad smile. “I know, Baby.” He echoed, softly setting her down on top of their light grey sheets.

She fell back asleep as he pulled the sheets over her cold body, making her subconsciously snuggle into the newly provided warmth.

He stood and discarded his clothing onto the floor then slipped into bed beside her, turning his body to face her. His eyes went glassy and he knew he would not be able to sleep; this could be the last night he spent with her.

The faint rays of the morning sun woke her at nine o'clock.

Her eyes instantly snapped open and she turned to look at the other side of the bed; no Bill. Where had he gone? Was he not coming back?

“Shit!” He said angrily from the kitchen, having had spilled freshly brewed coffee on his hand.

She sat up and hurriedly pulled on some clothes for the day, knowing that they were going to be late to Stellan’s. After dressing in black slacks and a white button up blouse, she rushed into the kitchen, pulling on her high heels as she did so.

“We’re already late. Are you ready to leave soon?” She asked, more worried about making a bad impression on his father than what happened the previous night.

When he didn’t respond she looked up and saw his uncomfortable posture.

“Bill?” She pressed.

He ran his fingers through his light brown locks and bit his lip; this was the end.

“I fucked up.”

She shook her head. “Bill, it’s fine. Look, I would have preferred you coming home when you said you would or at least giving me a call, but it’s alright.” She explained.

Nothing she said improved his expression, he still looked downtrodden.

“Bill, don’t worry. Let’s just go to your dad’s place, okay?” She pleaded lightly.

He set down his coffee mug, gripped the counter with both hands and took a deep breath. “I slept with someone.” He revealed.

She was not ready for that.

“You what?” She asked, voice venomous.

His green eyes went glassy, knowing that she would never forgive him. It was the biggest mistake of his life, he regretted it more than anything.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could muster.

Instantly, tears slipped from her eyes, running down her cheeks.

He expected her to yell at him, tell him how horrible he was and how she could never do what he did. He was most afraid to hear her say that she hated him.

Her reply was anything but expected.

“Why?” Her face relaxed and the word came out simply.

He held the counter tighter, “I… I don’t know.”

“You’re telling me you slept with another woman… just because?” She wondered sarcastically.


“Then we return to my original question. Why?” She repeated, eyes growing darker with hatred.

His body, always held high, looked stiff and awkward as he stood before her. She had never seen him look less pulled together.

“I…” He went silent. “I-” He stuttered.

She strode past him, grabbing her keys from the counter and headed to the front door.

“Babe!” He called, following her down the hallway.

She did not turn to face him, she simply unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“We’re done. You better be out of here before I come back.” She spat, looking over her shoulder.

The look she gave him was unlike anything he had seen before, she had loved him and he had loved her.

“Bill!” She squealed, a smile forming on her lips.

He had pressed her back against the wall the second she shut her apartment door behind them.

She flung her keys to the counter, hearing a soft ‘cling’ as they hit the granite, and met his lips. His large hand ran through her hair, curving to fit her head.

Suddenly, he reached down and began to rid her of her wool jacket, moving on to rip off her blouse.

“There’s no need to rush.” She teased playfully, grinning up at him.

But there was.

He slipped the scarf off his neck and shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the ground before recapturing her lips.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” He breathed, his warm breath fanning her neck; just over where he had kissed her.

He picked her up by her thighs and she slung her arms around his neck, pulling herself even closer to him. His lips hardly left hers as he took her to her bedroom, only to place her on her bed.

She slid her pants down her legs while he lifted his t-shirt over his head. Leaning back on her elbows, she watched his fingers as he unbuckled his belt, tossed it on the floor and tugged off his pants.

“And now you’re all mine.” He said deeply, lining himself up with her entrance.

He kissed her as he pushed himself inside of her, eliciting a breathy moan from her throat.

“All yours.” She promised, chest rising and falling heavily while adjusting to him.

He took her smaller hands in his large ones and pushed them further up the bed, her arms straightening as he went.

Finally, he rolled his hips against hers, causing her to clutch his hands fiercely.

“All yours.” She repeated breathlessly.

He looked down at his now girlfriend, mesmerized by how beautiful she was. He watched as she writhed with pleasure underneath him, feeling completely and wholeheartedly in love.

He needed nothing else.

It broke his heart.

After she left, Bill stood in the hallway for ten minutes, staring at the door. He could not comprehend how his world was destroyed in just a few minutes.

He wished he had never fucked the woman at the club.