#There's also suggestive talk about suicide so take care of yourself

[cherry-leclerc]

don’t lock the door ☆ cs55

genre: fluff, humor, smut, angst, thriller/suspense, mentions of depression, mentions of suicide, mentions of homicide, erotic literature, tragedy

word count: 9k

An oleander is beautiful—yet deadly. You’re beautiful—yet deadly. But Carlos has always been gentle, and has always known how to take care of things he loves. And even if he doesn’t, he’s willing to learn, just for you. But you can’t outrun secrets. Not when they have everything to do with the only thing he adores—you.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... fingering, riding, car sex

STOP AND READ:

The story you are about to read is not meant to be admired or looked up to. Regularly, the types of fics that I like to present to all of you are light, humorous, and sweet. While I feel that this story does have occasional glimpses of that, it also deals with heavy topics such as; suicide, depression, and homicide. At the end of the day, I care about all my readers, so if any of you feel like this is not something for you then you are always welcomed to head over to my masterlist for much lighter reads. You all know me by now, so you must know that sometimes I like to mix a story of traditional love with a dash of real life struggles, such as trauma and guilt, in this case. With that, I hope you enjoy word for word.

cherry here!...did you miss me????

Tension is normally one’s enemy. It’s fairly simple, you try your best to avoid what makes your skin crawl. Isn’t that how the story goes?

Not quite. 

There’s tension, yes, but it's only because you’re the opposite sex. Nothing beyond that. It could also be because you’re both introduced to each other as a pair of miserable singles. Lewis is the person you share in common.

She’s a close friend, he proclaims as you two shake hands. The touch is sticky, just like hot glue— and for a minute—it feels like a knife cuts this invisible strain in half. He lets himself salivate over your lioness stare; dark, sharp, amorous. You lean towards him just the same; dominant, mature, suggestive.

I’ve seen you race.

He hums, still attached to your desirable touch. Yeah? Why haven’t I seen you then?

Fingers press sternly against his warm skin, as if to provoke him more than he already feels himself falling into. It should be alarming the way his mind slips into a frenzy because of it, but likes it. The rush. 

Maybe because I wasn’t rooting for you.

There. Right then, he disconnects. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.

You grin. Well, now you know. 

“You know what? Mingle—”

“Who says mingle?” you and Carlos question at the same time, judgemental eyes staring coldly. 

Lewis blushes. “I-I-Is that not a thing anymore?” Silence. “Fuck, I really am getting old...”

The night consists of mimosas, because according to you, it reminds you of your late-mother. “She liked something fruity, but also fun enough to make her head spin. It was entertaining to watch.”

“How so?”

“She’d ramble on and on. Slurred about her dreams.” A sad smile. “That’s the only reason why I ever found out she wanted to become an author. She was fifty—five decades too old—but she said she wanted one last adventure before retiring. It didn’t even matter if she made it onto the New York Times Best Seller list.”

The way your eyes even out, round and almost doughy, makes him trip for a second because this is not the same girl he shook hands with nearly three hours ago. No, this version of you was almost childlike, but he supposes that's how everyone who loses a parent becomes. 

It comes out shy—closed off—your laugh. As if you just caught yourself being too vulnerable. That was always the worst. “Look at me making you my therapist. I have got to stop doing that.” 

His mouth opens lamely, ghostly scoff sitting upon his lips. And if it were to be released, it wouldn’t hurt your feelings. It was a weird thing to note. “I like hearing you talk.”

A beat. “We’ve only just met.”

Carlos grins, crinkles tracing the corner of his eyes like some beauty. “Then let's meet some more.”

The opportunity is there, the kind you’ve been looking for. With a sheepish smile, you nod. “I should warn you though, I’m a bit of a mess.”

Finally, the scoff escapes. And like envisioned, you laugh at the sound.

“Consider me warned.”

-

He fucked you that same night in the back of his car. It was late, so dark that you barely even had the chance to register the fact that you squirted all over his vintage Ferrari. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he pants as he snaps his hips up again, fast motion making you head loll bad. You wonder what he means, but as soon as his long fingers circle your swollen bud, you’re just as good as gone.

He asked you out an hour later, when he dropped you off right in front of your apartment. You happily accepted, unable to hide your excitement. 

Your smile falters. “Give me a reason as to why I should say yes.”

“Um, well, you sort of already said…yes?”

The confusion that settles onto his handsome features makes you glow with satisfaction. “I could always change my mind. Pretend this night never even happened.”

Panic rushes harshly against his shoulders. He doesn’t even know why he cares so much, but he does. 

Vulnerability is a bitch. 

“Huh,” he hums, relaxing against his seat, head hitting the expensive cushion. And you can see it. The challenge. He clicks his tongue, bored all of a sudden. “Listen, I want you, but I certainly don’t need you.”

You realize right there and then—you met your match. 

You realize right there and then—you two share the same green pride. 

You realize right there and then—

“It was nice getting to know you.” 

-

The only reason you’re even friends with someone like Lewis is because your mother married rich.

Filthy fucking rich. 

Then, somehow, married richer by her third and last marriage. The man was twisted, but you never knew just how much. Not for a very long time. 

He dabbled in stocks, or some boring shit like that, and later invested in some other crap. Somewhere along the line, you met the Brit. 

The same Brit who now hisses at you through the phone. 

“God damn it, what happened? Weren’t you two getting along?”

You sigh, rubbing your feet together as you admire the way the navy blue paint covers your pedicured nails. Stormy clouds match your mood as you shake the bottle of pills that lay on top of your desk. 

“He’s too vain.”

He groans. “You my dear, dear friend, are looking into a mirror then, I suppose.”

A sharp gasp. “Are you insinuating I’m the same?”

“If the shoe fits…”

“May I remind you that you sit and stare at yourself for God knows how long before any race? Newflash, dickhead, you’re going to sweat, look like shit, and one out of ten times, you’re going to win.”

“I see I triggered something.” He sighs heavily. The sound tells you he’s not really upset or anything, but more so worried. Ever since she died, you’ve been that way. 

Snappy. Defensive. 

“Hey, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be. I know you.” 

And although he can’t see, you still smile fondly. Rattling the bottle of antidepressants, you inch up higher and higher onto your chair until you face your own reflection. Shattered glass stares back at you as you feverishly look down. 

“Do you still have an extra pass to this weekend's race?”

-

There had to be something wrong with you. Everyone could tell, and quite frankly, you could agree. Would you admit to it out loud? No, now that’s something different. Or maybe you’re just odd. That would also make sense. Whatever it was, it would explain as to why everyone around you screams with excitement as the fast cars fly by. You, on the other hand, simply stare with straight lips and empty eyes.

While all clap cheerfully when Lewis finishes on the third step, you cross your arms. While everyone runs out of the Mercedes garage to declare front row, you drag your feet slowly to the last. 

While Carlos makes eye contact as he lifts his trophy—notably bigger than the Brits—you yawn.

You’re not impressed.

She’s not impressed, the Spaniard remembers thinking to himself as he smiles wider towards the stacks of cameras that turn him temporarily blind. He selfishly thinks you’re here for him, but he knows that's straight bullshit. Truth be told, it didn’t seem like you were here to support your friend either.

“It’s been so long,” Lewis huffs in disbelief as you stare across with vacant eyes. To him, you’re simply jetlagged. “Can you believe it?”

An exhale. “You did good.” Extending your legs outward, you admire the black tiles that shine back brighter than if it were to be white. “Drinks. On me.”

The Brit laughs. “Deal.”

-

Somewhere close by, they play jazz. 

“Pretty,” you softly speak as you connect your lips to the glass. The live band sways back and forth, only adding to the charm you seem to like. And you like it a lot. “Dance with me.”

Lewis snickers. “I love you to death, but I’m gonna have to go with no.”

You frown. “Come on. I never ask you for anything.”

“You were born with a golden spoon and have used retinol since you were ten, you’re not allowed to ask for anything when you’ve already had everything.”

“Yeah…well not this.” You’re secretly envious of every lady in the room. The way they beam with sincere smiles at their husbands. Boyfriends? Flings? Affairs? Who cares honestly, you were jealous nonetheless. 

The Mercedes driver watches as your fingers lazily tap against your lap, as if signaling you’re free. Guilt slithers down his neck as he sighs in defeat. “Fi–”

“Nice seeing you two here.”

Lewis wants to cry with utter thankfulness as Carlos inches closer with a lousy grin. “Hey! Oh God—hey.” You blink. “Wh-what are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, of course, because I’m not.”

The Spanirad shrugs. “I won. Wanted to celebrate, I suppose.” Brown eyes flicker towards you like thunder and suddenly you feel naked under his gaze. You swallow. “You look nice.”

And there it is again—tension.

He cocks his head to the side, almost as if waiting for a compliment of your own. Instead, he finds himself being ignored. Crossing your legs, you lift the empty glass up as the bartender hurries for a refill. 

Finally, Lewis speaks up. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay—”

“Who says hay?” you and the brunette spit out with snarkiness. You bite back a smile while he releases a chuckle. 

The Brit stands up, chugging the rest of his drink as he waves you two off. “I’m not that old,” he shouts as he turns the corner and disappears. 

Carlos takes the time to catch up on your appearance. Last time he saw you, you had longer hair, now it appears you’ve had a trim. He likes it. You were slightly tanner, but now appear a shade lighter. It could just be because it’s winter. It's nice seeing other versions of you. 

“So, how have you be—”

“Why are you still here?”

He freezes. It takes him a while to find the strength to open his mouth. 

“We never finished our conversation.”

-

He didn’t fuck you that night, no, he took you dancing. And maybe that’s why it worked this time around. Instead of taking the time to learn all the different types of moans you have, he took the time to learn all about your upbringing. 

I learned how to bike when I turned six. Had severe trust issues for a year, so I tried again when I was seven.

That must be where your scars are from, he thinks to himself, but he finds them endearing.

I like long hair, I find it beautiful, but as soon as it’s starting to grow out I think it looks too weird on me. 

That must be why your hair is shorter than he remembers, but he loves it. Has the urge to run his fingers through.

My favorite movie is How Harry Met Sally, but quite frankly, I don't find Harry attractive at all, so I never really understood why Sally settled down with him after so long.

And you’re honest. Brutally honest. And he finds that attractive.

“How about you, Mr. Singapore?”

I learned how to kart before I learned how to bike, actually. I, too, have scars on my hands from small crashes. 

You blush as you hide yours beneath your coat. 

I have two sisters, so I mainly learned how to dance because of them. I hated it at the time, but now I’m quite grateful.

Is it possible to swoon harder?

And I don’t have a favorite film, necessarily, but I’ve watched How Harry Met Sally, and I would agree. Sally was too good looking for him. 

You have to laugh. “Is that so?”

He smiles. “The name Harry sounds so…” He winks cooly before running a hand through his locks. You giggle. “He looks more like a Bob.”

“Oh my God! Could you imagine? How Bob Met Sally?” You pause. “Wait, that actually doesn’t sound half bad…”

He chews on his bottom lip slowly, nodding in agreement. Silence engulfs you two as you stare at each other with round eyes. He’s the first to crack a loopy grin and you quickly follow with a sheepish one. Then, it vanishes and he’s left looking like he swallowed a frog.

“Listen, about last time…”

“Long forgotten.”

He halts, almost surprised by your response. “No, no, there’s no need to pretend, I was a—”

“Jerk?”

The Spaniard rolls his eyes. “Great, so you haven’t forgotten.”

You shrug. “I’m a girl. We remember everything.”

“Got it,” he declares. “Ask me again.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze. “What?”

“Ask me why you should say yes to a date with me.”

“You don’t have to do this, we’re good—”

“I know we are, but I still want you to ask.”

You lick your lip anxiously before relaxing your stiff shoulders. He tilts his head as if urging you and you nod. “Why should I say yes to you?”

Satisfaction settles. “Because you like a good challenge.” He leans closer. “And isn't that what this is?”

-

Carlos Sainz Jr. was made for you.

“Leave me alone,” you scream, veins throbbing, as you rush past him, heading towards the guest room. You’re glad his parents aren’t home at the moment because Lord knows the embarrassment you would feel.

“No. Not until you talk to me.” As simple as that. Your eyes twitch as you turn back, then bring your hands up to your hips. He adores it when you do that, though he probably shouldn’t right now.

“You want to talk?” You let out an unhinged scoff. “Oh, would you look at that, he wants to talk! Now he wants to talk. Well guess what, fuckhead—I don’t.” 

With that, you march out into the balcony. His eyes follow the way you light up a cigarette. The way you drink the last drops of champagne that linger in the bottle gifted to you by his mother. 

She was kind. She was beautiful. She didn’t deserve someone being this mean to her son.

You barely recognize him because of how blurry your vision is, but his scent does it. Musky. Woody. Calm. 

He hands you the familiar pill, then a glass of water. He rushes the champagne away, then takes the cigarette and squashes it against the cold floor. He doesn’t so much call you out for being a lunatic, for upsetting his dogs with all your yelling, or for pushing him. No, he doesn’t do any of that. And you have never been more in love with him than now.

“I know I can be a bit much sometimes…” A sniffle. “I swear I try to catch onto it so you don’t have to deal with any of this, but—”

“You don’t mean it.” He tangles his fingers through your hair as you sob. And it’s soft despite spending the entire day near the ocean. It feels silky. He’s obsessed. “I know you.”

-

You were made for Carlos Sainz Jr.

“How do I look?” 

“Like an angel.” He swears he turns bright red when you blow him a kiss. “Your name must’ve been Bonita in another life because look at you…” A hand flies up to clutch onto his heart as he makes a face. “Though, I must say, you do know how to make me look bad.”

You giggle. “Oh? This old thing? I thrifted it. Nice, eh?”

He groans. “Very, but you’re supposed to be rooting for Spain.” A gag. “Not Italy.”

You frown. “That's all I had. Plus, you’re basically Italian given your working status.”

“No, amor, they pay me to like Italy. It’s a cover up, think about it.”

You huff, popping your hip outward. “Still. I like it, so I’m wearing it while cheering for the opposite team.”

“Always over complicating things.” He laughs. “Can’t say I’m surprised, you’re a complicated person.”

A deadpan expression. “Suck your own dick.”

“Oi, relax.”

Spinning to face the mirror, you fix your jersey one last time before skipping out the door, tube socks sliding as you go. The Spaniard lets out a dreamy sigh. 

Were you flawless? Not at all.

Were you put together? Not without a prescription.

But he loved figuring it all out with you. And that’s called love.

-

You’re in the middle of a rampage, during dinner. While everyone stares at you puzzled, he simply laughs at your cartoon expressions. 

“I mean, I offered!” A pout. “I clearly stated I could get the cap signed for her and she gave me the nastiest, ugliest, dirty-looking glare! I for sure thought her face was permanently damaged.” You relax against the chair, your shaky hand finding its way to your water bottle. “Like sorry for riding your favorite driver…”

Charles laughs nervously. “I don’t think that was a necessary thing to include…” 

You shrug, raising your brows over to your boyfriend who struggles to breathe. 

The conversation flows easily, like most nights you're all together, but this time there’s a minor bump. You’ve been good about it; avoiding the question for so long. Over the course of time, you’ve managed to be so mendacious, that truly no one knew the truth. Not even Carlos.

“I hope it’s not overstepping, but how did your mum pass?”

He means no harm, Lando, but you just wish so badly that you could believe that. While Carlos and Lewis were the closest thing you have to a family nowadays, even they knew not to ask. You never laid the rules out loud, but they could tell it was an unwanted topic to have on your behalf, no matter how curious they got. 

All of a sudden, your mood deteriorates. The look in Lando’s eyes makes sure to strike off as an apology, but you’re so busy looking down onto your lap that you don’t even pinpoint the meaning. The table grows awkward as time ticks by. 

No one has the power to change the subject, save you the same way doctors tried to save your mother—because they, too—wonder. 

You gulp, feeling small, but far too seen at the same time. It was confusing. “She, um…her last husband…” Everyone feels bad, like you’re some limping puppy, zigzagging down an empty highway, but remain quiet. Then, you look up, stone cold but the tip of your rosy nose and blotchy face is enough reassurance that you still have a beating heart.

“Husband number three strangled her to death.”

You say it like you don’t care. Like it hasn’t affected you at all, and that makes Carlos blink twice as fast as everyone else in the table. A droplet makes its way down your cheek as you let out a light laugh. 

“I guess he thought he was some Superior God who had a say in cutting her time short.”

They all freeze. 

“I am so sorry for asking—” 

“I didn’t need to respond.” You smile lamely. “It’s fine, Lando.”

But it’s not, not even close. They ripped the confession out of your throat, at least that’s what it felt like. No one stepped up, no one said anything. 

Your eyes flicker to the only man who makes your heart speed. 

He reaches for your hand and you grip it hard.

No one said anything.

Not. Even. Carlos.

-

You’ve always excelled at holding a grudge. It came fairly simple. 

But as you stare at him through the screen, for the first time—and only the first time—you struggle. Maybe it’s his puppy eyes that betray you, or his gentleness anytime he steps near you, you don’t really know. 

And you don’t want to.

“I was thinking mariscos.”

Hair flies past your eyes as you squint. He looks particularly handsome today, wearing a linen shirt that drapes over him like some silver armor. Long waves brush against his temples as he returns the squint, slightly smiling at your lips. 

“Sounds good to me.”

Soft music roams the isolated restaurant that almost seemed to belong to just you two, and that helps you relax. You could tell it helps him too. 

“The car felt good today.”

“Yeah?”

He nods, biting onto a piece of shrimp. “Felt like I was flying.”

You let out a whistle. There’s a comfortable silence that lingers for a while before you raise a brow up to the open sky. “Hey,” you start as his orbs flicker up with all the attention in the world. “Do you believe in angels?”

A moment. “I’d say so, yes. Yes, I do.”

Hum. “You sound freakishly sure.” You inch forward with teasing eyes. “Why?”

“Easy.” Chocolate orbs swirl with adoration. “There’s you.”

“I don’t count.”

He frowns. “And why not?”

“Because you love me, of course you’d say that only to be nice.”

“I say so because I know so.”

“Love is blind, love is blind,” you chant, sipping on his open can.

A second ticks by. “Why do you ask?”

And like the first night he met you, your eyes merge into doe eyes. “Because I do.” A sheepish grin. “And sorry to disappoint, but it’s not you.” 

“What’s his name?” he jokes.

But you’re not even listening. “My mom was pure. She was a good person, Carlos.” A beat. “She’s my forever angel.”

His heart physically hurts at your glossy eyes, immediately reaching for your hands. “You must really miss her…”

A wet laugh. “Is there a word stronger than ‘really’? If there is, then that would be one way to say it.”

And he has to apologize, even if it’s seven days too late. 

“I’m sorry for not stepping in that night. I-I-I should have said something and you should have said nothing.” Thick brows knit in together. “You don’t know how shitty I felt, but—”

“You wanted to know as well.”

The way his features freeze is enough confirmation. And you can't be mad. Not even a little. Not even a lot. 

“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Carlos. I should have been more open and honest with you first.” A gust of hot air slaps you across the face. “I tend to shut out people like you because…I don’t know.”

“Vulnerability is a bitch?”

You laugh. “That’s one way to say it.” Orbs scan his beauty with no shame before falling back. “You still have plenty of questions, don’t you?”

“O-of course not.”

Another laugh. “It’s okay. You caught me in a good mood. Go on.”

He’s awkward at first, but slowly eases with the sound of your breathing. “Why hasn’t he been arrested?”

“Because he’s a multi-billionaire.”

He gulps and you blink. “Why haven’t you sued?”

“Because I’m not a multi-billionaire.”

“So…he did a cover up with a wad of cash?”

“Mhm. No one dared ask whose hand shaped bruise was imprinted in her neck.”

He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, but he knows he needs this because he knows it will keep him up the same ways it’s kept him up since that god forbidden dinner. 

“This was the cause of your…” He doesn’t even want to finish his sentence.

“Depression…yeah. Losing someone you love will do that to ya.”

But he wants to ask—he wants to ask more because he knows there has to be more. He’s lost people he loves too—and he loved them very much—and he never got this way. In a flash, he feels guilty for comparing his healing process to yours but quickly looks down onto his lap. 

And the hot summer rain is enough warning for him not to question you any further. 

The Spaniard shares a grateful smile. “Thank you for trusting me. To take care of you, and all t-that,” he stutters, blushing.

“I love you, Carlos.” A beat. “I’ve always trusted you. The only person I don’t trust is myself.”

-

“Be quiet,” she hisses, urgently signaling you closer. “And make sure to shut the door.”

Confused, you hesitantly push until you hear a click. Inching closer to your mom, you slowly become more and more lost as you eye the scattered papers all over your step-dads office table. “What is all this?”

Color drains from her normally youthful face. Even the brightest shade of red can’t help add life. “Proof of embezzlement.”

“What?”

She slides stacks of black folders towards you and you quickly flip through, to which you don’t understand a single thing. “He’s stealing money, that’s what. We’re not talking thousands, we’re talking millions,” she whispers frantically before growing green. “Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay, okay, hold on, you’re okay.” Rushing to be next to her, you clumsily tie her hair up into a messy ponytail before fanning her with the white sheets. You wince, quickly placing them back down. “How did you even come across this?”

Just as fast as a lighting bolt, she spins the chair. “I’m starting my book—” She gags, “I was supposed to start today, but I came in here looking for his typewriter. You know, the one with the tiny cherubs?” Across the office, you spot it, the tiny angels delicately painted onto the infamous typewriter. You nod. “Well, I started to search for some paper and instead found all of this…”

Even you grow dizzy as you eye the infinite zero’s that jump out against all types of sums. That’s not even enough to spend in ten lifetimes. It was no wonder he just recently made it onto The Forbes list. Her eyes—honest as ever—make you panic as you twirl your thumbs. “Wait…you’re not thinking of confronting him about it, are you?”

“I have to.” Pause. “Right?”

No. You don’t want her to. Not in any scenario. It’s taken you both so long to reach the life you deserve, and now that you were finally here it’s about to be ripped away from you? Your lack of words makes her glare. 

“I don’t know why I’m asking you, I have to! It’s the right thing to do.”

Adrenaline. “Mom, just think about it—”

“I did not raise you to be avaricious,” she spits out, fire practically fuming out of her.  You flinch. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Y-you’re right.” There goes all your money down the drain. “I’m with you no matter what.” 

Knock knock.

Like mother-daughter, you both freeze as your eyes flicker to the sound. 

“Angelica, are you in there?”

You never liked the name Angelica. Not on anyone else that wasn’t your Angelica. 

Running over to open, she finds herself face-to-face to Lucifer himself as he cocks his head in humor. “Locking me out of my own office now?” He enters. “Fun.” Dark eyes roam the messy area. “Fun.”

Her eyes plead with you in a language only you both knew, but never did you mean to obey. You wanted to stay with her—something told you to stay with her. 

“Honey, give us some privacy, yeah?”

“U-uh…” He winks like that was the go-ahead. Like that was the last permission you needed to agree. And maybe it was. 

Deep down it’s almost like you knew he had sinister intentions. Deep down it’s almost like you knew he was capable of committing those sinister intentions. 

Deep down. 

It’s like you don’t even care.

You smile, tight lipped. “Whatever you need.”

You heard the argument that night, you heard the threats. You heard her pleads, you heard her chokes. You could only imagine what was going on inside, but you were your mothers daughter. You could imagine quite a lot. 

She could’ve been an author—with his resources she might just have hit the New York Times Best Seller list. She could have been a grandmother one day—surely your kids would have lived a luxurious life. 

She could have been obedient. Why wasn’t she obedient? Was it so hard to brush it all under the rug?

He was sweating, just as much as a pig. Or maybe he’s glowing, he is smiling after all. Here and there he apologizes in a lousy manner, but you didn’t care. All you cared about was—

“How much money am I gonna get to keep?”

He’s intrigued. “How much do you want?”

“Enough to not have to worry.” You can still see it; cramped rooms, tin canned meals on paper plates. You could never go back.

An eye roll. “You’re just like her…” A beat. “Fucking greedy.” You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks. You’re embarrassed—-of course you were—who is he to judge? He sighs. “No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“It means I’m not transferring you anything. I want you out of this house no later than Sunday.”

Plump lips open, then snap shut, teeth gritting. “I’ll tell everyone that you’re a murderer. You’ll lose it all, w-watch.”

He’s not phased. Not even in the slightest. “And who’s going to believe you? Tell me, really, because I’d like to know.”

Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything. Fuck him for having everything.

And fuck yourself for having nothing at all—again.

Months swept by, the death was ruled a suicide, and antidepressant became your loyal friend. There was no one else, and sometimes you feared there would always be no one else. 

Then—by some miracle—there was Carlos.

He was handsome. He was shy. He was sweet. He was kind.

He was rich.

You played hard to get, but so did he. You played the long haul, but so did he. You were a fantastic liar, but he was an ever better believer.

And it all clicked.

Just the way it was supposed to.

-

You’ve been accustomed to a certain lifestyle for years now, but somehow you’re always surprised about the sudden boost you’ve switched to ever since you’ve met him.

Chanel heels turned into red bottoms. Last season dresses turned into those that were not yet  released. You loved everything about it.

“You look so beautiful, cariño,” he groans against your lips, desperate for more. His large hands play with the silky fabric, fighting to slide it up against your hips. You shudder. “I mean…come on.”

“Hey, hey—that’s sweet and all—” You push yourself closer to his toned body, immediately feeling his erection. You nearly whimper.  “But why don’t you fuck me instead?” A kiss. “You missed me, no?”

And instead—he whimpers. “How dare you even ask?” 

With that, he picks you up with ease, pinning you against the wall. You’re dizzy, because unbeknownst to him, he’s casted a spell on you. Never did you think you could fall in love, much less, have someone reciprocate. 

Tender fingers make their way to your clit as you lunge forward, biting down onto his shoulder. It should amaze you how he holds you up with one arm, but you’re not. If anything, you leak more and more by every passing second. 

His dirty pants make you fold as you clench around him. The way they curl, the way they pulse, all of it was your kryptonite. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you squeal, keeping your eyes trapped shut, feeling the familiar knot forming. He grins, pecking your sweaty forehead, digits speeding up. Berry lips form an O as you moan louder with every push.”I-I’m c-c-close—oh God.”

“Shh. It’s okay, let go for me, yeah? I’m right here with you.” 

Gritting your teeth harder, you moan like some pornstar as you finish all around him. Almost like some rule, he desperately sucks his fingers clean. The Spaniard hums like he’s living his biggest dream of all before opening his round eyes. 

“So sweet.”

You blush. “Yours tastes like shit.”

He laughs. “And yet you beg for me to finish all over your face, isn’t that so?”

Nearly choking at his bluntness, you fight back a smile as you play with his floppy locks. They’ve grown so much from the last time you saw him, so this was certainly eye candy to you. He sighs, relaxing as you continue to twirl thick strands around your fingers.

Soft legs still drape over his waist, hands still lay around your waist, and even breathing connects you both. Carlos feels like he’s nearly dozing off, but his hand remains firm, preferring to take a bullet than to let you fall. 

You like to think that you like his lashes the best. But then there’s his eyes. And his nose. And his heart. And his lips. And his hands. And his sculpture body. And his jokes. And his laugh. And his freckles. So you never could choose, not truly.

Inching closer to his ear, you smirk slowly. “Wanna fuck my mouth?”

His eyes snap open, jaw clenching. “You’re such a tease.”

A shrug. “Want to or not?” You bite your lip, legs letting go of his hips as you slide down. “Because this offer ends in five…” He raises a skeptical brow. “Four…” You motion him closer to which he steadily follows. “Three…” He laughs. “Two, one!”

Sprinting up the stairs in a flash, you giggle as he chases after you. The sound of his steps make your heart beat faster as you jump onto your shared bed. Rushing past the corner, he cocks his head to the side as he clicks his tongue. Stepping into the room carefully, he swung the door closed before locking it. You frown.

“Reassures me that no one will walk in.”

“No one will walk in,” you whisper as your stomach drops. “There’s no need t-to—”

“No, yeah, you’re right,” he agrees, taking in your breathless state. “But I prefer it this way. Just you.” A closer stride. “And me.”

Palms are sweaty. Blood slithers down your throat and thighs. And yet your freeze. You feel hot and cold, all at once. You don’t like the feeling, any of it, but you try to ignore the inner monologue. 

“You look stunning,” he states, finally reaching you. “You always do.”

Your speeding heart lessens. “T-thank you.” 

A beat. “You’re not nervous—are you?”

Hastily, you shake your head. “N-no! Of course not!”

Thick brows knit together. “Because you normally aren’t.” His smile fades. “W-we don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to, you know that right?”

Physically, you’re cringing. Mentally, you’re spiraling. The act itself makes the Spaniard withdraw, taking a steady step back and shaking his head. Panic rises fast as you crawl closer to him, reaching the end of the bed. 

“I just have a lot on my mind, but I want this.” A beat. “I want you.”

It’s as if you’re a blank sheet of paper, blinking up at Carlos with such innocence. So much so, it makes his heart stop. He looks for reassurance, which you give him, and he looks for it again, which you give again without hesitance. 

“Come on, Carlitos…” you slowly whisper, batting your eyes. “I know you’ve missed my mouth.”

If you weren’t so breathtaking, if you weren’t so seductive, if you weren’t so goddamn tempting then surely turning you down wouldn’t be an issue. By alas, you’re here—and even better—you’re all his. 

“Eres un sueño.” It seems like an eternity passes by before he finally steps close to you once again, getting rid of whatever distance you ever had. Like it was never meant to be there to begin with. “Can I kiss you first?”

It’s sweet that he feels the need to build up to fucking you sore, but sweet nonetheless. That’s one thing you love about him—and there’s a lot to choose from—his respect towards you. Smiling warmly, you extend your arm, inviting him like an angel before he smashes his lips against you like the devil.

The contrast. It’s just what you needed.

“God, I fucking love you.” 

“I—” His lips press harsher as he continues marking his territory. All of it was making your head spin like a rollercoaster. “I love you too,” you manage to spit out as he makes his way down. You blush. “I-I-I sort of wanted to…”

He blinks. “Sort of what?”

“Well, you know…” You point towards his hardened cock. 

And he actually snickers. “Cat got your tongue today or what, bella?”

A groan. “You’re so fucking annoying—”

“No, no, no,” he cuts in with a whistle. “By all means, go ahead.”

Desperate hands crazily reach out towards his belt in a nanosecond. You should be ashamed how hopeless you are, but you don’t find enough strength to care. Not when he was looking down at you with hungry eyes. 

“Tan linda,” he whispered underneath his breath. As if you weren’t meant to hear him. As if he can’t quite believe it’s you he gets to keep. This must all be a dream to him, he thinks. 

Just as you’re about to pull his jeans down, large hands get ahold of your wrists. Confused, you look up at him, head tilted and messy hair falling over your shoulder. He grins wickedly. 

“Just one more kiss.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Are you kidding me—”

But his soft lips move with such urgency that you don’t even have time to bitch and moan. Not that you’re trying. You can feel it; the hunger, the lust. The way you run your fingers through his hair, or how he squeezes your ass. In a matter of seconds, the room grows steamy, hot breaths expanding with every peck. It’s as if Carlos was too afraid of being ripped away from you even for a second, scared your lips might change and he wouldn’t know a thing about it.

Not knowing you might be his biggest fear.

It happens without a warning, his grip. You feel it slide slowly up your ribs—you remember thinking how much you like it, how much it tickles. Then it reaches your chest, to which his eager hands squeeze your tits, pathetically moaning into your mouth. You can’t help but giggle, but still not separating. And then…

It reaches your neck.

As soon as he squeezes, your eyesight begins to blur, but he doesn’t notice. Your chest begins to rise and fall at an alarming rate, but he doesn’t notice. And you’re terrified.

But he doesn’t notice.

“Carlos,” you whimper, but he takes it as a good sign, mouth moving with ease. “Carlos, honey…”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is deep. “You like that?” Large palm squeezes harder. “Bet you do.”

“Okay, stop!” you scream, arms flying like some madman. “Let go of me!”

Panicked, he releases you in a hurry, jumping off of your trembling body. Color drains his face as realization hits him, but it's too late. You’re sobbing hard, shoulders bouncing up and down. The way you crawl back with fear makes his heart break as he shakes his head, running a hand against his jaw.

“Fuck.” More cries. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—I am so sorry, baby…” Desperate eyes stare back at you as you hide your face against your shaky hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. I should have known, I should have known.” Inching closer proves to be a mistake when you leap off the bed, throwing a mountain of pillows like daggers. 

“Stop it,” you demand. “Stay. Right. There.”

He flinches. “Are you afraid of me?”

The laugh that erupts from your throat is unlike the others he’s heard. It’s almost maniacal. It makes his skin grow with goosebumps. “Is that even a question?” Dark mascara runs down your cheeks as you breathe heavily. “You just tried to kill me.”

“No,” he pronounces. “No, you know that that’s not true. I-I-I thought you’d like it!” The glare you flicker is enough for him to wince, pinching the tip of his nose. “I should have known better, okay? Please, just…calm down.”

All your sniffles come to an end as you freeze. “Are you calling me crazy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh my God.” Pushing your hair back, you release a chuckle. “You actually think I’m crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, stop putting words into my mouth.”

A scoff. “Okay, wow.” 

He doesn’t have a clue as to how he continues to dig himself into a hole—and yet—here he is. Digging his own grave. Exhaling hard, he licks his lips before looking straight into your glossy eyes. “I love you,” he starts, but you remain as still as a statue. “And I want us to work through this. I want to be able to talk to you, yeah?” A beat. “I’m sorry about…what I did, I should have never done it knowing you’re…traumatized.” 

He’s almost scared to see your reaction, but it never comes. Instead, you blink hastily, as if you’re mortified. 

You should’ve known. You should have figured that karma would catch up to you sooner or later.

I mean, all sins must be paid for, right?

As soon as he starts closing the gap, you’re thumping heart picks right back up. “I just want to talk—”

“No.”

Despite his hurt, he continues his march towards you. “I just want to be near you, please—”

“I said no!” 

It happens almost in the blink of an eye, the sound of glass shattering. He sort of thinks he must’ve imagined it, your hand flying to punch the mirror right besides you, but the gentle blood that oozes out of your hand makes his heart stop. Suddenly, all the scars you have make sense. So much makes sense. 

“Just…stay there, Carlos,” you say, voice trembling, small hand holding out a piece of sharp glass towards him like some wannabe knife. You bite your bottom lip. “Just—there.”

“Cariño…”

“Stop it with that,” you plead, teardrops slipping. “Stop calling me that.”

Somewhere in the shard, he catches his reflection. Half-scared, half-brokenhearted. He doesn’t even know how you two got to this point. 

He gulps. “Okay. I’ll stop, I’ll stop, but please put that down.” You shake your head fast, splotchy cheeks flushing furthermore. Carlos sighs desperately. “Come on—you’re bleeding.”

“I’m used to it by now.”

Tension resurfaces once again between you both as you stare at each other, awaiting for the next challenge. Playing the silent game for a second, curious to see who breaks next. 

“Why did you lock the door?”

He almost laughs. “We always shut the door—”

You raise the blade up higher as you begin to lose patience. Deep down, you know you’re not capable of harming him, but how could you ever let your guard down once again when he tried to strangle you to death?

History almost repeats itself, and you’ll be damned if you ever let it happen.

“You said it, we shut it but we never lock it.” A soft cry. “What were you planning on doing to me, Carlos?”

It’s like a knife to the heart, you’re sudden distrust. The brunette finds himself struggling to breath as he blinks like a lost deer. 

“You know that I would never hurt you. Not on purpose, at least…”

You let out a wet snarl, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you.”

A flinch. “All of this was a mistake and I adore you.”

“You don’t, though,” you protest, the shaky vision intensifying. “If not you wouldn’t have tried to mur—”

“For the last time, I’m not your step-father!” It’s as if he’s finally reached his breaking point, just now. His body is tired. His mind is tired. Everything is just tired of trying. Carlos shrugs lamely. “If you don’t want to believe me…so be it.”

The pain that rains out of him should be enough for you to know that he’s telling the complete truth. He’s a good guy, with pure intentions. He’s not here to get even with you on your mothers behalf. None of what you’re imagining is true.

But you just can’t seem to understand. 

“I don’t believe your lies, alright?” you spit out with deep breaths. You drop the blade, finally. “Open the door.”

With his head hung low, he complies, feet dragging with every step. And finally, with a hand on the knob, he turns to give you one last glance. He can tell you’re holding in your breath and he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much. Why it make him feel so much like a monster…

Click. The wooden door swings open as he pushes it gently.

“Now leave.”

A wave of nausea strikes with your words. “Amor—“

“Stop. Don’t even look at me.” Tension. “I don’t want to see you ever again—not even by accident.”

And that was the last stab that ended it all.

-

Every now and then, he wonders how you are. Hopefully better. 

He hears your name mentioned once in a blue moon, but instinctively blocks it out, too disturbed at the thought of what occurred between you two. 

What did occur between you two?

He could take a guess and say that you’re internally fucked. Straight and simple. 

But it’s still annoying. The way he wishes to forget you with every passing birthday wish. 

At first, it was because he missed you. He just wanted to forget you because he missed you—yes.

Later, it was because the memory of the cramped room suffocated him. The sound of glass breaking was stronger than the sound of his car crashing. And somehow the latter seemed better. 

He just wanted to forget that day—yes. 

Staring off into space has been his thing for a long time, often getting called out on it. Now, he finds himself with his eyes closed, too scared that someone might notice his feelings and feel the need to ask if he’s okay. 

He hasn't been. Not since you. 

“Grape or watermelon?”

Popping and eye open, he catches a glance of Lewis before rolling over. “I’m good.”

It’s tough, this silent war between both his friends. The break up simply made this…tough. Especially when no one really knows what happened. 

Setting the electrolytes down, the Brit claims a spot next to the brunette. Groaning at the unwanted company, Carlos switches to sit upright. Brown eyes glare strongly before Lewis laughs it off. 

“How you doin’, bud?”

Great, no yeah, just severely depressed thanks to your so-called friend. Would you mind asking her where she gets her antidepressants from for me? I mean, I would, but last time we saw each other she, uh, I don’t know, tried to stab me? And you know what’s the most fucked up shit? It’s the fact that I still love her just the same. 

I just wanted to help. 

He forces a shy smile. “Fine.”

A pity grimace. “I can tell she misses you, you know?”

Carlos hates how excited the thought of you alone—dreamily sighing for his return—gets him to sit up straighter, suddenly interested. It’s foolish, really. 

“She would never admit it, but I can tell because I know—”

“Her?” The Spaniard lets out a mocking scoff. “Trust me, you don’t. Not entirely.”

That shuts Lewis right up as he sits there, staring blankly. A dark brow furrows. “Listen, I don’t know what happened between you two—not that I need to know—but she’s a good person. And so are you. So…don’t be afraid of reaching out.”

He flickers his brown eyes accusingly. “Why should I? Did she put you up to this?”

“She didn’t—“

But the fact is, the hesitation gives him away. Anger arises as the Spaniard rolls his eyes. “I knew it, God, I knew it!” A second. “I know her.”

The Brit drowns with nervousness as he waves his hands in despair. “She just wants you to apologize!”

A singular laugh. “Apologize for what?” He pauses, squinting at his friend. “She didn’t tell you why we broke up, did she?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t really know who’s fault it was, do you?”

Lewis looks down onto his lap. “No. Not really.”

“Great, then let me be the one to tell you that it was both of ours. I’m no saint but neither is she.”

An award silence lingers as the Spaniards voice echoes the room. Lewis nods. “Understood. I got it, okay?”

He sighs an irregular sigh. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t worry about it, man.” A sheepish grin. “It’s not my place to fix anything about your guys’ relationship, I get it.”

Carlos’ face switches to bright red as he nods his head once. “T-thanks.”

The Brit, ever happily, stands up firmly before patting his back. “I’m always here if you need to talk.”

“Gracias.” Lewis is just a few steps away when he clears his throat before he can even stop himself from asking. “How’s she doing?”

It came across almost softer than a mumble, and one might have missed it if not alert, but not Lewis. 

Spinning to face the almost manchild with round eyes, he smiles as bright as the sun, and that makes his stomach turn. Because he knows. He knows you’re doing—

“Really well.”

Fluffy hair falls down as he tilts his head, clicking his tongue. “That’s good.” Sure. He returns the same smile with a twitch. “That’s really good.”

Lewis has known you two for a long time now. He’s unwillingly memorized your ticks. How the right side of your face slightly twitches before every lie, or how the left side of his does the same before every lie. Much like right now. 

The Brit contemplates for a minute, then two, then opens his mouth in the most hesitant manner. 

“She’s moving to Germany.” Carlos freezes. “Only for a few months. Maybe a year, who knows. But…you should read her book.”

He unfreezes. “Her what?”

A faint smile. Eyes crinkled. “It’s a tough read, but I believe it was necessary. You know, to finally talk about it.”

-

He never quite believed you would open up this way, and yet here he was, in an unknown bookstore, spacing out. Your name jumps out like some shooting star, too difficult to ignore. 

Without a doubt, you’d get a lawsuit from your step-father. Of course—you were only dragging the last name of what seemed to be the world's richest man. 

For what it’s worth, Carlos is proud. This must mean you’re open to moving on. To get the necessary help you so desperately need. From start to finish, the pages are enticing. You go into gruesome depth, something you never seemed to have a problem in doing. From the mention of how her eyes remained open with no sign of life, only terror, to the fact that you got your many scars from punching the door, trying to get in on time. How he bribed his way against the laws. 

Everything seemed to be coming out.

So then why, as he sits in his driver's room, staring at your picture in the back of the book, does he feel like doesn’t believe it? 

Not even a generous half.

-

Angelica lived up to the first five letters of her name. 

She was there for you in the moments you needed her the most. She braided your hair for playdates, she tied your shoe laces even when you were too embarrassed to ask, and she worked her way up, making sure you had it all. 

Undeniably, she was one hell of a woman. Then again, she had more within her—pulled some trigger you never thought she’d pull.

You were going to lose it all, why couldn’t she foresee that? That conversation was going to rip your inheritance straight from your tight grip; the one that ensured your future vacations. How could she ever betray you? Her own daughter? 

You were acquisitive. You were possessive. You were partially responsible for her death.

But call it naiveness, you really thought it’d work.

No one will truly know the way your soul left your body when you heard you wouldn’t get a single dollar. Not even a fucking cent. You had to find some other way to stay secure.

But Carlos was out to get you, you just know he was. You don’t have a clue as to how he found out about the truth, about what happened inside that stupid mansion, but he knew it all. And you had to get out of there.

Only it led you back to square one. With no purpose. With no money. Fuck men and their actions, seriously, too all hell with them.

However, you were your mothers daughter at the end of the day.

You could be a writer. An even better one that she could've ever been. If you wanted to, you could do it. 

And that is exactly what you did.

You typed, and typed, and typed until your fingers would cramp up. The multi-billionaire was a leviathan and everyone would see that no matter what. 

You, on the other hand, were an innocent bystander. Too weak to intervene, to fight back. Too young. Yeah. That was what happened that night.

But you also had your own perspective. One your mom could never match.

While she married for the illusion of love, you would’ve married for money with no shame. Carlos just happened to be the luckiest of strikes because you got both. 

While she always was at the front of the room without having to try, you were always in the back with a bitter smile. Why did she get to have two dimples? All eyes would have surely been on you if you had at least one. 

And while she never cared about reaching the New York Times Best Seller list—you did. 

She would have jumped with joy just by selling ten copies, but not you. You always wanted more—craved more. Label it as ambition. 

More copies sold means more money. A trust fund means more money. Playing the victim against your step-father means even more money. So yeah…

You did care about that stupid list. 

Tilting your head back against your seat, you flinch at the taste of the pill, too familiar for your liking, but the wine helps. It always does nowadays. 

Buzz. 

Picking up with a level of indifference was all fake—you had been yearning this call for what seemed like your whole life.

“Hey.” His voice is almost raw. Like he could use a couple cough drops. “I-I-I read your book. It was incredible.”

And for the first time in a while, you smile. “Thank you, that means a lot, Carlos.”

You can hear the static against the line, indicating once again that you’re on opposite sides of the world and not together. You can almost bet that it will always stay that way. 

The Spaniard coughs awkwardly into your ear.

“Oh, and also, congrats on making it onto the New York Times Best Seller.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious

[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

sevika x prostitute!reader

sometimes life gets worse, before it becomes better. luckily sevika ready to help you with it.

a\n: i hate how half of this fandom makes "sexy sevika in a brothel" jokes. this was written with the strong despisement for anyone who supports swork and thinks that it's freeing in any shape or form. it's NOT a light one, i'd say, so please be careful with the content you're consuming. also inform me if i should change something about the tags or tws

tw: mention of suicide, not explicit describtion of SA, drug abuse

tags: angst, hurt\comfort (kinda?), no smut (idk if i can call it sfw, sex is mentioned but not with sevika), happy ending

whispers run through the main hall, they won't stop repeating for half an hour at least, every worker and guest is too excited or nervous to be in the haunting dog of zaun's presence. "she's here". "sevika came". it won't be surprising if someone suggests placing a bet who she'll choose next, now that her favorite girl is dead.

well, that's the thing really, you couldn't care less for anyone in here and especially sevika. your best friend is dead and you can't even mourn her properly, because there's always "clients demand our full attention, girls, don't forget that" and "no alcohol or drugs, unless our guests want it, girls". there's numbing pain tugging at you heart, making you want to vomit every time you have to think of your loss and there's no way to drink yourself to oblivion to not feel all this.

so far, the night was calm. the only man for the night left you alone an hour ago after mindlessly fucking you face down into the mattress for couple of minutes and disappearing as soon as he finished. you could only hope for it go as smoothly but luck wasn't on your side for some time now. a shadow looms over before you notice who it belongs to.

you raise your eyes. sevika. "of course," you think, "cause the day needs to get worse".

"are you free?" she asks bluntly. no greetings, no small talk. that's normal really, manageable. it's usually way worse when the client wants to spill all their heartache or frustration before what they actually came for.

"not even gonna buy girl a drink?" you try to put on your prettiest face, smiling coyly and frowning in a fake pout, hoping she'll let you get at least a bit drunk.

"no, come on". she just turns around and heads towards the second floor to the private rooms.

a scream dies somewhere on a tip of your tongue, leaving sour taste.

you have to hurry after her, people as powerful as sevika hate nothing more than to wait and there's no reason to get on her bad side. it's nerve wracking, scary even, to guess what kind of client she will be. there're not much women who come here and not one of them has ever chosen you. a risk of sevika getting frustrated and dissatisfied with your inexperience is high and definitely not what you want since if the customer is angry then madame is angry and you'll be punished in some way.

you take a look at sevika again, following her step by step. she holds herself with great confidence, understandable for someone with such a status, broad shoulders, perfect posture, full heavy steps that make people move out of her path.

you reach the room finally, dreadfully. sevika sits down in the chair waiting for you to lock the door. as you do so, you turn back to her, sliding the straps off your minidress down.

"wait, no." sevika stops you. "i'm not here for this. just sit down." she gestures to the bed and you follow her orders, confused but not daring to ask.

the silence follows. you sit in your place trying not to breathe too hard, a blank expression on your face, while sevika thinks something through.

"you knew yana?" you basically jump in place, hearing your friend's name. "i mean... she was your friend?"

"she is my friend." you snap unexpectedly even for yourself but don't correct the words or make an attempt at apologizing no matter how dangerous that move is.

the corner of sevika's lip rises a little in a smirk but it's gone as fast as it appeared.

"she's dead." "doesn't change the fact that she's my friend." gods, why can't you shut up.

there's a pure rage boiling inside of you. it's painful when no one in this fucking place took time to acknowledged her death. another whore killing herself, what's the news really? but this... it's worse, the way sevika seems more amused with the fact than, you don't know, at least sad that one of her favorites is no longer here.

silence again. sevika studies you like she's trying to find something. the gaze is different from what you usually get from customers, burning, suffocating glances of men who look you over, imagine what you would look like naked under them before making there choice and passing several bills to madame.

"you have a lot of friends here?" what the fuck is she on about?

"i don't run my mouth if that's what you need."

"that's not what i asked." the smirk again. "but whatever."

she lights a cigarette and makes a few puffs. as the smell reaches you, you can't help but scrunch your nose, never appreciative of the smell. as she sees your dissatisfaction, she clicks her tongue and reaches for the ashtray, putting the cigarette down.

"here's what we gonna do. i'll sleep here till morning and you just... i don't know, do your thing? sleep too?" she waves her hand in the air.

you have to take a moment before her words actually lock in. "what?" sevika doesn't strike you as the type to use some euphemisms when she talks about sex, "sleep" here actually seems like she means it.

"you heard me. i already paid for the whole night if you're worried about it." she gives no further explanation and just leans back, dropping her head on the chair and closing her eyes. it's better not to disturb her. there's not much to say or do for you so you just sit there for a while, listening to the steady breathing and fall asleep yourself, not ready to give up a prospect of a calm night. when you wake up in the morning, sevika isn't there.

she comes and goes. for the last two weeks sevika visited you almost every day. the nights go basically the same. nothing much happens, though she becomes more and more chatty with every meeting.

you know her favorite food, know how her day went, know what she thinks about every chem-baron. in return sevika knows what're your favorite flowers, knows what your childhood was like, knows how you got into the brothel.

she's always so nonchalant about her questions, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like she's simply asking to fill the space. but working in a place like this teaches you read people easily and it becomes clear very quickly that sevika is actually searching for something. you're not sure if it's safe to give her the information she wants to hear but it's been too long since you had a person to talk to. it becomes easy to pretend like she actually interested in your stories and opinions.

she also now sleeps in a bed with you, leaving her place in the chair on the third night when you offer it yourself. she's one of those people who can fall asleep on a whim anywhere and anytime, you guess. or she's just very good at pretending.

and when she does fall asleep you lie awake, looking at her, replaying everything she said earlier in your head, trying to make sense of it, of her.

you get caught eventually. one night she just opens her eyes as she wakes up (if she's slept at all) and looks straight at you. both of you lie on your sides, facing each other. nothing is said for good five minutes, she's studying your features as well as you do hers in a dim glow of the lamp post outside the window.

"wanna know a secret?" sevika finally breaks the comfortable silence, a light smirk on her lips. you nod your head slowly, not breaking the eye contact.

"i'm getting you out of here."

the sentence doesn't register, so you have to ask her to repeat it.

"i'm getting. you. out." she says again, slowly, dividing the words.

you rise up swiftly, leaning yourself on the elbow. "you're not funny." of course it's some twisted joke, what else could it be. anger ready to overtake you easily.

the smirk grows wider on her face. "im serious, sweetheart."

that's when she tells you. probably the craziest thing you've ever heard. her visits to the brothel were never for any sexual pleasures, mostly getting intel for her and, by extant, silco's plans. till couple of months ago when she took on a mission of getting such a business out of zaun.

yana was suppose to be one of the first women who sevika and her team would save. they were late in the end.

"why didn't you tell her?" you ask partially frustrated at the coincidence of circumstances and sevika. if only yana knew that the help was on the way, she would still be alive, probably free from her prison. instead she just couldn't handle the life she thought she's bound to till her dying day or when she'll become old enough for madame to throw her out on the streets cause she wouldn't bring enough money.

"i was afraid to risk it, she was too unstable to be trusted such an information for a long term." sevika sighs heavily, dragging a hand through her face. "that was a wrong move on my end."

"and yet you're telling me this two weeks later? there were no guarantee for you that i wouldn't do the same."

"i... had to take a gamble. i knew basically nothing about you before. yana did share some stories but that wasn't enough to ease my anxieties."

you talk and talk and talk. about yana, about your life here. you throw question after question to her and she doesn't seem to get tired of answering you.

"why me? or why... not everyone at once?"

"it's impossible to do this in one go without much practice. look at this as us dipping toes in the water."

"so i'm a guinea pig?" sevika opens her mouth to argue but closes it immediately, realizing that you're only teasing her.

"no, you're something i can fix. give me a week more, okay?" she says it with such confidence in her voice that you got nothing else to do but to believe her.

sevika comes every night now, trying to take as much as she can of your working time so others won't get to you. there's a slight tug of guilt somewhere in your heart, because there's probably girls in the brothel who need this more, who can handle less than you, who just got here and weren't that much ruined with the way people treat them like some meat to jerk off to.

"your arm."

you look over yourself. it is an old bruise that got her concerned, one of the clients getting too harsh. you don't remember much, he let you have a blunt, you didn't ask of what, before everything occurred. it's yellow already, few days more and it'll disappear.

"fuck. probably smudged my makeup somewhere."

sevika's look is heavy, fixed on the spot.

"it's nothing, don't worry."

"it's not nothing." she's now looking straight into your eyes, there's a dangerous fire gleaming and it's impossible to hold her gaze so you just look to the side, noticing her fingers digging into an armrest. it is not nothing, you both know that. but all you can think of is that you would love to feel sevika's palm on you, covering the damned bruise, letting you dream it was never there.

no, you deserve to run as much as the next person. and it's not like you're gonna be the only one. like sevika told you, it's only the beginning.

"good news", sevika says and there's a smile on her face. you're not sure if you ever saw her smile. not a grin or a smirk that she gives everyone here but a genuine, warm smile. she looks lovely with it and you can't help but smile too back at her, not even knowing the reason.

"like what?"

the morning air is cool, autumn starts to take the reigns of nature. there's only a set of underwear and a nightgown on you so you shiver and hug yourself. you couldn't take any of your belongings, she said yesterday night, when she finally announced that it's time to set the plans in motion. some kind of big cloth, a poncho, you regester not as fast as you'd like to, lends on your shoulders, warm from the body heat of it's owner.

"sorry, that's all i got for now. need to get to the safe house, have actually some clothes for you."

you nod dumbfounded and just follow her. everything feels like a dream really, that about to be ripped away and you'll simply wake up back in the room that smells of head numbing incenses, ready to greet another customer.

you look over the clothes she gave you, simple pair of brown jeans, a black turtleneck and a jacket. the jeans are a size too big for you but nothing a belt can't fix.

"the plans to get you out changed so quick, i completely forgot to buy something your size."

"was it for her?" you don't need the answer, you know it already.

"yeah."

there're tears falling down that you can't control. you cry silently, turned away from sevika. you're not sure if she actually doesn't notice or just wants to give you space when she finally says "alright, gonna step out for you to change, meet me in the kitchen when you're ready."

as she takes a step to the door you lounge yourself at her, grabbing calloused hand and tugging it to your waist, looking for contact. now only you can do is cry, your sobs becoming louder and louder, your throat hurts like hell, you won't be able to speak later for sure.

there's a stream of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" coming from your mouth, your body basically presses inside sevika's. she doesn't answer. her other hand gently covers the crown of your head, guiding your tearful face to her chest and she lets you rest it there.

[comesatimecomesashadow]

meet the frownies *ೃ༄

pairing *ೃ༄ sunday x reader

fic type *ೃ༄ headcanons, once-shot, comfort

cw *ೃ༄ mentions of mild/severe depression (no mentions of SH or other similar topics)

summary *ೃ༄ sunday takes care of you during your hardest moments.

note *ೃ༄ i've made so many of these for different characters, its crazy | also its my first time writing 4 sunday so don't judge too harshly TwT

masterlist *ೃ༄

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday is already reluctant to have you out of his sight for too long, so he notices right away when you’re dealing with a particularly bad episode of depression. Being the attentive lover that he is, he studies up on your condition and equips himself with knowledge to learn how to take care of you and how to approach you during these episodes. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . He isn’t one to beat around the bush and frankly, he hates it when others do too. However, he understands if you don’t want to come with him about your mental issues. He’ll coax you into it sooner or later, you of course, won’t notice. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . Sunday won’t force you to do anything (per sé), he’ll only suggest something and make you feel like it was your choice in the first place. He’ll have the butlers and servants of his mansion tend to you with the utmost care. Craving something sweet? Or perhaps a book to read- maybe pages to color? Chances are, he’s already sent for it. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you have a preference for solitude, he assumes that your solitude excludes him. Whether you like it or not, Sunday will always stay at your side during these moments and make sure his dearest isn’t lacking the care they need or putting themselves in danger. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . If you can’t tend to your hair, can’t find your appetite, or just can’t bring yourself to emerge from the confines of the plush bed of your shared room — Sunday will help you care for yourself. While the Head of the Oak Family wouldn’t otherwise find himself doing such things for others, he won’t hesitate to do it for you. 

ᡣ𐭩 . . But as much as he is your lover, that doesn’t mean he isn’t a little twisted. Sunday likes it when you rely on him so in these moments of depression, he’ll find his ego skyrocketing by the way you allow him to help you take care of yourself. 

༝༚༝༚ oneshot under the cut !

   Three days, sixteen system hours and fifteen minutes. 

   That was all the time Sunday needed to realize you were not your usual self. He noticed the despondent gleam in your eyes and the sluggish air that surrounded you as of late. Surely you’d come to him sooner or later.. He didn’t want to scare you with his confrontation and drive you away, you were a fragile thing — You needed patience and loving care. 

   Sunday would bear the weight of the world for you, but even he has limits. 

   As the month passed, your condition only deteriorated which only served to concern him even further. When you left his office after reporting to him, he searched The Family’s archives high and low to learn what he should do to aid you. “-’people who suffer from depression may experience episodes of lethargy, numbness and in severe cases, may even suffer from suicidal ideation. While one cannot cure this condition, depression may be alleviated by understanding company, healthy foods and therapy in severe cases.’..” 

   Should he get you a therapist? Did you need one? Sunday smiled to himself and thought his abilities to be better than any therapist; All you needed was him and he was sure of it. He closed the book promptly and put it back in its place, he’ll have to talk to you later — It was about time that you came to him after dealing with all of that yourself. 

.

.

.

   Later that night, you withdrew to Sunday’s mansion after work. Three years of a relationship with the Head of the Oak family had provided you a warm stay at his residence and you couldn’t be more than grateful — Especially during times like this. Lately, you hadn’t been eating much and you began to get out of bed later than you usually did. The servants only looked at you with concern, but said nothing lest they incur the wrath of Sunday. 

   You sighed upon entering your shared quarters. A moment to breathe and try to collect yourself. The act of going to work and coming back was already a tiring task so you were glad none of the servants asked you anything. You wouldn’t know what to say anyway. 

   The weight on your shoulders felt lessened when you got into your sleeping clothes and crept into the inviting sheets of the king sized bed you slept in. They enveloped you whole and warmed you up after a few moments. You knew what you were going through and after so many years of dealing with it on your own, you’d believed the best remedy was to sleep it off. 

   But Sunday had other plans. 

   When he got home that night, he asked the butler about your whereabouts. After being informed that you had withdrawn to your shared quarters and were asleep, Sunday thanked him and sought you out. He wasn’t sure how he should confront you or let you sleep.. But for now he’d do the latter and address your condition tomorrow. 

   Sunday wasn’t unfamiliar with your current mental state; You were usually like this every few months but it was the first time he had seen it affect you so much. Usually you’d be back to your usual self after about a week or two; This time it had been unusually extended for almost a month. 

   Which is why he was so concerned. 

   When he opened the door, the room inside was dark, as if a black hole had enveloped it whole. The moon outside only served to dimly light the inside of it. As Sunday discarded his work clothes, he was pained upon gazing at your sleeping form. The notable signs of your lethargy were evident by your slow, deep breaths. 

   As he settled in beside you, he adjusted his position so he was spooning you. He was delighted when you turned over to curl into him, a subtle moment of vulnerability he missed seeing in you. He wrapped his arm around you, like a snare encircling its prey. Sunday placed a soft kiss on your forehead before closing his eyes and succumbing to sleep. 

   The rest of the night was quiet and soon after, the morning came. When morning crept up on the both of you, Sunday was the first to get up. Now that there was a little light in the room, he saw the prominent shadows that settled under your eyes. You seemed at peace but tired at the same time. 

   After getting ready for the day, Sunday reached out to cup your cheek to slowly lull you out of your slumber  with his soft touch. He needed you to tell him what was going on, he wouldn’t let it go on any further. After a short while, your lashes fluttered and you awoke with a soft yawn. 

   “You’re here.” You noted as you sat up and rubbed the sleep from your eyes. 

   “Of course I am, dearest. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

   You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes once more, barely awake. “You’re usually at work at this hour.” 

   He smiled a little and lay his head on top of yours. A warmth settled on his heart as he took note of how perceptive you were when it came to him.  “You’re not wrong. But I have more pressing matters to tend to here than at work.” 

   You straightened up and gazed up at him lazily, “Yeah?” 

   He nodded, “Mhm.” 

   “Like what?” 

   He smiled, your curiosity was a thing that never seemed to diminish. “Your state of mind, I’ve noticed you’ve not been well, dearest.” Once you heard his words, you tore your eyes away from his, 

   “Oh.” You played with the fabric of the fluffed up sheets that covered you. “That.” 

   “I’m not going to ask if you’re fine, I know you aren't.” Sunday began, “But I want you to come to me if you’re struggling. I can’t have my lover drowning in their own issues, you know that right?” His voice had a sincere lilt to it. 

   You brought your knees up to your chest and hugged them close, as if to curl up into a ball and hide yourself from the world. Sunday hated seeing you so tired and apathetic, so caged in. 

   Like a dove in a cage. 

   “Dear you know I hate to see you hurting..” He reached out to lift your chin towards him, “Won’t you entrust me with your troubles?” 

   “I’m afraid you can’t fix this one, Sunday..” you muttered quietly. 

   Sunday smiled tenderly, “I’m not trying to fix you, dear. This isn’t something that can be fixed.” You looked up into his eyes, as if you were searching for something in them. Maybe answers.. Maybe comfort. “-But if I can help you feel better, that would be enough for me.” 

   You hadn’t been feeling much in the past few weeks, but for some reason, his words touched your heart. People throughout your life always treated your mental illness like it was a part of you to remain undisclosed, hidden from public view. It was like an interminable mistake; a blot on your person that you could not erase no matter how much you tried to correct it. 

   Sunday noticed the glimmer of emotion in your eyes, it had been a while since he’d last seen you so .. hopeful. While he did like having you rely on him.. He knew this wasn’t good for you. He rubbed your back, “I know you haven’t been eating well, your appetite has been diminishing. But is there anything you’re craving? Even if it’s something small, you should eat, my darling.” 

   You wiped the tears in your eyes that had begun to form. “Uh.. well, ..Can I have something sweet?” Your voice was low, but soft. 

   “My, my.. If you wanted to have me for breakfast you could have just said so, dearest.” He joked. To his satisfaction, you let out a small laugh at his joke. It was the first time in weeks he had seen you smile so genuinely. It wasn’t a fake one, like the one you used at work when greeting your coworkers. “Sweet treats can be arranged. In the meantime, would you like a bath?”

   ‘A bath would seem nice..’ you thought to yourself. But then, you thought about how you’d have to wash every inch of your body, the shampooing and conditioning.. Once you thought about it, it seemed like a chore you didn’t want to get into. And as if he knew exactly what you were thinking, Sunday spoke up once more. “I’m offering, dearest. You’ll just sit back and relax, hm? How about it?” 

   So one nod and a couple minutes later, here you were. 

   The water surrounded your body, the bubbles felt nice around your skin. Sunday was singing what sounded like a lullaby while he gently undid the knots in your hair. Usually, it was a feat to take care of your hair, but Sunday made it feel as if it was no trouble at all. You swore you could fall asleep to the sound of his voice, if he let you. 

   The sweet timbre in his voice came to a stop after he finished the song. “Why did you hold off on telling me about your condition..?” 

   You kept popping the bubbles around you, but at a slower pace. “..I didn’t want to trouble you, I know how busy you can get with the hotel guests and The Family.” 

   Sunday was amused by your thoughtfulness. But it still saddened him, that you rarely trusted him with issues like these. “Dearest, I’ll always make time for you.” Once he finished detangling your hair, he rinsed off the conditioner carefully. Seeing him so focused on you was something you had missed. 

   “I know, I know.. I just didn’t want to bother you with something so trivial..” You honestly thought that it was something you should just deal with on your own. It had worked so well for years, the years before him.. So it should work now, right?

   Sunday moved the stool he sat on to face you. Yellow irises met yours and you think you’ve never seen a man look so ethereal than now. “I know you can handle yourself, but I am your lover. I want to know when you’re feeling distressed, or saddened for the sole fact that, to me, it is anything but trivial. It matters to me.” His words were sincere. You knew it from the way he looked at you when he said them — As if you were the only person in his world. 

   You nodded, but that wasn’t enough for Sunday. “I want you to let me know when you feel like this, okay? I do not want to see you suffering alone. We’ll bear the weight of it together.” 

   A familiar warmth set into your heart upon hearing him. In the many years you’d dealt with your mental condition, you’d never met someone so willing to shoulder the burden that you felt you were, until now. You knew for a fact that Sunday loved you, but hearing it like this and seeing it in his actions was different entirely. 

   Overtaken by your emotions, you sprang out from the tub and wrapped your arms around his neck. The cold air nipped at your skin but you could care less. “I’ll tell you about these things more often, just.. Be patient with me.” 

   Sunday was surprised by your actions at first and he didn’t quite like being wet, but he’d bear it for you. He returned your hug and nodded. 

   “I’ll wait however long it takes.” 

[quietstormxr]

Healing Scars

Xaden Riorson x Reader

TW: This post contains mentions of self-harm, depression, and suicidal thoughts. If you find any of these things triggering, I suggest skipping this one.

Also, to anyone reading this feel free to message me if you're in need of someone to talk to. I know it can feel hard to believe in the low moments, but please know that there are those out there who do love you and need you in so many different ways.

If you are in the United States and need someone else to speak to, please try: National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or dial 988 or (en Español).

Summary: As a daughter of the apostasy, you had no choice but to join the riders quadrant. Memories and your past do nothing but bring you down in every way.

A/N: Swearing, insinuated FW/IF spoilers

Word Count: 8k

This is probably the day I die.

The thought is both sobering and brings you an unfortunate sense of peace. After years of trying to hold onto a sliver of hope that things weren’t as bad as you thought, your mind had turned on you. 

Losing your parents to the apostasy was a blow that seemed to drag you under time and time again. The only thought pulling you forward being holding on for your younger sister. The way that she had looked at you that day as if you could rescue her from the nightmare the only picture stopping you so many times. The flash of dragon fire, the rush of pain flaring to life down your arm, the high-pitched scream from your sister that still rung in your ears six years later, and all of the memories sharper today than ever before.

‘Remember Y/N, you always need to take care of Flora. She’ll be looking to you to keep her safe.’ Your mother’s parting words to you constantly sounding in your ears. 

You tried to lock down the feelings you’d try to keep hidden, but the crushing weight of your directed fate weighed heavy on your soul. 

Looking up, your feet began to feel as if they are full of the stones holding up the fortress in front of you. No amount of description or facts listed could’ve prepared you for the force that was the war college you now found yourself in front of. 

You swallow thickly the bile and nerves that threaten to explode as you trudge towards the table with the rolls. However, nothing can mask the looks of disgust that you garner as you slog through the families saying their goodbyes. It seems every pair of eyes you pass stares at the black swirls that rage across your arm, a mark that noted, to them, you were the enemy. Yet, here you were, holding on by a single thread and not a threat to any one of them, let alone an entire kingdom.

As you walk up to the tables, you notice there is another child of the apostasy taking names. He looks up at you, but there’s no gleam of recognition, so he treats you as if you’re any other cadet. The hope that some of those would remember you diminishing little by little. Your parents were officers in Fen’s Assembly, but you were never one that fit into the group that would gather at Riorson House.

Realization that you’ll be just as alone here as you had been for the last six years hitting you hard. As you start making your ascent, your thoughts begin their incessant spiral. The thought of the way you were ignored and belittled by the other children in the orphanage in Calldyr leading to the blazing doubts you have about your own worth. 

Spending six years drowning in the passive aggressive taunts of the children of the orphanage, the endless punching bag for the staff, and the personal maid of the entire facility left you drained. You had no more tears, no more rage, no more screams, just nothing. Empty.

As you rounded the last few steps of the tower, you felt your face slacken. Devoid of all feeling and emotion, you found yourself finally at the top of the tower and across you could see the bridge that may just be the end of it all. 

Your eyes focus in on the narrow bridge as the cadets and candidates around you fade into the blackness around you. Your mind zoning in on the thought that you can finally forget. Forget the hurt, the burn of the anger, the sting of the pain, the fierce ache of the agony, the profound feeling of loss, the isolation of loneliness. 

Blindly walking forward as the next person in front of you does, you don’t notice the movement of the cadets that are taking names. You continue walking forward until you are the only one left before the opening of the stone bridge that looms to be your judge, jury, and executioner. 

As you go to take the next step forward, you are jolted back to the present by a firm hand tightening on your shoulder. You look to your left and are shocked to see a boy, no now a man, that causes your brain to ring with familiarity. Gone are the slightly rounded slope of his cheekbones and jaw, to now reveal a harsh slash of cutting bone along with a shadow of dark stubble.  Though you can’t help but notice how the color of his eyes and the sweep of his hair has remained the same, even though so much time has passed. The look he gives you is full of something you can’t quite understand, but at the same time you chalk that up to your own spiraling thoughts of nothingness.

“Y/N.” He says quietly as he looks back at you intently. The shock that he knows your name must flash brightly in your eyes because it seems his face falls slightly, as if disappointed you expected otherwise.

His hesitation at your shock doesn’t last though as he slightly lowers himself to speak in a hushed whisper only you can hear. 

“Make sure to keep your head up and remember if your pack falls, let it. I expect to see you on the other side.”

The second half of his statement leaves you with another flare of shock. Why would Xaden Riorson care if you made it across the parapet? In fact, if you were to fall that would be one less burden for him to carry. 

As if you said the thought aloud, you watch as his face falls into a slight frown while your brows furrow. Though you give him a curt nod before you continue to walk to the opening of the turret. 

The storm brewing inside of you seems to stretch to the skies as you look up and the rain begins to pour. You huff a laugh as you drop your head in a shake, hair now soaking and damp running down your back. Deciding to at least attempt to try, you pick your head up and slowly begin to put one foot in front of the other. 

As you step outside of the protective walls, you are blown to the side as a fierce gust of wind seems to batter at your frame. Through some blessing from Zinhal, you manage to stay upright. Before your thoughts have time to catch up, you find yourself stepping through the other side of the turret walls and entering the quadrant. The way your thoughts seem to drown out the trial ahead of you working in your favor.

You can’t help but huff as you give the rider your name. Surely you must be the only cadet who was hoping that you wouldn’t see the inside of the rider’s quadrant today. As soon as you say your name, you look around at your new personal hell and try to find the best corner to hide away in. 

Hidden. Invisible. 

_____________

Two weeks have passed, and you still find yourself alive. You huff a laugh at the thought while pulling your hood above your head. Who knew that the curse of this place for you would be the wanting to die and having difficulty doing so? At every turn, it felt as if any minute you could feel the release of death, but for some unknown reason, the axe had yet to fall completely.

You now find yourself creeping out of the dormitories in the middle of the night to convene with the rest of those cadets that are marked. Though you were invited by another cadet, you find yourself alone again making your way to the tree the other cadet had described. 

As your feet lumber to the meeting spot, you realize that you have been procrastinating as your pace becomes slower than a snail. You round the corner and see the group gathered under the tree, the words of Garrick slowly reaching your ears.

It’s then you realize this is the older riders trying to help. At the understanding, you stop entirely. There’s no reason for you to waste their time when your plan isn’t to survive or thrive in the quadrant. Instead of progressing forward or letting anyone see you, you slink into the shadows of one of the nearest trees and let your back hit the trunk and your body slide down to the ground.

You let your head fall back onto the tree and close your eyes. As you sit there, your hand seems to wander of its own accord to the dagger you have strapped to your thigh. You feel as your fingers brush the hilt that is carved with runes. Letting your fingers sink into the ridges of the hilt and tracing the dips and curves. 

Soon enough, your fingers have gravitated even lower and are ghosting across the sharp blade. You barely register when your own hand pulls the dagger from the sheath, and you begin to run the blade lightly up your thigh. 

As it skims around your waist, you bring the blade up to study it in the light. Hilt resting in your right palm, your left is now open with the shining blade laying across it. Your head tilts as your eyes begin to focus on the sharp silver glinting in your hand.

Vision tunneling, there’s nothing around you to stop the call of your mind to slash the gleaming metal across your palm. You can even imagine the well of the blood across the open wound and the slight sting that will accompany the damage. Before your brain can begin to bring the pressure to your hand, you’re shocked to find a black shimmering band coiling across your dagger.

Focus momentarily broken, your gaze is stolen by the way the shadows seem to coil and dance in your hands. Moments later your concentration is broken by the sound of footsteps through the grass beside you. You startle slightly when the large figure sits down next to you. 

His hand immediately darts to yours, taking the dagger from your grasp. As your gaze begins to sweep to his eyes, you watch as hand moves slowly and sheaths the dagger back at your thigh.

“Why didn’t you join the others?” He questions, an authoritative tone coating every word.

You shrug your shoulders struck with nothing but apathy. “Didn’t feel the need to, I suppose.”

Then you suddenly realize, through your own zoning out, you heard the words the man next to you said. 

“Didn’t you just tell that other first year to accept their fate and not take up any more of your time?” You retort your patience wearing thin when all you want is to slip into the darkness. 

“I was just sparing you from wasting your time.” The snap of your tone reverberating between you both in the darkness. With the anger flaring, you turn to get up and away from the man next to you, but you find yourself rooted to the spot when his hand clamps around your wrist.

“Yes, I did say that.” He snarls while looking at you with a gaze that could pierce stone. 

“Precisely, so please dear Wingleader, please just write me off in your books.” You can’t help the defiant tone that the man brings out in you. “I’ve always been an afterthought, a footnote in the story. At this point, I just want my story to reach the end.”

As you’ve continued speaking, you watch as the anger radiating from Xaden has grown to full wrath at your words.

“Why?” The one word turns your sulking into confusion as he continues to seem to study you, eyes burning. 

“Because I’m done. I’m tired of just existing.” The words leaving your mouth in an exasperated sigh. Your entire face falls, along with your body the fight draining from you. “Besides, why do you care? For all the years I’ve known you, you’ve said more words to me tonight than ever before.”

“You act as though people don’t see you. That they never have.” He argues. 

“They haven’t. The only reason I’m still here is because my parents told me I had to take care of my sister.” The derision in your tone is unavoidable as the force of the request begins to finally take its toll.

Xaden continues to study you as if this is the first time he’s actually seeing you. The scrutiny begins to gnaw at your insecurities, and you find yourself drawing into yourself. Sensing your hesitancy, his gaze softens. 

“Do you remember the first night you arrived at Riorson House?” He asks. You can’t help the furrow that sets into your brows as you contemplate his question. 

“Of course. It’s hard to forget feeling like an intruder when you’re fifteen years old and constantly moving around.” You sass at him.

His face falls ever so slightly while seeming to remember the night himself. “Yes, well that may be what it looked like to you, but things aren’t always what they seem.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

“It means a beautiful girl shows up at a fortress filled with idiot teenage boys and they clearly didn’t know what to do.” He says with a reflective gaze levelled back at the moon. 

Your own bewilderment at his words can’t be hidden by the darkness of the moon. “You’re trying to tell me that you all avoided me because I was beautiful, and you were teenagers?”

The way your eyes roll and the scoff that leaves your lips is unavoidable. You can’t honestly believe anything coming out of this man’s mouth.

“Besides, I wasn’t the only girl there, was I?” You bark the tone of incredulity settled deep into your bones. 

“Just do yourself a service and forget I’m here. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, I’m sure.” You continue rising to your feet and pull your hood back above your head. You let your feet carry you away from Xaden and back towards the citadel. 

As you make your way there, you try to shut off your mind, but can’t help the way it wanders at the words he said. Was he really being truthful or was it just a way to get under your skin and through your defenses?

You shake your head willing the thoughts away as you toss of your cloak and try to settle into your bed. Staring up at the bunk above you, you will your mind to settle as it continues to race with questions. If he wasn’t willing to help the other first year, why did Xaden stop you from slicing your own palm? What game was he playing at?

__________

Though you haven’t tried, the work of the rider’s quadrant has seemed to overpower your raging thoughts. The training, the fights, the academics, all holding your focus more than you thought possible. No matter what you tried, you were never able to completely give up the rouse of trying. Maybe it was the years of pushing through, maybe it was just the curse of never wanting to let anyone down, but you threw on a face of interest and found yourself being friendly and clicking with your squad mates.

In the dark cover of night, while everyone else was asleep you could finally drop the mask and let the emptiness settle into your bones. As an expert at sneaking past the patrols of the halls, you learned the times that they would be on your barracks block. 

Moving quietly through the halls, you scaled the stairs of the academic tower to the top. The latch of the now familiar door slightly creaking as you lifted the hatch to move to the roof. A huff leaves your lips as you think of someone you know finding you up here. The shock of their face as you balance on the precarious slate tiles that line the roof. Sitting down, you hear the unmistakable roar of a dragon as you look to the sky. The sight of the creatures now becoming a permanent fixture in your mind.

The thought sobering as you find yourself moving closer and closer to Threshing and the certainty you have in your mind that no dragon will find you worthy. 

Better yet, maybe one will be merciful and incinerate me onsite.

The thought coils around you like a blanket as you move further down the slope of the roof. Feet dangling over the side, you recline yourself on the tiles as you begin to throw your dagger in the air, the silver glinting menacingly in the moonlight. 

Hours pass and you don’t even realize, caught in the churning of your own thoughts and the mesmerizing twirl of your dagger. Rays of gold and orange begin to crest on the horizon, and you know it’s time for you to make your way back down towards the barracks to avoid being seen. 

As you turn to get up, you feel one of the tiles begin to shift. Before you can think of a way to move without disturbing more, you find your knee falling back into the roof tiles. The reverberation through your body throwing you forward, and your face colliding with the slate. Even before pulling your face up, you can feel the warm trickle of blood that is now staining your right cheek.

Mentally cursing yourself, there’s now no way to avoid a large bruise and cut to your cheek that you’ll have to come up with a story for. The small door creaking again as you open the hatch back up to get to the stairs. Continuing to climb down the spiraling staircase, you wipe at your cheek and realize that there is still a stream of blood flowing. The scarlet staining your fingers drags your attention away from the stairs and the hall around you tunneling your vision as you study your reddened fingers.

It isn’t until you realize that you’ve entered back into the sunlight of the rotunda that your awareness returns. As you look up, you lock onto a gaze you never expected to see. Eyes begin to scan your body up and down, a sliver of concern lancing through the golden flecks. You bring your hand down to your side, wiping the blood on your pants as you move on from the gaze and begin walking again. 

You hear the footsteps before you feel the hand that clamps around your arm turning you towards the man. 

“What the hell happened, Y/N?”

“Nothing.” You reply tearing your arm away from his grasp. 

“Nothing doesn’t leave you with a split cheek and bruising on your face.” Xaden growls back at you while going to loom over you.

“You’ll be surprised to find that intimidation doesn’t work with me Riorson.” You bite back. “If you must know, I tripped. Happy?”

You go to step around him as he continues to eye you with suspicion. Suddenly a flash of horror flies across his face and his hand is braced firmly on your arm again. 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” He hisses the anger rising in his irises. 

“Maybe I am. What’s it to you?” He rears back at your words as if you slapped him across the face. You watch as his gaze burns changing from anger to concern, searching your face as if looking for another answer.

“Do you really think your life isn’t worth saving?” Xaden breathes as if he’s trying to convey something that you just don’t understand.

You just shrug your shoulders back at the brooding Wingleader, your nonchalant attitude causing his shoulders to droop. However, the next thing you know, he’s squaring his shoulders again and hardening his stare. “Come on, you’re going to the healers to get that taken care of.”

As he turns and begins to tug you by your hand, you try to pull back your hand. “I’m fine.” You argue as you continue to try and pry your wrist from his grasp. 

He whirls around and you take a slight step back. Realizing his own actions, he slows his movements as he brings his hand to your face. His thumb gently brushes over the cut moving some of the blood from the cut and you slightly wince at the pain. Golden flecks seem to disappear as he watches the movement cross your face.

“You aren’t.” He says quietly. “Will you please go to the healers with me?”

Unsure if it’s the tone of his voice or the gentleness of the question, but you give a curt nod in affirmation before he’s gently pulling on your wrist again and leading you to the healers. 

And not for the first time your interaction with Xaden has left you bewildered. 

The scent of healing herbs assaults you as you enter the healers and take a seat on one of the waiting beds. Waiting for the healer to come in, you can’t help but study the man that seems to always pop up during your lowest moments. As if he feels you study him, he picks up his head from the chair he is seated in, and his gaze rises to meet yours. You watch as his brow furrows in confusion.

“Who were you fostered with?” He asks as he tilts his head as if trying to piece together a complex puzzle.

You look back at him with a quizzical expression wondering why it could possibly matter where you were.

“No one.” You reply flatly looking at the questioning onyx eyes as he raises his scared brow. “I was sent to an orphanage in Calldyr because none of the families wanted me.”

It’s surprising to see the amount of shock that passes across his features as you go quiet after revealing this information. You can feel as the tension in the room seems to rise as neither one of you speaks. In a bid to break the heaviness that has settled between you, you decide to share what happened that day.

“While we were waiting with the rest of the children to be chosen, Lady Hawtrey took an interest in my sister and took her back to Grenmont Hall.” You continue with a shrug. “But after they left, no one gave me a second glance. My parents weren’t well known enough for me to draw interest I suppose. Or at least I wasn’t that interesting to anyone.”

A remorseful Xaden Riorson is a sight that you never thought you’d see in your life, yet here he is looking like he’d give anything in the world to change what happened. The golden shine in his eyes when he looks up at you causes your breath to catch in your throat. 

“No one told me that anyone ended up in the orphanage.” He breathes quietly, the weight of your circumstances weighing down his shoulders.

You can’t help the way you reach out instinctively to comfort the man in front of you placing your hand over his.

“It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” The conviction in your voice causing it to rise slightly. The situation you had found yourself in after your parents’ death wasn’t ideal, but you knew you couldn’t let the man in front of you take the blame. “You were only a teenage boy making decisions for the fate of over a hundred children. Nothing like that should have ever fallen on your shoulders.”

The look in Xaden’s eyes as he looks back at you could be mistaken for reverence, but your mind knew that there was no way a man like him would ever look at you that way.

The spell between the two of you is suddenly broken when the healer enters the room. As she begins to fuss over your injury, you watch as Xaden rises and moves to the corner of the room. 

“My goodness, how did you manage to get cut by slate?” The healer asks almost to herself as you feel her pull a small sliver from the cut. “I can’t even remember any slate that is on the grounds, except for the roof.”

You slightly wince at the revelation she makes, and Xaden must’ve seen your face because the softness of his eyes is gone, and the hard steel of his stare is back. The next thing you know he’s turning and walking out of the room. You let your shoulders droop as suddenly a sense of guilt overwhelms you. You try to shake it, but the feeling that you’ve disappointed Xaden sits heavy on your chest. You look up trying to blink back the tears that are now stinging your eyes, but nothing seems to stop them from falling down the side of your face.

After being given clearance to leave, you slowly walk back towards the riders quadrant and your mind can’t help but wander to your interaction with Xaden. As you go over the morning, you think maybe you aren’t as alone as you thought you were.

___________

Then the day that you know will change your life one way or another arrives.

Threshing.

As you stand with the other first-years, you can’t help the way your mind reels at the fact that you’ve even made it this far. You sway back and forth on your feet feeling the daggers on your body shift in their sheaths. The band of the bow hanging across your body heavy with the possibility of use. 

You scan the crowd looking at the people around you and can see the looks of fear and even some that have a hint of blood lust in their eyes. You know however that you have resigned your fate to whatever the gods expect to happen today. 

While checking your sheaths one last time, your brows furrow in confusion as your hand clamps onto a paper that was crumpled in one of your empty ones. Pulling the paper out and hiding it in your palm, you quickly read the hastily scribbled note. 

You are worthy and important. Never forget that.

You try but come up blank when you try to decipher who’s handwriting this could possibly be. Before you can stop to give it more thought, the whistle blows, and you find yourself stepping forward to meet whatever fate lies ahead for you in the forest.

Hours later, you begin to feel a pull and find yourself moving further and further into the darkness of the forest. You had left behind several dragons and even some cadets that seemed out for blood, skirting through the shadows of tree cover.

Coming to the front of a cave, you begin to hear harsh breaths whooshing from the entrance. Taking a deep breath, you begin to slowly trek into the gaping maw of the cave. Unsure if you’ve just walked into a trap of your own making, voices are now floating to you on the wind. 

Trying to squint to acclimate your sight to the dimness of the cave, you can barely make out the outline of two other cadets. However, those figures are not what causes your breath to catch. There in the dim glow of the cave you can see the slight gleam of a shiny black or blue dragon, the miniscule light from the cave opening illuminating the scales with every color. Your eyes widen as you take in the size of the creature that is laying on the ground appearing not to be concerned with the other two cadets that have swords drawn in front of it.

“Come on dragon.” You hear a male voice taunt. “Which one of us are you going to find worthy?”

“Yeah,” an unmistakably female voice adds. “Let’s get going with this choice of yours. We need to get back to the celebrations.”

A large puff of steam leaves the nostrils of the large dragon, clearly a huff of annoyance. As you continue to watch the scene, two glowing golden orbs focus on you.

‘Are you going to take care of these two or are you going to make me?’ A rough female voice cuts through your thoughts.

Your eyes blow wide as understanding punches you in the gut.

“You think I’m the one you want?” You can’t help but voice the thought. 

The minute the question leaves your mouth, a breathless curse soon follows. Now both cadets have turned to you and have their weapons drawn.

“Looks like we’ll need to take care of this one first.” The male drawls while starting to slowly step towards you.

“What makes you think a dragon like that would find you worthy?” The female taunts as you watch her begin to move towards you as well. “You’ve barely been squeaking by in this quadrant. What better way to earn a dragon than take out one of the weak links.”

“And a traitor at that.” The male voice adds.

You can’t help but bristle at their words, although the ever-present nagging voice does nothing but agree with the sentiment at least about being a weak link. Not waiting to weigh your options, you remove the bow from your back and go to nock one arrow. Trying to analyze who is the bigger threat works against you as the male figure begins to charge towards you. As you pull the bow tight, you take a deep breath hoping that your aim is true in the dim light of the cave.

You loose the arrow and it strikes true hitting the cadet in the left side of his chest. As you watch him slump down, you suck in a tight breath when you feel the bite of a dagger split your side. You quickly look up to see the female stepping slightly back a wicked sneer across her face. Swiftly drawing your own dagger, you don’t think twice before letting it fly. 

Unfortunately for you, the girl dodges and swings back in an arc slicing your forearm. You quickly turn yourself and draw a second dagger from the sheath. Circling the girl, you notice that she must have been hurt already as she’s limping away from her left side. Without dwelling on your options, you surge forward and crouch low while aiming your dagger for the back of her knee. 

Not expecting you to squat low, you hear the slice of the blade as the girl’s dagger slices through air and then the scream of pain as she falls to the floor. You turn over your left shoulder and go to stand. You feel as your ankle is tugged back, and you scream when her blade pierces your calf. 

Dragging yourself forward, you grab an arrow that had fallen to the ground. You bring it over your head and with force drop it down on the back of the girl’s hand. With your leg immediately released, you scramble up and limp to where your bow had fallen to the ground. Nocking the second arrow of the day, you take a deep breath and exhale letting the arrow fly into the girls back as she tries to scoot away. 

With both threats eliminated, the feelings of guilt hit you with full force knocking the remaining breath from your lungs. The darkness of the cave seems to coil around you, letting your mind wander to all the reasons you should be the one with an arrow in your back.

‘Do you always deem yourself unworthy?’ The rough female voice slides through your mind again breaking you from the spiral of your thoughts.

Your gaze flies back to the two glowing orbs that are a stark contrast to the darkness from the cave.

“I haven’t had any reason to find myself worthy.” You reply though you can feel the smallness of your own voice.

You stall in fear as the dragon stalks towards you, the golden eyes narrowing on you. It’s in that moment if you wonder if she will incinerate you out of sheer annoyance. Before you can take your next full breath, you find yourself being nudged back by her large snout.

‘You now have no reason to doubt your worthiness.’ She says as her eyes continue to narrow on you. You swallow thickly as your mind begins to wonder if it’s too late to run.

‘You will not run from me, Y/N L/N. You are my rider and are more laudable than most cadets on that field. Come.’ She raises to her full height before beginning to stalk out of the cave.

Your feet seem bolted to the floor as the large shadow of the dragon passes overhead. You watch as she stalks out and looking at the opening of the cave, you can see that the darkness has descended on the forest as well. 

‘My patience is wearing thin. Come now and mount, Treasured One.’ Her voice brooks no room for argument, and you follow the orders of the dragon in front of you.

Its then the pain of your injuries rears back, and you hiss in pain as you begin the trek out of the cave. You have your palm pressed to your side as you try to staunch the bleeding from the wound. 

‘Take off your shirt and hold the wound closed. The faster you do this, the faster you can record our bond and seek medical attention.’ 

You look up at your commanding dragon and give a slight nod as you begin to lift your shirt over your head. You take the sides and secure it on your uninjured side and then look up at your dragon again. Your eyes now slowly roam over the expanse of the indomitable creature in front of you and your eyes widen. This must be one of the largest dragons you’ve ever seen.

“I’m not sure I’m going to be able to mount.” You say as you worry your lip between your teeth.

‘Do not be silly. I’ve seen what you are capable of. Stop stalling with your self-doubt and mount.’ She says as she brings her head slightly down for you to see the sweeping horns and glinting scales of her face.

At this point, you know there is no reason for you to keep arguing, lest you’re incinerated for petulance. You take as deep of a breath as possible with the sear of the pain from your side still radiating and run towards the dragon’s leg. With all the effort you have left, you manage to make it to her shoulder and carefully step to take your seat. 

As soon as you find yourself seated correctly and grabbing the pommel, your stomach bursts into your chest as you feel your dragon leave the ground.

‘My name is Candrirnome of the Uarraig line, but you can call me Candrir.’ She informs you as you begin to see the field come into view.

You hum in acknowledgement in your mind, though you find everything taking on an edge of fuzziness. Holding your hand to the wound at your side, you pull it away to feel the sensation of warm blood coating your palm. 

‘It’s time for you to tell the roll keeper my name and get medical attention swiftly.’ Candrir orders as she lands with a gentleness you weren’t expecting. 

You slowly get up, limping as the dripping of your wounds begins to take your strength and slide down her leg with the grace of an elephant. You tumble forward when you reach the ground and land on your hands and knees. You hear a menacing growl above you and as you go to look up, you find yourself being hoisted up to your feet by your waist.

As you look down to figure out what has a hold on you, your brows furrow when you realize shimmering shadows are wrapped around your waist trying to pull you to your feet. You shake your head clearing some of the haze and begin slow steps to the podium. 

After giving your dragon’s name to the roll keeper, you slowly trudge to the medical tent. 

‘Let him help you, Treasured One. The dragons will return soon.’ Candrir relays in your mind.

Your brows pull in with confusion etching on your face as you finally can see the opening of the medical tent. You know you must be a sight to see, your shirt tied around you, limping from multiple wounds, and your chest bindings on full display along with scars that you had so far kept hidden. 

As you finally enter the tent, you feel someone place a jacket over your shoulders and you immediately turn behind you trying to assess the new threat. Surprisingly enough, you look up into concerned eyes, the color indiscernible in the dim light. The quick action has the wound in your side pulling and you double over as a fresh wave of pain radiates down your body. 

Two arms grab you behind your back and knees bringing you to the nearest cot. You feel as warm hands untie the shirt that is holding your wound together and can’t help but hear the way his breathing stops when he sees the wound.

Your eyes begin to close as the exhaustion of lost blood hits your abused body, your breathing turning shallower than before.

“Hey” the man before you says quietly but with command, while gently shaking your shoulders. “You need to open your eyes. Come on, you need to stay conscious.”

“Open your eyes. You didn’t survive Threshing and bond a dragon to die in a medical tent.” The command in his voice rising as your eyes continue to drift closed.

The words finally registering, you do your best to open your eyes to the man in front of you.  Your brain immediately notices the way his eyes have turned to pure obsidian, losing all the soft golden hue. 

Your words rasp as you tease. “Careful Wingleader, someone might think you actually care.”

The immediate scoff that leaves his mouth has you turning your head away. 

“No, if you can tease me, you can keep your eyes open. Nolon is on his way.” He says while he turns your face back to his gently. 

As if being summoned, Nolon appears next to you and immediately begins cleaning the wounds you’ve sustained to mend them. You hiss in pain as the antiseptic hits the wound in your side relieving some of the blurring that had been overtaking your vision.

“If you are going to stand here Riorson, I suggest you keep her distracted. This wound is deep and will take a few minutes to knit back together.” Nolon tells Xaden while continuing his work cleaning the wound. 

“Here Cadet L/N. Bite down on this strap, I’m sorry but this isn’t going to be pleasant.” Nolon explains as he places a leather strap in your mouth. 

The next thing you remember is the wound beginning to burn as you feel the deep gash being magically healed. Everything in you wants to scream, but you just bite down as hard as you can and close your eyes. You can feel your face contort in pain, your eyes and brows furrowed tight. Your breathing turns labored as you try to focus past the pain that seems to be radiating from your every pore. 

As the pain of mending begins to subside slowly, you suddenly register the rub of calloused fingers over your knuckles. Finally opening your eyes, you look up to see Xaden with a concerned concentration staring at the wound on your side, almost as if he is trying to use his own power to mend you. As you stare at the brooding Wingleader, you can’t help but wonder exactly what is going through his mind. 

Why does it seem like he’s always in the right place at the right time, at least for you? What exactly are you worth to him?

It's as if your own thoughts were said out loud as his gaze swings back to you. The stare that he gives you makes you feel like he sees entirely too much. Your own musings over the complicated man in front you are broken when Nolon finally takes a step back. 

“Everything seems to be stitched up.” Nolon says to both of you. “However, you will need someone to assist you to get back to your dragon and to your new room tonight.” 

Nolon finishes before walking off to tend to his next patient. You take a few deep breaths trying to will away the lingering pain from the wound and its mending. Feeling steady enough, you put both your hands on the side of the bed and go to get off before a hand comes out and stops you.

“Didn’t you just hear the mender? You’re going to need someone’s help. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He says flatly as if you are a naïve little child that needs to be scolded for not listening. 

“Of course, I heard him, but regrettably for me, I don’t see anyone volunteering to be my nursemaid. Besides, I can’t exactly look weak to the ones that are still looking for a dragon to bond. That’s how I got myself into this mess in the first place.” 

You huff out in irritation and begin to turn on your heel, but the minute you try to pick up your foot, you feel yourself falling to the side.

“Can’t you just listen for once.” He says tersely as he pulls you into his side beginning to walk.

Irritation bubbling through you, you can’t help but retort. “Can’t you just let me die.”

His steps falter immediately, and you must brace yourself as you feel your body beginning to fall. You squeeze your eyes shut, but for some reason the contact with the floor doesn’t come. You open your eyes to see yourself again wrapped in bands of onyx shadow. The wielder of said shadows still looking at you as if you’ve just called him the most offensive name on the continent. 

“You can’t honestly mean that.” He says, though you’re unsure as to why his voice is so quiet. 

“You’ll find I very much do. That’s what happens when you find yourself alone day after day and crying yourself to sleep night after night.” It seems the blood loss has loosened both your tongue and your ability to filter your mouth because everything you try to keep hidden begins to spill out. 

“Day after day waking up just wanting one person to give enough of a damn to be there. To show that you are important, that you’re wanted. To hug you just because you mean something to them. To sit with you and enjoy something simple. But alas, how would you know what that feels like? You have a found family and friends that look to you and have your back. Hell, almost the entire quadrant has some kind of feeling about you. You may wield shadows, but you don’t live in them. I do.” As you finally shut your mouth, you can feel as dragons begin to land back around you. You cast your eyes down and slowly begin the walk back to your spot next to your dragon leaving the Wingleader behind you.

_______________

Days pass and you find yourself wishing for the bitter bite of the incoming winter chill. Something to distract you from the hurt that you inflicted on a person who was only trying to help you in your time of need. Since the night of Threshing, you haven’t been able to meet the gaze of your Wingleader. Every time you find yourself in the same vicinity, you immediately dart as far away as possible. 

Reminiscing on all the words that escaped your mouth, you can only cower in shame at having said that to the man who watched his home, father, and city burn and then go through the brutality of taking responsibility for 107 children to save them from the same fate.

Wrapping your fur lined cloak over your shoulders, you slink through the shadowed corridors and find yourself underneath the same tree that you had your first conversation with months before. As your nervous habit dictates, you remove one of the daggers from the sheath at your thigh and begin to twirl it through your fingers.

It isn’t long before you begin to feel the presence of someone in the clearing with you. You hear the snap of a branch to your left and immediately get to your feet with your dagger poised to strike the intruder.

“Hard to believe you’ve survived this long with a fighting stance like that.” The voice says. 

You immediately roll your eyes not interested in the critique of your fighting style. 

“Yeah, well, I get by.” You sass irritated and sitting back down trying to get back the calm you had before the intrusion. 

You mentally curse when Xaden comes to sit down next to you. With an exaggerated sigh, you bring your face to look at his not trying to hide your irritation at the disturbance. 

“Can I help you with something or are you just here to intrude on my solitude?” You muse to your new companion.

“Intrude on your solitude, now why would I do something like that?” He teases back at you.

“Oh, I don’t know, because you just excel at irritating people.” You say while waiting for the man next to you to look you in the eyes. “Or is that your second signet, shadows and irritation?”

A look of shock passes over his features, and you furrow your brows almost thinking you imagined the gesture. You gently shake your head to yourself as you realize it must’ve been a trick of the light. Quiet falls between you as your head falls back to the tree you had been resting on. As the guilt of after Threshing hits you again, you can’t help but break the silence.

“I’m sorry.” You begin, the hesitancy in your voice very present. “I – I shouldn’t have said what I did. It isn’t fair to me to put that on you. Of all people, you have carried a weight heavier than all of us.”

You lower your eyes the heavy weight of your accusations sitting on your chest. You feel as his fingers lightly grab your chin and begin to bring your face back up to his. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” He says in a soft tone you’ve never heard from him before. “I know all too well the dark places your mind can take you, especially after everything we’ve been through.” 

You don’t miss the soft snort he gives before continuing. “Hell, the things we go through on a daily basis are enough to bring most people to their knees.”

A comfortable silence spreads between you both as your face turns to look back at the stars. 

“Thank you,” You begin quietly after some time has passed. “Thank you for all the times that you have saved me. Those are the words I should’ve told you after Threshing, but sometimes all the scars just feel too heavy.”

You take a deep breath and let your hands fall to your sides resting on the grass on either side of you. Seconds later you are caught off guard by a warm calloused hand wrapping around your own, intertwining your fingers. 

“Sometimes you need someone who has scars to let you help you heal yours.” He muses while looking up at the stars, thumb slowly stroking over your own. 

Even though he isn’t looking directly at you, you can see the way his features have softened as you sit there watching his profile. Memorizing his features, you can’t help but take a deep breath and think that maybe you mean more to the man in front of you than just another child of the apostasy. 

[simonisferal]

there's only one god you'd serve — scaramouche x obsessed, scholar male reader

"you're so crazy, manipulate me." — SUICIDAL-IDOL

shouki no kami era (everlasting lord of arcane wisdom), reader's not like other boys 🤭, ii dottore mentioned :/, yandere-ish and dark themes, haypasia slander (sorry), suggestive, pet play (leashes and collars), reader's kind jealous, praise (scars), VERY self indulgent — needed to feed my own delusion 😞 also dottore's kinda ooc / also didn't know what happened towards the end but 🤷

spoiler alert if you havent completed sumeru's archon quests

snezhnaya was never kind to the weak, you had to learn that yourself. the harsh weather and lack of trade made it almost impossible to live off as a commoner unless you were to join the ranks in the fatui. your parents didn't want that for you but by tradition, you were forced to be exploited by the tsaritsa and her harbingers.

you never cared for her royalty, only acknowledging the words of your lord.

he was sweet to you as a child, often letting you cry at the loss of your parents' attention even though he'd tell you to suck it up later. he'd let you eat some of the sweets he gotten from banquets, ones he hated due to the sugar or just overall sweetness. you would attempt to repay the favor of his kindness but he dismissed it as you were a kid, still learning how to survive.

he was right because when you were drafted as a teenager, any soft words or affection he'd give a regular child disappeared. he didn't even remember your name or maybe he just never cared to learn it before. but the live he would give you for years to come tainted any familiarity within you and him.

later, you were stationed in sumeru, the nation of wisdom. your group was meerly there to threaten a few merchants and to place fear in the believers of the dendro archon and her young vessel. it was easy enough and it was easier to slip through the cracks of the broken squad and find yourself in front of the akademiyian doors.

maybe it was the inner child in you who wished to learn, or the teenager who wanted so badly to run away, or the adult you are now who wanted to do both out of spite.

you made the smart choice of taking most of your funds out of the northland bank in your small vacation to liyue before this. it wasn't much, sure, but it was little to go noticed and enough to let you study and rent out a proper living quarters for two whole years. for all the hard work fatui members do, their pay matches their energy.

you cut your hair short, switch out uniforms, and do the tough assignment of giving yourself long lasting marks and burns. even the little thorn pricks mattered as the small group had gone looking for you.

no one dared to accuse you but instead asked where you were from and how you got those scars. lie after lie with you. a mask was put up between your past and your future life to secure the safety and comfort of being long forgetten by your comrades. it didn't bother you when the fatui came in the akademiya, searching for their previous team member, and your classrooms. they hadn't even seen your eyes, let alone your face or body out of the uniform.

it was refreshing to say the least. you had the freedom of an uncaged fledgling, slowly but surely using your small wings to fly away from your problems. and it managed to work for a while.

you continued your new life for years, studying under the kshahrewar darshan, managing your own job at a bar, and even learning to love lesser lord kusanali, even if she wasn't present. your life was great until you heard mentions of the fatui again.

your boss placed you in charge of serving any members of the group since they didn't seem to bother you (he shits his pants every time he sees their signature masks). making their drinks and setting down their plates, your ears perk up as they talk about their lord harbinger.

"the balladeer retrieved the electro gnosis from inazuma, what greatness!" one chimed. another one joined in with sorrow, "the fair lady's sacrifice shalln't be in vain comrades, remember what she has given us." they seem to salute to themselves in a creepy, culty way. weirdos...

they didn't even bother to pay for their meals and it pissed you off. mainly because their debt was paid from your wallet either way and becuase of their entitled natures. you scoff as you clock out, placing some of your mora into the register and walking home.

the next day, scholars you had known acted different towards you. not in a they know your secret, run way, but in a they're too busy to even look at you right now way. you would've let it be if it was for matters important but it wasn't even project week. you sat alone in the library, tinkering away with your machines that you yourself built.

an alternative for a vision was your most prized possessions, it wasn't like a delusion nor a vision, running on some sort of life or desire to be obtained but mildly a packet of batteries and some water of fontaine. no help from the akasha as usual, even you knew it was tainted with, made the project more valuable to you.

scholars appeared at your desk, sitting in front and beside you as you tinkered away. you didn't bother to look up at them in the process, your alt-vision tied onto your hands if they tried something funny. you sat in quiet until one of them grabbed you and stood you off of your seat. you were about to laugh in their faces about rough-housing until you saw their eyes. they were covered by a mask. a very familiar one at that.

"you're coming with us." you scoff, tugging back your arm. their grip is still tightening as the other members stand up to back them up. brotherhood is disgusting.

you clenched your jaw as you think about your options. cause a scene and somehow manage to get azur on this was the worst case scenario. he was the main cause of the farui roaming around with the audacity to spread rumors about your renowned archon. the best case scenario was to go somewhere private and defeat them, you think. you frown, relaxing your arm in their grasp and letting them drag to you a empty room.

they shove you in and lock the door behind them. they guard the door, in and out, like there was an important figure to maintain. you scoff, rubbing your arm due to their harsh yanking and examine the room. it's one you hadn't seen before, even after several years of being in sumeru. the interior is damp and dark, small cords of purple liquid ran on the floor and walls, and a maniac laughter that you knew only belonged to one person.

"well, if it isn't one of your previous servants, scaramouche." you can see his twisted and pointed teeth smile from where you were standing. his mask was unlike any other, and the second ranked harbinger tilted his head in amusement.

you heard another voice, more of a scoff than an actual word. "as if i'd need him back. he can go die off just like the rest of his pathetic group." his tone was condescending, like it had previously been for years. you didn't expect to see him until your death and he was the devil.

it was habit but after a few seconds, you got on your knees and bowed. your head laid down as sweat ran down your face. your done. your life as a scholar and a perfectly okay person was slipping through your fingers. "..lord."

"get up off the floor, insect. don't dirty my floors." ii dottore laughed at his remarks and you only trembled. you didn't fear him as everyone did, you didn't hate him like others did. you had a weird sense of devotion to him, like he was a god. you stayed on the floor, shaking your head. "apologies but i'm afraid i... i can't."

scaramouche growled from where he was, on a small throne. how mature.

the doctor beside his simple chair walked up to you and crouched to meet your eyes. he lifted your head with his finger no problem and you could only stare back at his mask. "you have a feisty scholar, balladeer. i'm sure he'll be the perfect addition." he chimes. you can't tell if he's being serious or not.

the sixth only cross his arms and leans back in his seat. he huffs. "that alternative for a vision powered on simple batteries is amateur work, at its finest. you sure there's no one else?" it hurt hearing your (new) life's work being tarnished but you don't refute it. you can only clench the false mechanic. ii dottore seemed to have seen a look in your face because he laughs.

"no one who knows the insides and out of elemental material and how to transfer it into a battery powered object. and yet that's exactly what we need." he looks back at the fellow harbinger. "don't be a brat in front of one of your beloved followers."

your breath hitches and you look back down in contrast of what both harbingers want. scaramouche scoffs, "fine. if this gnat is what i need, i suppose i'll do him the favor of letting him serve me."

the next several days were the most complicated of your life. you had so desperately escaped the fatui for years and life a studious life but all that hard work bit you in your ass later.

you were helping design and make with large tubes that had to be strong enough to handle the energy transfer of a gnosis alongside another group of scholars—mainly the ones who decleared they were too busy. it was complicated work for most and you had to lend your precious 'vision' as an example of a smaller transfer. you weren't even supposed to be studying this matter as your major but libraries are full of knowledge and peace that it was hard to resist.

and when you weren't carrying the group's discoveries and progress, you had to act like a dog. maybe you should've just stayed a fatui and let a playable character kill you for drops. that would be better than working under the supervisor of the doctor. but you doubt it was better than being on the floor, on a collar and leash.

yes, you've expressed plentiful amounts of hatred towards other harbingers (including childe, he would not let you rest in practice), you somehow maintained a sweet spot for scaramouche. he didn't let you call him anything else beside his title, which although fed into his superiority complex, it kind of pleased you to see him in power.

and surprisingly, he let you take control most times when it wasn't anything work related. he had gotten used to your nuisance, as he calls it and even gave you backhanded compliments about your work, including your 'vision'. he regularly got mad and fortunately/unfortunately, you were there for him, letting him tug and pull on your leash. weird, i know but it gave him some sort of comfort.

even outside of his chambers in sumeru, the collar stayed on. you weren't sure it it had a tracking chip or could explode like in your turn to die but you definitely won't risk your life just for an answer. perhaps that's what seperated you from other scholars.

and speaking about other scholars, you loved the balladeer with you heart and soul, as a child, teen, and now, but he thought it was a good idea to collect a new follower. was it because you weren't enough? her name was haypasia and although she was fairly pretty, you hated her. maybe because she got to see his previous names and life before you even dared to dream it. your blood boiled at the thought of them getting closer.

you sat in scaramouche's chambers, near his bed, waiting for him. it was like your second home already, most of your clothes were hanged and your shoes were placed softly near the foot of the bed. your favorite books and novels were set on a bookshelf that he had personally installed to keep you entertained while he was gone.

you could work on your project—you know, the only reason you were forced to meddle with the fatui again, but nah. you just sat there, waiting for your beloved (as he lets you call him) to return from the greenhouse. your jaw clenched at the thought of haypasia worshipping him like she was special. maybe she was but you'd never admit it out loud.

the only thing that took you out of your thoughts was when your shared bedroom door flung open with an aggravated harbinger standing in front of it. he slams the door closed, stepping inside and sitting down beside you on his bed.

"..lord?" scaramouche looked down at his hands. they were balled up into fists and they were trembling. he was definitely mad if the door didn't proof it already. he didn't bother looking at you, only extending his hand towards you. you already knew what to do and you head him a leash tied to your collar. he doesn't pull it to your surprise and instead looks up at you.

"give me your hand."

you raise an eyebrow but do as he says either way. you gently place your hand in his, it was slightly bigger than his and scared with tiny slashes and cuts. he holds it tightly and faces you. "where'd you get these? no lies."

the sixth slid his other hand to your forearm, tracing over the marks and scars you had given yourself. he was gentle with it unlike his usual nature and it gave you a sense of familiarity, the one you had lost before. "i gave them to myself, sir.."

he looks at you for a split second before eying your healed wounds. he raised your hand closer to him as if he were examining each individual pore on your skin. "why?" scaramouche asks.

you don't lie, "to hide."

the harbinger frowns and holds your hand up to his cheek. what exactly did haypasia do to him? he leans into your touch and flutters his eyelashes at you. all his previous anger was gone, like it was a facade or an act to get your attention. "from me?"

"i could never hide from you." he grins, backing away from your hand and placing it in his lap alongside his own hands. "good. if that was the plan, i would simply just let you leave. no big deal.." he looks away from you, acting like he's better than to see such a pest as youself but you see the small hint of red on his face.

he scoffs, "you'd come back to me," he leans in while grabbing your arm in a rough manner. "isn't that right?" scaramouche asks.

you can't help the small smile on your face and nod. he smirks and runs his hand on your broad shoulders, trailing them down your arms and admiring every inch of your tainted skin. "really? and how do you expect me to believe you?" it was a rtheorical question, you know but answering it would lead to a better place.

"how about i prove it to you?"

[liveontelevision]

R and R | Lucifer X OC!Reader

Another! Tadaaa

If i'm being totally honest, i was Stoned out of my mind when i wrote this, so i can't guarantee it's top shelf, but here ya go.

TW: some mentions of self-harm, suicide, but mostly fluff and suggestive stuff

Enjoy ;)

♡♡♡

You stumbled upon the renovated hotel directly after arriving in hell. It was a dark and confusing night, but you hadn't had the easiest life anyway. Barely getting by day to day, with a history of depression and self-harm, sometimes your only solution to your problems was to keep walking forward. So you did just that, leading you to a fantastical hotel that seemed to be giving away free rooms.

You entered the lobby, covered in dirt, blood, and whatever else was on the streets of hell. You worked as a waitress, and on an especially rough day, your break time was spent taking your own life. And here you are, in a pink and white striped, vintage uniform dress. Along with a little apron, that still had written orders on it in your pocket.

Looking an absolute mess, Charlie immediately took you in and fixed you up before rambling about the redemption aspect.

It was a miracle that you stumbled upon the clean and comfortable rooms available. It wasn't anything that fancy, but after being on the streets until your end, this was heaven.

After appreciating a significant amount of pampering, a hot shower, comfortable clean clothes, and a cushy bed, you were introduced to the rest of the hotel residents. Everyone seemed lovely, some.. interesting.. personalities, but nothing you weren't too intimidated by. Except for Alastor. The tall, shadowy figure put you entirely on edge, and you hated to admit that you were actually afraid of him.

Moving on -

You've been a resident at the hotel for 6 months! They did say redemption would take a while, but at this point, it was becoming hard to believe.. Still, in reality, why would you leave? You created a chosen family that can't be compared to your living family in any aspect. Not to mention the slightest crush on the king of hell himself.

It was something you were ignoring for weeks, but his humor and caring nature was too hard to ignore. The fact is, you start noticing little things when you develop feelings. How his eyes sparkled when he looks at Charlie, and fiddled with his ring when he became anxious, and how his hair get's messier when he seems stressed. You assume that he doesnt really take care of himself when theres too much on his plate.. it almost made your heart ache just thinking about it.

You also notice how he unconsciously flinches at the slightest touch, even to Charlie. From the sounds of it, he hadn't been this active and social for years, so physical contact had to have been sparce.

It was just because he was working on things.. yeah, important things!

Of course, its your anniversary of arriving at the hotel, so you were welcomed into the lobby that night with banners, balloons, some sloppy cookies, the works; everyone was there to celebrate your progress. The night consisted of a heart-felt speech from charlie, some disturbing accessories gifted to you by niffty, and a lot of drinking. Lucifer was prone to getting lost in a conversation, especially with you. And even moreso after a few rounds of whiskey. Very late into the night, you finally noticed how everyone had gone to their rooms, leaving you and Lucifer in a passionate conversation about whatever important project he was currently working on.

You found yourself facing him entirely, your knees brushed against his side with every roll of your barstool. You were too intoxicated to notice his small reactions to it. Occasionally, it would cause him to stutter or make him lose his focus. You were rudely dissociating while he talked, noticing his hair was slightly messy. It must have been another long day.. A small piece of hair fell into his face, but he didn't do much about it, continously blowing it out of his eyesight and combing his fingers back through his hair. It was all you were able to focus on while he spoke, almost to an annoying extent. You let out a sigh and simply brush the hair out of his eyes during one of his stories. You leaned back and propped your elbow on the bar, waiting for him to continue on after he stopped talking for some reason. It finally clicked that you may have overstepped his boundaries. He was blinking his widened eyes, just a slight blush across his cheeks. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hands.

"Oh! Oh- Lucifer i'm sorry i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything I just-" you rambled an apology out before he snaps out of his fazed state. He quickly calms you down;

" Nope! No-ho-hope you are great. Fine! You're fine, it's fine.." his drunken babbles dug his grave. He groaned and laid his heads in his hands for a moment.

"Just.. i've been alone for so long, you know? I always get a little nervous when people do that.. type of thing..." He leaned up, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

For some reason, your only thought process was to try to calm his nerves any way possible.

" S-sooo.. do you want, like, a massage or something?" That bold comment was never something you'd say to royalty, even to ones you've become close with. Lucifer's eyes grew even wider as he stuttered nonsense.

You slap your forehead, "Fuck! Lucifer, i'm drunk i swear.. i'm sorry. If you manage to remember this night after blacking out, do me a favor and forget this whole thing, okay?" You rambled.

".. Yes."

It took you a moment to process what you just heard. You looked over to him, his shoulders were tensed as his hands clenched fists onto his thighs. He was looking away, biting the inside of his mouth, possibly to stop him from saying anything else. You blinked, a small smile spread across your face, just seeing this powerful demon acting all embarrassed.

"Okay. Sure, yeah!  I mean.. if you're comfortable, i.. i don't mind doing it." You responded. There was no reason to debate this, playing it off as a bold response. Lucifer gulped, his face only getting hotter with every word.

He takes a few deep breaths," Fuck it.. Listen, I trust you." He smiled at you, the kind of smile that made your heart melt. You try to switch the topic as the two of you moved up to his room, simply to avoid the dreaded awkward silence. You got into another friendly conversation about something unimportant, that will have been forgetten in a matter of hours.

You've been in his workshop once or twice. It seemed like he kept the doors locked often, probably nervous about anyone seeing the mess that was inside. It wasn't too bad this night. He did have to swipe a few rubber ducks off the couch, so there was a place to sit, though. Lucifer plopped on the couch, his back stretched heavily as his head leaned over the back of the head rest. He rubbed his shoulder in this relaxed position, seemingly stressed just by being in a place he associated with work. That didn't stop you from taking a mental photo of him in this state. He wore a white shirt, decorated with puffed sleeves that were rolled to his elbows, and a small ruffle coming from the neck line. He crossed his  legs in his regular heeled boots and began to explain some work he was struggling with. He brushed his hair back into place again, looking to you as he did and noticing you were still standing. He cocked his head before silently slapping the cushion next to him.

" So.. how we gonna do this?" He tries to play off the suddenly intimate moment with a jokingly flirty voice.

"Ah! Right, well.. you could - face this way, and i'll just -" you quickly sat with your legs underneath you and take a hold of his shoulders, moving his body to have his back face you.

"Ookay. So.. um, tell me if this is.. uncomfortable, okay?" You decided to set that boundary for him, and he nodded in response. He looked down slightly, revealing his neck to you, already relaxing his shoulders.

Your hands hesitated for a moment just reaching out to him. Finally making contact, you noticed a familiar little flinch, making you pull away immediately.

"Sorry! Sorry, go ahead.. uh- please.." he muttered. You nod and try again, your hands touching his shoulders much slower than before. He slouches his back towards you, letting out a satisfying sigh just a few moments later.

You moved your massaging hands from his shoulders to his shoulder blades, then to his middle back, then slightly lower. As you focused on specific areas that simply felt harder to dig into, you occasionally ran your fingers up and down his spine. He shuddered every time, making you do it just for the reaction at certain points.

You brushed another spot near his side, that made him flinch. It took both of you by surprise, being simply one of those spots on your body that make you jump. He let out a sudden hic, turning his head back to you. Your eye contact felt long overdue. The couch wasn't very large, his actions left him just a few inches away from your face. You hold your breath, worried that he'd hear how fast your heart was beating. You take the sudden interruption as a chance to make a suggestion.

"Can I.. can i do your- uhm..." You pointed to his chest, implying what you were too nervous to say. He almost stopped to think for a moment before shifting his position to face you directly. You let out your breath and looked at the nervous demon in front of you. His face was rosey pink, his eyes half lidded. You take out another quick breath before reaching back up to his shoulders. You dug into his shoulder and collarbone area, nervous to go any lower. Your thumbs traced the divots of his collarbone as your fingers reached up across his neck momentarily. He melted into every movement, his body moving with the direction of your hands, his eyes finally resting shut.

You got as lost in it as he did, the massage suddenly turning into your hands lightly tracing over his features. You could tell he only needed the slightest comforting touch to relax. Your fingers traced down the center of his chest, then made circular motions over his abdomen, then back up, tracing across his arms and squeezing his palms lightly. He flexed his wrists as if he was about to hold your hand in his. You were embarrassed to admit how excited that madd you for a moment. While running your hands near his sides, you accidentally reach into his partially untucked blouse. You both gasp and pull away, giving each other the same wide-eyed face. Lucifer was first to break eye contact. He looked at your hands for a moment before letting out a brave breath and unbuttoning his shirt from the front. You cover your eyes and stammered out.

"Woah-woah! It was an accident you don't have to do this if you-"

"Oh! Shit! Ah-hah.. i'd.. i mean, i wouldnt mind... if .. you.. wouldn't?" He bashfully replied, covering his previously unbottoned chest.

"No, i don't mind.." Your responses were becoming more confident, uncovering your face. You almost smile at him but become too flustered watching him remove his shirt. He let his top sit at his waist, simply pulling the shirt off his shoulders. His skin was like porcelain, smooth and white, and surprisingly cold to the touch. Your hands pressed on his chest, attempting to heat him up with your warm hands. Either you pushed too hard, or he expected something different, but Lucifer follows your hands and lets you essientally push him back to lay on his forearms. You can't handle it. He looked so amazing in this position. You both mentally decided that it was best to just not question this increasingly intimidate moment.

You resume running your hands across his chest, noticing his breath changing. After just a couple minutes, he was putty in your hands. His forearms were shaking and gripping the edge of the couch, ready to give out. Then he finally gave in, making him drop his back to the cushion of the couch. You followed his movements as the position slowly shifted, and your knee moved in between his legs, trying to keep up with his slouching torso. He's breathing heavily from his lips, his face a tomato red, while he can barely keep his eyes open. You enjoyed his reaction too much to ruin this moment, but god, you were desperate to be closer to him. You swirled your palms down his torso and abdomen, tracing his v lines until you lightly grazed the hem of his pants.

You stop yourself, pulling your hands away and keeping them close to you, hoping to hide your heaving chest until you calmed down. It takes him a minute to tune back in, looking up at you with concern and slight disappointment. His eyes darted around for a moment before sitting up and breaking the silence.

"You.. uh.. you want to stop? You've done more than enough, trust me, Way more than.. I.. erm.. fuck it. If you're not up to it, it's okay.. but-" he stopped his mumbling, to slowly pull out his 3 sets of wings. To comfortably adjust their size, he had to essentially curl them in your direction. Being as large as they were, they were nearly encasing the two of you together. You shrink back, curiousity hitting you before he could properly ask. You ran your hand across his feathers, simply intrigued by their color and softness. He let out a soft yelp, making you pull back again. Again, you two give eachother a wide eyed stare, not sure how to follow up that kind of reaction. At this point, you finally let out a snort and started to laugh. It was quick to lighten the mood, as he joined you.

"Keep going." He smiled at you, a beautiful sparkle in his red eyes, as he reached out to take one of your hands. He took that hand and gave its palm a small kiss.

"Ooh~ i'm honored, your highness." You teased. He responded with wiggling his eyebrows and sending a joking smirk in your direction, hoping that would conseal his excitement to your words.

It didn't, really.

You gently take your hand from his, and continue running your fingers across his feathers. They flinch at any contact but still folded into your hand with a longing to be held. His flirtatious demeanor immediately folded, letting out another sigh. He became a bit vocal this time, letting out low hums every now and then. And sometimes, he would attempt to hold his eyes open just to look at you. He wasn't sure if you could tell, being too concentrated in your work, but he didn't care. He loved the view. His breath became heavier again, but with the close proximity and his wings keeping you two close, the area became very heated.

You send a puff of air close to his feathers, letting out a small chuckle at his sudden shock. The laughter between the two of you slowly dissolving into sweet smiles. The light was slightly dampened by the coverage of his wings, yet you were still able to see his shifting eyes. He leans towards you, breathing slowly. In response, you place your hands back on his chest, causing him to sit back up a bit. He almost looked upset for a moment, being stopped from moving towards you. You gather the courage before moving in closer, your legs nearly overlapping each other at this point. You lean in just a few inches away and shut your eyes, allowing him to finally make the decision to meet your lips together.

The teasingly long tension from this intimacy seemingly burst. Lucifer's wings pull back, tucking back behind him. He breathes heavily into your lips, his head swaying in the direction of yours, still melting into your touch. To keep him from completely collapsing, you keep your hands firmly on his chest. His arms tenderly grab yours, just needing something, anything, to anchor himself. You pull away after a while, allowing him to catch his breath.

Even in this winded, flustered state, you could both tell this is something he's needed for a long time. It was a long night, following every desire that he was too embarrassed to ask for and loving every moment of it. It felt so good to give this sweetheart something he didn't realize he needed; something he deserves. You end up leaning your back on the couch arm, his back flush to your chest. Your fingers were running through his hair slowly, providing a very satisfying scalp massage. The warmth coming from you body, and him unknowingly using your chest as a pillow was more than enough to lull him to sleep. You couldn't remember if he was awake at the time, but you continued to plant a small kiss on the top of his head before falling asleep right underneath him.

---

You sit up quickly from your sleep, immediately wincing at the light coming from the workshops' windows. After taking a moment to get used to your throbbing head, you finally took in your surroundings and then the flood of memories of the night before hit. Your eyes went wide, and you groaned into your hands. Despite this reaction, you were so glad that you remembered last night. You finally notice a blanket over you and a large duck plush underneath your head, which made you smile until realizing Lucifer was gone. Your chest dropped, immediately thinking of what you could have done to make him leave you here, alone.

"Feeling like shit, my love? 'Cause i sure am!" His voice comes from the door, in an entirely joking tone. You quickly turn to see him, letting out a sigh of relief. The king of hell made you fucking pancakes. He wear a little apron protecting the same shirt he wore the night before, and placed your plate at a nearby table. You hobble off the couch, groaning from the stiffness of your body. Lucifer was quick to pull out your chair, and push it back in once you were seated, the table set with a variety of fruits, the tall stack of pancakes, a small glass of water, and a large mug of coffee. Clearly, that was what you went for first. The drink shot you awake, noticing the freshness of the ingredients and its preporation. You take in a large fork-ful of hotcakes and let out a stereotypical hum.

"You're amazing, Lucifer." You mumble out of your pancake-filled cheeks. He places his hand on yours, simply smiling at you from the side of the table.

"Thank you, darling. I really needed that.. like Really needed that." He huffs out, becoming embarrassed again. He didnt even stutter holding on to your hand. You finish off your food, having some light conversation that came easy to the two of you after last night.

Alastor's broadcast chimed through a nearby radio, "Hellish morning, residents! ~ I'm sure you all had a restful sleep after your nightly activities! Your planned activities for today include ... "

Alastors voice quietly fills the room, announcing some of the exercises Charlie had planned for today. His phrasing made you nervous, as if he knew what you were up to. It also gave you an uncomfortable flashback to a high school P.A. system.

" I should get going then, right? Busy... trying to be redeemed.. and stuff. You know." You slide out of your chair, letting out a nervous chuckle, not seeing his strange reaction to you mentioning redemption. As if he were scared to lose you to heaven. Before you have a chance to look back at him, Lucifer is wrapped around your waist. He shifts to stand into the embrace, as close as he could be. He leaves a hand on the small of you back, and the other on the back of your neck, his clawed fingers entangled in your hair. It takes you a minute to hold him back, just from the shock, but you held him tight, closing your eyes and nuzzling your nose into his hair. That's when you notice how lovely he smelled.. probably an apple scented shampoo. -And how he never flinched to your touch after that night.

♡♡♡

I left this one pretty suggestive, because i haven't really written smut before. I might rewrite this if anyone's interested in it going that route tho!

[starsnsparkl3s]

broken promises

cw: heavy mentions of death and suicidal thoughts, angst, based on this scene from greys anatomy with no context

"when are you going to stop suggesting that im suicidal?"

the question sounds also bizarre coming out of your lips. you and al haitham have been going back and forth about your results from the impromptu search nahida and the esteemed traveler did, along with paimon. you were a suspect in a dream that needed to be destroyed immediately, however, what they saw was worse than the dream that was the main goal.

dark images flickered around them, unlike all the previous dreams, full of emotions and color. hallucinations of various shades of red surrounded them, it felt as if they were being suffocated from being in your head to begin with. of course, for your own health, they told your husband, al haitham, about the pictures they saw. he tried talking to you about it, which resulted in the conflict in front of you now.

he took your weapon away from you, the weapon you used to protect sumeru, not caring if you put your life on the line. it was your job after all, but not even cyno was that careless.

"when you start acting like someone who wants to be alive."

your eyebrow raised, scoffing. as much as you loved al haitham, he really was insufferable sometimes and moments like this are were you wished he wasn't so stubborn. however, you were stubborn as well.

"give me my weapon back."

"why?”

" because im not suicidal and if you believe that, you’re wrong. "

now it was his turn to scoff. he put his hand on his hip and stared at you. the person he fell in love with, void of sentiment and passion. you still looked as lovely as the first time he met you but now you looked just as dead as carcasses he'll see in the desert. a few seconds pass before he responds.

"what happened last year when you fell in the water?”

your blood ran cold as the words left his mouth. last year you were trying to save a group of kids that were playing in one of the construction sites, which wasn't sturdy whatsoever. as you saved all the kids, one by one, the wood holding up the base of the building fell into the water. one of the kids started crying, saying how they needed to go in the water to get their photograph.

it was a photograph of them and their parents, who apparently passed. and you went in there. without a second thought. the water pricked your skin because of how cold it was, but you still went in and got that photograph. after you got out, soaked with the picture still in tack, the kids thanked you profusely and left. you passed out soon after, the hypothermia and the water pressure almost taking you out. al haitham wasn't pleased but nothing he could say could ever change your mind.

"i almost drowned! you think i did that for kicks?”

"you went in a body of water that was CLEARLY too cold and too deep for you to handle.”

"i was trying to save his picture!”

your head pounded with nothing. you were frustrated of course, but your body didn't feel anything. you couldn't tell that your headache was a migraine, it just felt, heavy.

"why is it, that every person there, even cyno, had the sense to leave and run from the danger besides you?”

you went to quip back but he continued.

"you know, people run away from this line between life and death. you just seem to stand on it as if it's a tightrope in the middle of the hurricane, waiting for it to push you one way or the other.”

you crossed your arms. you'd hate to admit it, but he was right. you didn't see an actual purpose into living besides protecting sumeru. you never had an urge to run for safety

"you're careless with your life. you're not trying to kill yourself, but you're careless."

your eyes filled with tears with his words. your head felt heavy and dizzy, your vision going in and out like a bad '50s movie. your body shook in some emotion you couldn't even tell at this point. you knew he wanted to help and he was worried, al haitham has always been like this. pushy and unforgiving with hid care.

“i am NOT carele-!”

“not even cyno would pull the shit you do. not even the TRAVELER THEMSELVES, would pull the shit you do. all three of you do implausible nonsense warranting such-”

“I DO IT FOR THE PEOPLE OF SUMERU,” your voice softening from the sudden uproar as the next few words leave your mouth, “…and you know that al haitham.”

his heart feels like it got chipped with one of liyue’s finest pickaxes. strong enough to break the outside but careful enough to preserve the inside. his voice wavers, but his next words make the tears from your eyes fall harder.

“no, you do it for yourself. you do it just for the chance of losing your life. just for the off chance, that you get caught in the storm and you die with a purpose.”

an: im back!!!!!!! ignore how bad this is i finished it at 5am so i had something for you guys…. apologies!

[mr-urple]

» The devil’s coming but only to worship me_.

Heyo guys, gals, and nonbinary pals! I'm Donatello, but I more commonly go by Don. I'm your average ninja mutant turtle teen with a penchant for violence and chaotic shenanigans. I'm just a silly guy, don't be afraid to hang around! You can slide something into my inbox while you're at it, I won't mind !

OC MASTERPOST (Last updated: July 1st)

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#atomic bomb [⚛️🧪] - @atomic-rattz (BEST BRO 🗣🗣🗣)

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ADDITIONAL INFO UNDER CUT (PLEASE READ)

MY ART REQUESTS ARE CLOSED!!

Please don’t ask if my requests or commissions are open. They aren’t. And I don’t plan to open them any time soon. I’m a self-indulgent artist who draws what he wants, and I’d like to keep it that way.

INTERESTS Feel free to talk to me about these things!

Splatoon and the Splatoon Manga (aka coroika). It's my favorite video game EVER and I am more than ready to gush about it.

Pokemon. I'm not as well versed in the earlier games, but I do know quite a bit of it!

Legend of Zelda. Specifically BoTW, TotK, TP, and SS.

Kirby. I am I HUGE fan of the eldritch horrors in this game.

Haikyuu, SpyxFamily, Kuroko no Basket, Dungeon Meshi, and Kusuriya no Hitorigoto.

Vocaloid and J-pop. It's all I listen to, actually.

BOUNDARIES

Tcest, incest, and proshippers DNI

I make suggestive jokes (I'm a teen. What dost thou expect of me), but I won't be drawing NFSW, nor will I accept me or other minors being sexualized. We are not child molesters.

Please be nice! I'm not exactly the best at wording things (tone indicators save my life), but I will never, EVER be mean to someone on purpose (unless they deserve it. Then I'll go ham). While interacting on my blog, please refrain from being toxic. Some thoughts are better left to yourself

NO STEALING MY ART!! I don't know why you'd want to steal it in the first place (it sucks ass), but don't do it anyways. You can use it as long as you give credit.

I don't do commissions, but I take requests! If I see something in my ask box I like, I'll draw it. So, if you have any ideas, feel free to share them! I like having motivation boosters.

Don't.... don't try to flirt with me........ I'm taken....... I won't accept... guys please..... I know I'm hot but like.... please........ I'm also a minor....... guys..... 😞

EXTRA INFO ABOUT ME!!! IF YOU EVEN CARE!!!

16 years old

5'4"

INTP / 5w4 / 548

I ate a roly poly once (I was fIVE-)

During covid I chose suicide, now I choose homicide :)

I may be a Donnie but I am warning you, I am very. Very dumb

AuDHD (I just say I'm autistic tho because it's funnier)

Chaotic evil

Literally just a cat in a turtle body

Will Bite /threat

Keeps getting adopted by people for some reason

Yyyyyeeahhhhh that's about it, remember to be nice and have fun and shit. Stay silly gang!!!!

[chaoticbardlady99]

Yesterday I Felt like Dancing (Astarion x GN! Reader)

Synopsis: You have burnt both ends of the candle and haven’t been taking care of your mental health. Unable to get yourself out of bed, Astarion begins to worry about you…

Author note- I have been hardcore struggling with my mental health lately and writing my silly little fics has been the only thing pulling me along. I thought it might be therapeutic to write about my current feelings (I have ADHD, MDD, and GAD so it’s a party up in here). I hope you enjoy!

CW- Suicidal Ideation, symptoms of depression, brief outburst, mentions of mental health diagnosis and poor medical advice.

Title inspired by song “Into the Walls” by Griff.

*not my pic, could not tell you where I found it so I apologize in advance. If you think it might be your picture, please message me so I can give proper credit.

Your last day before backtracking from the Mountain Pass to the Goblin camp is a difficult one.

Not for the group as a whole- just you specifically.

Days before a Mindflayer kidnapped you, a healer back home had told you your brain was sick. You had been devastated- resigned to your miserable fate.

You had been struggling for years at that point with inconsistent motivation, exhaustion, nightmares, and irrational thoughts for months. You have been functional for the most part, but then an overpowering wave will hit you like Warhammer in the ribs and you are rendered useless until it passes.

The healer suggested sunlight, exercise, eating healthy, and spending time with friends to help your affliction when you hit rock bottom. You were wildly unimpressed with her. At the time, you preferred to self isolate so you stayed by yourself in the woods trying to find peace there. You would have to let her know that her “going out and enjoying the sun” message is not always wise- you may get a tadpole shoved in your head. You can’t be that mad though- the tadpole helped bring your pep back.

Anyway, you have been doing all of that for weeks now, you even felt great, but today? You could not have hit rock bottom harder even if you tried.

You woke up that morning unable to get yourself out of bed. It was a rest day so it wasn’t a big deal, but you also know that your companions are going to have things they need to talk to you about and favors they need you to take care of.

Gods you had tried to get up. You are grateful that your past self had the gumption to wash off and change into clean clothes last night, but your armor is still disgustingly sitting outside your tent and your hair is long and wild. You had wanted to braid it, but it all felt like too much work.

Everything feels like too much work right now- even staying awake- so you drift in and out of uncomfortable naps throughout the morning. No matter how many times you fall asleep, begging for relief from the painful brick wall sitting on your brain, it never leaves.

You can feel the midday breeze rustle your tent. You’ve been laying here for hours now. You are crying and you honestly aren’t sure why. You feel completely paralyzed by all the things you need to do to be ready for the Underdark.

You need to clean your armor, go over the Goblin Camp’s map with Wyll, find Gale a magical artifact, and probably comfort Lae’zel since she’s been branded a heretic- but you won’t. The shame and self loathing continues. You are a silly, worthless little human being.

Every person who knocks on your tent gets a simple, “I’m just not feeling well,” and then they walk away. You don’t know why it makes you more sad than appreciative. If you were in their shoes- you would be bending over backwards to make sure they had everything they needed and you wouldn’t let them feel alone. Then you resent yourself for feeling that way towards your companions- they don’t owe you anything and you were the one who chose to help them- you didn’t ask for anything in return. This is all your fault.

The only person who hadn’t come to visit you was Astarion- which hurt your heart just a little, enough that the numbness coursing thickly through your body wavered for a moment. You are quite smitten and he is obviously not. Another mistake to add to the swirling black hole your mind has fallen into.

You knew it was stupid to want his comfort and affections- you had merely slept together a little less than a week ago. Astarion has been quasi avoiding you ever since and when he does talk to you- he’s awkward. You constantly look for flying pigs- Astarion feeling awkward or being awkward is unheard of.

You have come to accept that you were just some tryst and obviously he hadn’t enjoyed it as much as he said he did.

Astarion isn’t to blame and the situation itself certainly didn’t contribute to the sudden lack of emotions. You knew that you were on the verge of a mental collapse sooner rather than later, but you had foolishly hoped you wouldn’t be alone through it. It feels less all consuming when you try to find a reason. It’s more comfortable to know than it is to give up and say, “my brain is fucked and there isn’t a damn thing I can do so I guess I’m stuck here.”

You are jolted out of your thoughts by another knock on your tent.

“I’m sick,” you say flatly.

“Ha- you act like that will deter me. I can’t even get sick, Darling.”

Before you even have time to register that Astarion is on the other side of your tent- he pushes his way through the flaps and stares down at you in confusion. And… concern?

Astarion steps inside and kneels down next to you- scanning you for evidence of illness or injury.

“I suppose I had been worried for nothing,” he smiles sweetly at you, “you are totally fine. Come on Darling, you have to get up and eat. Wyll is fumbling with that map.”

You look at him and begin to cry. Astarion’s face lights up with alarm.

“What- what did I do!?”

“Please don’t make me,” you sob, “I just want a break. I’m so tired. I want to lay in this bed forever and never leave, but there is so much to do and it’s paralyzing.”

You continue to cry and you cover yourself with the extra blanket- successfully hiding your face.

“Go away,” you whisper, “I need to be left alone.”

You say it, but you are far from meaning it. You want him to stay- to hold you- but he doesn’t want you so it will only make everything hurt worse once the numbness fades away.

You wait for several moments and then you hear him leave. Your silent cry turns into choked sobs and your body is shaking from the pain you are in. The numbness hurts. The numbness tells you that you shouldn’t be alive.

Maybe you shouldn’t be.

Everyone here would be able to figure it out on their own (eventually) and you would finally be free. Free of your uncomfortable brain, free of your ugly body- free of the expectations of others. You would no longer be holding them back like you are today- like you will again in the future.

You are sure they would temporarily grieve you, but that was the deal with this whole journey. You had all accepted that one of you or all of you could die at any moment. You will just put them in more danger by being here…

You shake the thought from your head, violently- your head is pounding from the growing tension headache and dehydration. The tears eventually stop and you just… well, lay in bed again. You stare blankly at a book over in the corner. You keep trying to convince yourself to get up and read the damn thing- do literally ANYTHING else than just stay here in your bedroll.

Instead, you fall asleep.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You wake up to someone knocking on your tent post. You grumble incoherently, covering your head and you hear your unexpected guest sit down next to you. The smell of food fills the tent and your stomach grumbles.

“You need to eat, my Dear,” Astarion says softly.

You are stunned to hear his voice grace your ears. You slowly pull the blanket down to just below your eyes and look at him. Astarion looks distressed, like he doesn’t want to be here. Why would he? You’re a nuisance.

You sit up gingerly and grab the bowl from him. You manage to give him a lopsided smile.

“Thanks. You don’t need to stay, I will be fine on my own,” you say apathetically, staring into the broth.

“I want to stay,” he says, “if you’ll have me.”

The expression on his face is unreadable, but he seems genuine. You nod, your lips pressed together tightly. You eat as much as you feel like while Astarion studies you.

Usually your anxiety is at an all time high (in maybe one of the better ways) when you are around Astarion- he gives you butterflies, butterflies, and even more butterflies. Usually your heart is racing in his presence, but right now you just feel empty.

“Where is your hairbrush?” Astarion asks.

You frown with confusion, “it’s in my bag, why?”

Astarion gets up and goes over to the bag- digging out a few items. He pulls out a lantern, your hairbrush, and a hair tie. Astarion comes over to you and sits down behind you. You feel him gather up the stray pieces of your hair and get to work.

Astarion runs his fingers through your scalp and your tangled hair- the feeling is soothing and it opens something inside of you. Your body shakes silently with sobs and you feel the worm behind your eyes wiggle as Astarion asks for access. You aren’t sure.

“I want to understand,” Astarion says, “please.”

His voice is so raw and desperate- you swallow thickly before allowing him to explore your current emotional state. The silence in the tent is palpable and you feel tense, uncomfortable even. No one has ever cared for you while you are in this state before.

You feel him continue his hairbrushing after he exits your mind. Astarion leaves soft kisses on your shoulder as he gently pulls apart every knot. It helps- you realize- to feel cared for. The numbness still hurts, you still hurt, but it’s nice to not feel so alone.

After Astarion is done brushing your hair, you feel his delicate fingers begin to intricately braid your hair. You wonder when he learned how to do hair.

“Leon’s daughter, Victoria, used to ask me to braid her hair all the time,” Astarion says in a bittersweet voice as if reading your mind, “I picked it up so that she would stop bugging me about it. She said and I quote, ‘you have the perfect braiding hands!’”

You smile to yourself tenderly, “That’s very kind of you, Star. I am sure she appreciated it as much as I appreciate it now.”

You feel Astarion’s hands falter at your words and you are unsure if you have upset him or not. A pregnant pause occurs before Astarion finally clears his throat and goes back to braiding your hair.

“I’m glad that I can help,” Astarion’s delicate, vulnerable words hang in the air, “I’ve… been worried about you today.”

You feel positively flustered and bad for making him feel that way.

“Oh you don’t need to worry about silly ole me! This happens sometimes” you make your voice chirpier than it needs to be, “This is actually the longest I’ve gone for a long time without this happening. I have theorized that the tadpole might help which is kinda cool- I think?”

You laugh awkwardly- desperate to ease his worry.

“How often does this happen?”

Shit. That was the winning question wasn’t it? Astarion will surely never see you as anything less than broken now.

“I’m not really sure,” your voice comes out in a whisper, “I usually always feel a bit of it all the time, but it’s manageable. I function very well regardless.”

“But this one isn’t manageable and evidently you aren’t functional right now.”

You sigh, “No, it isn’t and no, I’m not.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing,” you say, maybe too harshly, “that’s the part that drives me crazy. Yesterday was incredible- I was on top of the whole world, felt like dancing and screaming from the rooftops, but today!?”

You inhale and hold back the muted scream that wants to fill the air.

“Today,” you hiss, “I don’t even want to deal with any of this shit anymore. I’m so fucking tired. There is too much to fucking do and too many people depending on me. Then everyone gets irritated with me if I ask to push off their problems so I persevere through it despite knowing I’m getting bad again. I’m a giant stinking trash heap that everyone keeps adding more to.”

Astarion finishes braiding your hair and presses your back to his chest, pulling you into him. He puts his arms around your waist and settles his chin and face in between the crook of your neck.

“I just feel like such a nuisance all the time- no matter how hard I push myself to prove I’m not. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off if I just… went away.”

You both sit there quietly. At some point he had taken one of your hands in his and he was tracing shapes into the back of it with his thumb. Your omission still hangs heavily in the air.

“I wouldn’t be better off,” Astarion says hotly, “I’d be stuck with all these weirdos by myself. That would be truly miserable, Darling.”

You shake your head, a half smile on your face.

“And besides- you are not even close to a nuisance,” Astarion states, leaving a kiss on your cheek, “at least you aren’t in constant need of magical objects to eat or blood to drink. Oh and you don’t require a painstaking amount of searching to prevent you from literally burning everyone alive.

“Oh and did I forget to mention, we have not one, but two women who despise each other and follow hateful Goddesses which was a fun choice for whatever sick bastard twisted our fates this way.”

You laugh breathily, closing your eyes and letting the sound defrost some of your insides.

“What I’m saying is- I think you are the least of everyone’s ‘nuisances’, my Darling,” he says, squeezing you tighter to his chest, “despite how little you think of yourself. We ne- no, I want you to stay. I know everyone else would say the same, but I must emphasize that I would be horribly distraught if you disappeared. Hells I’d even pay to have you resurrected.”

You gasp playfully, your voice falling slightly flat, “You? The most frugal man I have ever met would pay 200 gold coins to ‘Strike thy name from the record’?”

Your impression of Withers gets Astarion to genuinely laugh- the sound vibrating in your chest. You lean into him and he guides you back to laying down. Astarion entangles his legs with yours as he holds you tightly- your faces are mere centimeters apart. You love the way Astarion smells- rosemary, bergamot, and brandy. You wish you could be wrapped up in him forever. You are still in pain- everything still hurts and feels too difficult, but right now it feels a little less heavy.

“I would throw bags of Gold Coins at that corpse out of revenge, my Dear,” he teases, “you couldn’t possibly think I would ever let you rest peacefully in your grave- I would be far too angry with you and unhappy without you to let that happen.”

You lay there and despite yourself, you lean forward and leave butterfly kisses along his cheeks with your lashes. Astarion scrunches up his nose reflexively and smiles at you. You plant a sweet, short kiss on his lips.

“Thank you Astarion- for everything.”

You close your eyes as he traces circles along your lower back. Your eyes begin to droop, and you fall asleep.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When you wake up the next morning- you are disappointed to find that you are all alone in your tent. The heavy numbness is still there and you sigh. At least last night made it more bearable.

You look on the side where Astarion had been sleeping and find a note with a bottle attached to it. You pick it up and begin to read.

Tav,

Astarion had asked me about herbs for some relief regarding mental discomforts. I unfortunately don’t know many, but this is a mixture of St. John’s Wort, Valerian Root, and Ashwagandha. Historically, I know these have been used to alleviate emotional and mental pain.

Astarion didn’t tell me why he was asking, but I deduced it was you pretty quickly when he began shooing everyone away from your tent this morning.

I hope this helps- we are all here if you need us. May Silvanus light your path as you navigate this difficult time.

-Halsin

You sit in your own stunned silence for what feels like hours. Halsin knows and he wants to help? Halsin doesn’t think you are screwed or a nuisance? The man barely even knows you!

You are a bit embarrassed, but you can’t help but laugh at the image of Astarion telling everyone to leave you alone.

You open the bottle and a pleasant, earthy smell fills the tent. You drink the mixture (that definitely does not taste anywhere near as pleasant as it smells) and you do feel a slight bit better. Your apathy feels even more tolerable now. You will have to thank Halsin.

You slowly rise from your tent and look around. Everything is packed up neatly in the corner- your clothes from the previous day are folded nicely and you notice all the holes are sewn up.

You jump when someone enters your tent abruptly- the midday sun warming your skin. You turn around and Astarion is smiling at you, but looks nervous.

“I cleaned off your armor and your weapons,” he says awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, “I also packed up your stuff- as you can see. We have to start leaving unfortunately, but I’ll help you get on your armor like I usually do- I might still need help with mine though, but I can ask someone else if it’s too much for you right now. Lae’zel and Karlach offered to pack up your tent. Wyll and Shadowheart figured out the map- Wyll is going to be our ‘fearless’ leader for the day. Gale has some food for you to snack on while we travel- which you will be eating, by the way.”

Astarion is looking at you with a vulnerable expression on his face. He plays nervously with the gold coin in his hands.

You can hardly believe what you are hearing.

“Did- did you do all this for me?” You say with disbelief.

You never thought Astarion was capable of smiling shyly until he had admitted to you that you had been his first thinking creature- you certainly never thought you’d see him become shy twice in your presence.

“I did and it wasn’t a nuisance so don’t even begin to worry about that,” He walks over to you, gently cradling your face in his hands, “I hope this is all okay.”

You smile- the first genuine feeling of happiness you’ve felt in the last 24 hours gently sparks in your chest as you stare up at him. You get up on your tiptoes and bridge the gap between your lips.

“Thank you Astarion, this is perfect- you are perfect,” you are crying tears of joy, “this is the kindest gesture anyone has ever made for me. So just, thank you.”

“Of course, Darling,” he says smiling in between kisses, “I won’t let you lose to yourself. We’ll get through this together from now on- no more hiding.”

And for once? You actually believe someone.

-if you guys like this, please let me know if you would want a part two written from Astarion’s perspective.

Update- I did the thing you silly geese

https://www.tumblr.com/chaoticbardlady99/735969926279528448/i-took-all-this-love-i-found-and-i-hope-that-its

Tag-list: @spacebarbarianweird @domainoflostsouls

[calqlate]

RE: LOVE & LIFE | THREE

— THOSE WHO SHARE THE MEMORY

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING(S): zhongli x f! reader + diluc x f! wife! reader

SUMMARY: As the wife of the famous big shot in the wine industry, you have everything you could ever ask for — a beautiful mansion, endless wealth, servants at your beck and call... However, you lack the one thing you yearn for: love. With your beloved husband neglecting you and being stuck in a loveless marriage, you decide to end it all, only to be stopped by a man whom you have never met before, and who also coincidentally happens to be your soulmate. In addition, there just might seem to be more than what meets the eye in regards to your peculiar soulmate, and you just might have to find that out for yourself.

CW(S)/TW(S): contains mentions of suicide attempts

TAGLIST (italicised blogs are unable to be tagged, pls dm me with your updated username): @crescentmoonnn + @deeomi + @esthelily + @holaseniorahoe + @loving-august + @mshope16 + @needsleep3000 + @nerdiel-has-no-braincells + @saintbernardthethird + @seyboo + @thelonelyarchon

A/N: apologies for the wait, uni has been kicking my ass (i'm in my final year of bachelor's rn! wahoo!) which made my brain go to a stalemate for a while. bUTTT i've recently finished tale of the nine-tailed which caused my brain to spur into action again (everyone say thanku to lee dongwook)! without further ado, pls enjoy!

You were presently seated in the Third-Round Knockout, a Liyuen restaurant which was famed for its gorgeous dishes which had a mouth-watering taste. Zhongli was seated diagonally across you to your left and Ajax in front of you. It was an odd combination, really, having a meal together with your business associate and your soulmate in a fancy, high-end restaurant.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Zhongli's direct gaze on you. It was zeroed in on you, making it seem like he was scrutinising every square inch of your face, and yet it made you feel warm all over, making you feel... embarrassed, somehow? You could only take small sips out of your cup of tea, careful as to not burn your tongue.

(Your tongue, or your cheeks, either one was applicable in this situation.)

"Are you familiar with Mr. Zhongli's practice, Mrs. Ragnvindr?"

Ajax's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I'm afraid not." Oh no, was your mind preoccupied with other thoughts while Ajax was talking? "Could you elaborate on it?"

"I should let Mr. Zhongli do the talking instead," Ajax said, "It's better for him to explain his job scope."

"I am a consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour," Zhongli spoke, "And I simply give people suggestions on how to proceed with their funeral preparations and which packages would best suit their needs. We have a variety of packages for everyone's needs, thanks to Director Hu's business-savvy mindset."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a funeral parlour consultant," you said, smiling candidly at him, "If anything, I thought you would be an art museum director of sorts."

"He does look the part, doesn't he?" Ajax said with a laugh, "I once mistook him as a CEO of some sort the first time I met him."

"Oh, I understand what you mean," you laughed, "It's in the way he carries himself."

"And the fancy choice of words, too," Ajax chimed in, "That's not all: he's so unusually knowledgeable about every topic!"

"You flatter me," Zhongli shook his head with a smile, "I simply have a good memory."

"Excellent memory, you mean," Ajax corrected him almost immediately, "Anyone would kill for that kind of brainpower. Remember the time you gave advice to that one Fontanian guy who pivoted into film-making? He immediately made a whole lot of money with his debut film!"

You raised your eyebrows. If Zhongli was even adept at advising a novice filmmaker, perhaps he had some good suggestions for your new business plan you had in mind.

"Mr. Zhongli," the dark-haired man immediately turned his head towards your direction as soon as you called his name, "If you would be so kind, I would like to hear your opinion on my business plan."

He straightened his back slightly and interlaced his fingers together, interest piqued as his entire body was turned to face you as he spoke, "Sure, I am all ears."

"This is the business plan I had in mind, which is in collaboration with the Fatui Network..." You launched into your spiel, mapping out the business plan you had in mind (which all of the details had already been discussed with Ajax beforehand), and Zhongli listened attentively. After you were done speaking, there was a brief moment of silence.

"This is indeed a well thought-out plan, but could I make a few minor suggestions?" Zhongli asked.

You nodded, "Please feel free to do so, the floor is yours."

Zhongli began to speak his mind, pointing out what particular flaws and loopholes your business plan might have concerning your consumer base in a respectful and straightforward manner, and what particular negative repercussions might be incurred. You thought Ajax was bluffing when he said Zhongli was insightful; Zhongli was pretty much a wise sage speaking with all the knowledge Teyvat could possibly even offer. If he were a movie character, he would be the wise old pilgrim living at the top of some snowy, out-of-reach mountain that the main character had to climb for months just to reach him.

"...That is all I have to offer, and you might want to take my thoughts with a grain of salt," Zhongli concluded his verbalised thoughts, picking up his teacup again.

"No, what you've just said makes complete sense," you shook your head, "I'll adjust a couple of points on my end. Thank you for your insight, it was really helpful!"

As if right in cue, the food that Ajax had ordered arrived and was served on the table.

"Let's dig in, shall we?" Ajax grinned, and you mirrored his smile and dug your chopsticks into your bowl of noodles as a response.

Ajax left as soon as brunch concluded, scurrying off to pay for the meal first and apologising for leaving first due to urgent business matters.

So that left you and Zhongli alone, standing outside the restaurant.

"Are you heading back to the hotel, Mrs. Ragnvindr?" Zhongli asked, hands situated round his back.

The sun was shining in the sky, but it was not unbearably hot. On the contrary, it was warm and inviting, perfect for an afternoon walk.

You shook your head, "I was planning to go for a stroll. Would you like to join me?"

The man smiled as his eyes softened, "It would be my pleasure."

You and Zhongli walked along the roads of Liyue's capital, taking in the bustling chatter of people and the busy city life. Vehicles were whirring past the both of you, and the rays of the sun ricochetted off the glass panels of the buildings. Somehow, doing something as simple as going on a promenade was much more fulfilling than doing work back home.

"Oh, look! Roadside stalls!" your eyes brightened as you spotted a couple of stalls set up by the road, with old women managing them and selling a variety of trinkets. Without hesitation, you made a beeline towards the stalls, eyes scanning through the products on display. Zhongli joined you soon after, peering past your shoulder to peruse through the items on sale.

"It's nice to see you, Zhongli," a welcoming, gentle voice spoke, causing both you and Zhongli to look up. It was an old woman with her silver hair tied up into a low bun, and a pair of round-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose.

"The pleasure is mine, Street — ahem, Madam Ping," Zhongli returned the greeting.

"Ah, and who's this young lady you've brought along with you?" Madam Ping's eyes shifted over to you, and for a split second, you could see some sort of surprised expression in her eyes. However, it was fleeting and was quickly replaced by a warm gaze and a complementary, friendly smile.

"She is an... acquaintance of mine," Zhongli explained.

"It's nice to meet you," you smiled and gave a little bow (It's customary in Liyuen tradition for younger people to bow in greeting to the older folk, you remembered), then refocused your gaze on the items on display, "You have wonderful wares on display, ma'am."

"Take your pick, child," Madam Ping smiled, then bent over to whisper, "As Zhongli's friend, you're entitled to take one for free."

Your eyes widened into the size of saucers, "Oh, no, I can't do that! You're running a business here; I wouldn't want to make you lose any profit!"

"I insist," Madam Ping shook her head, then nodded towards Zhongli, "He doesn't have a whole lot of friends, so I'm happy to know he's made a new one. I guess you can say this is a little bribe from me to convince you to stay friends with him."

While you really thought you should not be imposing and picking out something for free, you knew you would offend this sweet old lady if you turned her offer down. With a smile and dejected shake of your head, you said, "Alright, then."

Madam Ping brightened almost immediately and you went about the stall, browsing through the wares, discreetly looking at the price tags and trying to pick the cheapest one so that you would not be the first step into driving this poor woman into bankruptcy (or whatever it would be).

Madam Ping shifted over to Zhongli and lowered her voice down to a whisper, "So, it seems you've found her again in this life."

Zhongli hummed.

"This is her last life, isn't it?"

Zhongli nodded, a bittersweet smile taking over his features.

Madam Ping studied his facial expression before speaking again, "You don't seem that happy to know that she's one step closer to reuniting with you."

Zhongli shook his head, "I am beyond delighted to know that she is not too far from reincarnating again and spending her next life forever with me, but..." Zhongli frowned before continuing, "I cannot help but wonder if that is exactly what she wants in her next life is all."

Madam Ping mirrored Zhongli's expression, but in a curious manner, "What makes you say that?"

"I was never her lover in any of her past incarnations," Zhongli explain in a slow manner, as if recalling an archaic tale from long ago, "I had always been a friend, a companion to her. In one of those lives, she told me that she never wanted to live her life like that, having me by her side."

He could remember it as clear as day. The day he saved you from drowning, his body completely drenched in seawater. The fabric of his clothes was clinging to his skin and his hair was tousled and damp. Your skin was pale and your lower lip was trembling, but most importantly, your eyes were filled with tears and you were hitting his body repeatedly.

"Why did you save me?" you wept as your fists struck his chest weakly, "You should've just left me to die!"

"I would never want to see you give up on yourself," he whispered as he swept a stray lock of hair out of your face.

You lowered your head and gripped his clothes, "Did it never occur to you that this was not the life that I wanted?" You raised your head to look at him directly in the eye, a sort of sad fury burning behind your eyes, "In this life, or in any other life, I've never wanted you by my side."

It was a painful yet memorable moment that haunted him every waking hour. Perhaps he had been wrong to even make that contract in the first place. All of this happened because of his selfish desire to see you again, to meet you again, to just stand by your side for another day. He had never once thought about what you wanted. And so, that day woke him up from his self-centered fantasy and caused him to question all his choices. Maybe he should have just let you leave and not hold you back. Perhaps that was what you wanted in the very beginning.

Madam Ping frowned, "I'm sure that's not what she meant. You know she's got a tender spot for you."

Zhongli lowered his head and stared at his gloved hands, "I hope that holds true, Streetward Rambler."

"Ma'am! I've found something!" your voice plucked the two old friends out of their little bubble of conversation, and both of them turned to look at you. You were waving at them, a smile in place as your other hand was holding something small in your palm. You looked so carefree and happy, and Zhongli could only hope you would stay this way forever.

"Don't worry too much, Rex Lapis," Madam Ping whispered as she gave the man a gentle pat on the arm, "I know she wouldn't blame you for your choices."

As the old woman walked off to talk to you and package your procured item into a small wooden box, Zhongli could only hope and pray that Madam Ping's words rang true.

[tjalexandernyc]

I suspect that help lines and mental health organizations are going to be swamped with people in need over the next few days and weeks.

If you are speaking to someone who is suicidal, or are suicidal yourself, I want to say a few things to hopefully demystify that.

First, it may be scary esp if this never or rarely happens to you, but passing thoughts about dying or wanting to die are a fairly normal response to extreme stress. Your brain is looking for actions to take. It is going through its catalog of possibilities. That doesn't mean it's right.

My brain, for example, often suggests we eat an entire thing of gummy bears when I know it will hurt my tummy. Same principal. A person's thoughts and urges are not them. It doesn't make you a bad person.

Now, I am not downplaying those feelings either. They may be brief, but they are very real. Many of us have a tendency to want to tell people who are thinking of killing themselves that everything will be OK, that they need to STOP. That what they're thinking & feeling is wrong.

This is a dangerous thing to do. If you tell a person who is thinking of suicide "you're wrong to be thinking like that; things aren't so bad; you're overreacting" it's 1) not very helpful and 2) makes them feel even worse.

Instead, compassion. Empathy. Listen to them. "It makes sense that you feel that way." Because it fucking does. Even if it's not how you, personally, would feel in the exact situation. (as if you could ever know that, but that's besides the point.) The point is, when a person is unmoored they are looking for a place to hold onto. You can be that landing spot for them. It doesn't feel or look like heroism because it's mostly simple stuff: listening, not arguing about the validity of their feelings, being there.

And if it's you going through it, my friend, I love you. I love you. I love you. And I'm right there with you.

Ultimately, the taboo of talking about suicide is more about a fear of emotional intensity than it is of death, though of course that is part of it. If you can be brave enough to face intense emotion, death is nothing.

Look, I'm just some guy, so you don't have to listen to me. I hope everyone can access the care they need to stay safe, but I also hope we can care for each other.

To be fully transparent, the first email I sent out this morning was to my therapist, who I haven't seen in over 3 years. I know myself; I know my patterns; I know I'm going to need help in the coming weeks and months. I am not ashamed of this.

Please do not feel ashamed if you need help too.

[elvisslut]

Tearing me down..

||tw- Suicidal thoughts, attempt at suicide, smut, cheating, depression, in depth details of feelings,hospital,in detail hospital visit||

You knew Elvis was cheating but hearing him and seeing him with someone else was a different kind of pain though. You loved him too much to leave after that so the cheating became more frequent each time you let it slide. Well..you still thought about it but you let it slide pass elvis.

Loving him became a sickness and it was dragging you to your grave. A grave you didn't want people to find out about. Him cheating on you is not only demeaning but it's embarrassing. It hurts to love him an not receive the same love back. He hurts, Elvis Presley for you.. Is the definition of hurt and Belittlment.

But he is also the love of your life. A man you can't live without. "Y/n? You okay? You look really sick" Joe says as he walks in the kitchen, you pouring you probably 7th cup of coffee. Since you caught Elvis and continued to catch Elvis you really couldn't sleep, you had constant fights with him, he hardly kisses you anymore let alone makes love to you.

You used to have such a good relationship, now it's just lies and cries. "Yeah.. Just tired" you give Joe a light smile and walk out the kitchen to the dining room table talking aseatamd watching out the window at the fans aching for Elvis. Elvis isn't even your husband.. You're not obligated to stay. But love works in ways no one will ever understand.

Joe was worried, beyond worried. He loved you like a sister and hated seeing you the state you're in. Elvis got more sleep then you and that in itself is a big thing that's strongly noticeable. Elvis averaged three hours you were lucky if you got a hour.

"Hey doll.. Ya okay?" Elvis said looking over at you with a grown after having come down stairs. "Yeah.. I'm okay" you say getting up and downing the rest of thehot coffee in your cup, going over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, handing him the cup since he was going to the kitchen then Going to the living room.

"E. P. Hey.. Come here" Joe says waving Elvis over to him. "Y/n looks real sick.. Maybe you should take her to the doctor.. " Joe suggests. Elvis chuckles and shakes his head." naw naw she's just tired.. I don' got the time to take 'er and I've got a few girls coming over today.. So I can't be gone" that's it. Joe figured it out. Elvis knew you'd stop caring so much for the girls.

He knew and he was waiting for it. He loved you but the thought of fooling around with you wasn’t much of a turn on for him. You loved elvis so much that no buts ifs ands or wills will ever stop you from loving him with your entirety.

“E..you’re hurting her with all the girls.” Joe says bluntly. “She doesn’ mind. She would have left me after i got caught with Olivia” he smiles at joe earning a frown. “You screwed Olivia? Is that why they ain’t friends no more?” Joe asks, Olivia was your best friend. For years. Then you found her under Elvis and thats when your world started to shatter.

“Im going for a drive ill see you boys later” you say stepping in the kitchen oblivious to the previous conversation. “ill come with” Elvis says looking back at you planing to talk to you about what joe said.

“I um..i don’t think thats a good idea..you just..you stay here” you say giving him a smile and turning around going outside. Joe had a horrible feeling in his gut. He didn’t like that you were going alone but he understood that you probably needed a break from Elvis.

Killing yourself was frowned apon.. But you'd be dead. Why was it so frowned on. It's such a easy escape.. From everything. It's such a easy way yo get away from Elvis.. From the love you have for . You parked the car at the end of the Memphis Bridge and walked the sidewalk amongst others, stopping in the middle and looking down at the water tears in your eyes. It was your last straw a while ago, but it all became too much.. Too overwhelming recently. You weren't going to jump..heights sacred you but you snagged up some pills from Elvis and took them.

"E, y/n's been gone a awful long time" Joe says that's same feeling in his gut getting worse. Elvis sighed and looked at the girls in front of him putting his guitar down. "Wait here girls I gotta go find someone" he says as if it were a harsh task.

They drove around for a while spotting your car then multiple police cars and several people not spotting you. Elvis and joe rushed out of the car, pushing through all the people as time seemed to slow for Elvis. The moment they seen you on the concrete with a officer giving you chest compressions Elvis broke down. Immediately going to his knees besides you.

The officer does a few more compressions and slowly you come back to see Elvis Joe and many others towering over you. Elvis puts his arms around you and squeezes for dear life. He almost lost you. Legitimately lost you. If a officer wasn't here he'd be burying you by next week.

"Oh god, oh god.." he sways with you back and forth sobbing holding you as close as humanely possible. "My baby.. My satnin, 'm so sorry please please don' leave me here. Please mama." his cries seemed to fade out. "Its okay my precious boy.." you say quitly as your conciseness slips from your fingers.

Everything for Elvis was dark once you fell unconscious in his arms that day. You'd been in a coma for a week. Elvis has not once left your side. He felt guilty and hurt that you'd do that but he mostly just felt a feel that had no word. Maybe sad love? Longing? There's no telling.

He knew his was at fault, he knew it too well. He felt regret for every girl he's been with that wasn't you. He couldn't get out of that room but he couldnt look at you. You had so many wires and tubes hooked up to you just to keep you alive.

He bit down on his lip as the last person visiting you left, he cried silently in the chair sat by your bed and the window. He scooted the chair to your side and grabbed your hand feeling the warmth of your skin. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed softly against your knuckles then laying your hand against his cheek, crying harder as he did.

Not knowing if this was the end of you or not. "Pull through this for me baby..ya gotta come back to your precious boy..please come back to me mama" he chokes on a sob and lays his head against your belly.

All the veins in his body pulsed for you. He didn’t realize it till the this week. You may have not noticed but he couldn’t keep his eyes off you whenever you were around him. He didn’t want to touch you in a sexual way not because you didn’t turn him on but because he thought you were too good too important to be touched like that by him.

“You’re my girl..you’re my girl, my girls gotta come back” he cried hearing tge door open to show a nurse the most dreadful part coming in a matter of seconds.

They were able to see if you could make it in your own without the life support. One by one the tubes and wires came off. Coming down to the last one that was helping you breathe. Once it was pulled out his heart stopped. A few seconds and you breathe in heavily for air, the nurses spoke to elvis for a second then left leaving him alone with you again.

Elvis let out a breath of air and rushed to your side again pressing his lips against your forehead. "That my good girl..thank ya.." he said softly tears streaming down his cheeks.

A few days went by and Elvis continued to watch you like a hawk. "Elvis?" you grumble with a cough your throat tremendously dry. Elvis bolt's to his feet and goes to you seeing if you were really awake tears flooding his eyes. You cough again snapping him from his state and rushing to get you water.

"Here baby drink.." he says lifting the cup to your lips and tilting it letting you drink the water slowly. You looked up at his eyes, his pretty gorgeous blue eyes and fell in love all over again.

"'M gonna go get someone.." he says rushing off.

The next few days went by fast Elvis did nothing but kiss you and apologize and pamper you. Then you went home. Definitely a place you wanted to go but.. It hurt to be back though. All the extra pain and hurt. But Elvis was back to being in love with you and it all washed that away.

He smiled at you as you got his help laying in the bed. Your bed.. Your shared bed. It felt so good.. So good to be back in this bed. Your boyfriend laying down right along side you.

He searched your eyes and slowly moved forward pressing his lips to yours and moving his hands up your shirt.

His fingers felt each inch of your skin as he pulled your shirt up and off of you, then working down at your pants tugging them off. "I missed this side of you precious boy.." you say softly reaching up and undoing his shirt, looking back into them pretty blues..

"I missed this side'a me too mama" he softly says leaning down getting another kiss from your lips. He pushes his pants down just enough to pull himself out and gets on top of you lining himself up and pushing in.

Your eyes flutter shut and your lips part as you let out a pretty moan just for him. Just for your precious boy to hear. He moves his hips at a steady pace wrapping his arm around your back and holding you close.

Tears started to fall down his cheeks, you lean up and kiss them away then wrap your arms around his shoulders. “I love ya..fuck mama..fuck i love ya” he grunts, the noises like music to your ears.

“I-..love you too baby boy” you moan out softly, elvis slows down and gives a few harsh thrusts before you’re both coming on done.

"Ya make everythin' so worth while.. Please never ever scare me like that again" he says tears continuing to stream down his face.

"I promise"

Tag❤️‍🔥: @elvisalltheway101

[dnpanimationstudioclone]

Val Also Works for Roo/Eve 🦋⛓️

Warning, potential spoilers and some intense pictures.

There’s been ALOT of theories going around about Alastor’s soul belonging to Eve/Roo-Root of all evil(or whoever’s meant to be the ultimate big bad). But what if he’s not the only one working in the shadows for a greater evil. What if VALENTINO himself is also owned by Roo and is or will be helping her continue with her plans. Why do I think this?

They both wear red as a main color(granted ALOT of Hazbin characters got red but for Val and Alastor’s the colors used often). Along with the use of black and white.

2. Despite Val’s…temperament and moments of impulsive destructive idiocy that clearly tax both Velvet and Vox, they still keep him around. I imagine his movies and music videos probably help make good money but you’d think with how awful Val can be, they’d consider him more of a burden…unless he’s genuinely got power that not only earns respect from them but from everyone else along with fear. With how quick he is to go off the handle, makes you wonder how he’s able to manipulate so many people. Is he relying on Vox and Vel or is he…getting extra help somewhere else. 3. The use of chains is used often with them. And if you’ve seen the rest of the Roo art, chains are common too⛓️. Considering how triggered Alastor gets being reminded of “being on a leash” who’s to say part of Val wanting Angel to remeber that he owns him is also….to compensate for his own feelings of being trapped too.

4. It’s not exactly the same, but when Val formed the contract, reminded me of when Al made that shield.

5. Val’s main power seems to be smoke/pheremones. He’s not the only one who uses smoke-like powers.

5. Eyes are around their areas too. And going on the idea they’re drawn by misery….Maybe Val’s not just causing it for his own dark desires but to…feed someone else’s aswell.

6. even though it seemed he was expecting Angel to make Charlie go, he was STILL MESSING AROUND WITH THE PRINCESS OF HELL! Even Vox can tell Val should NOT be taking that lightly, had to stop him from trying to storm into the hotel in ep 2, he was PUSHING THINGS when he licked her 🤮…was he trying to push her to lose it?

What if his borderline suicidal confidence about how he is towards Charlie could be….he has a kinda safety net if Angel or Vox didn’t stop him…or perhaps trying to make her lose it on purpose…

I lowkey think Val used the studio incident as a way to try make Angel think Charlie’s a problem(just gonna cause him problems, make things worse and should just settle back with him). I feel like he already wanted to hurt Angel for leaving and ignoring his calls and seeing Charlie he could tell she came on her own and could’ve just told her to come back to talk another time like she suggested, but decided to use this to his advantage , just wasn’t expecting Charlie to unintentionally make things easy for his case with the fire. He probably figured if he got someone else blamed to Angel’s eyes for his suffering behind just him abusing Angel for his own twisted reasons, Angel would just settle back for him…

And going on my certain theory of how Roo and Charlie could be connected

Roo-This worked better than I thought. Wasn’t expecting her to be THAT CARELESS🤣

Val-But he’s still at the Hotel…he forgave her…

Roo- He might still be sticking around now but if she keeps up her screwups, they’ll all eventually be done trying to clean up her messes and she’ll be all alone…perfect for the grab!😈

Val-…And Angel will come back to me?

Roo- Unless that spider's ready to deal with his own personal demons, he'll be crawling back in no time.

Val-He’ll want me again…

Roo-🤣🤣🤣I meant he’d be back, not because he’d really want to. Cmon, since when do u care what ANYONE else wants, let alone what HE’D WANT!? Let’s face it, unless you can change yourself into something more tolerable beyond just using my power to be needed, he’ll never love you like he did when you first met. Monsters like us can’t change Val, not like that atleast…and soon enough we’ll make Charlie realize she’s the same😈.

Val-…

What do u think? I’d love to know💖

[littleoddwriter]

Cooper Abbott x GN!Reader w/ BPD (Borderline PD) | Mini-Fic in Bullet Point Format

Hey there! I wrote this during the weekend when I was having a longer BPD episode and needed to vent and find comfort. Debated with myself on sharing it, but I also know from my previous BPD-centric writing that it helps others that find themselves in similar situations to mine, so, why not. This is focused around one BPD episode. General BPD!Reader headcanons with Cooper might follow at some point, though. notes/warnings; Gender Neutral!Reader; Reader has Borderline Personality Disorder; BPD Episode; Implied/Referenced Self-Harm & Suicidal Tendencies; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Mentions of Murder(ous Intent) [because it's Cooper, so, duh].

Cooper Abbott Masterlist

You tell Cooper about your diagnosis as soon as you feel like you can trust him with the information. Over time, you’ve learned to be as open about it as you possibly could. That way you could weed out people that didn’t care or that believed in the stigma, and it was also helpful to set boundaries and explain your behaviour to the other person.

Most of the time - especially with the help of therapy - you try to manage your symptoms by yourself. You don’t want to burden anyone with your instability, and you certainly don’t want to risk being abandoned for being ‘too much’ again. But it doesn’t always work to keep it all away from the people closest to you, including Cooper.

He makes you feel safe, more than anyone ever has before him. He gives you the feeling of being seen and heard, and best of all, understood on some level. Not judged. 

When you move in together, it’s a lot more difficult for you to manage your symptoms by yourself, though. It’s hard to mask your feelings either way; but when Cooper is present, it’s like there’s no way to hide from him, for better or worse. 

One day, you have an episode, and you don’t know what to do because none of your recently learned healthy coping mechanisms are working, which only makes you feel worse.

Cooper tries to help. He keeps suggesting things for you to do, distractions, attempts to comfort you, and talks you through it. But it doesn’t help. It only agitates you more. Eventually, you snap at him. 

Regret and guilt tear you up on the inside as soon as your words leave your mouth. And you see the way Cooper falters. It’s rare for his own mask to slip around you. He looks almost murderous for a moment, like he’d want to smash your head into the wall. And it’s terrifying on one hand, but on the other, you wish he’d do exactly that and put you out of your misery.

You leave the room and he lets you, knowing that you’re not helping each other right now, but only making things worse. And once you’re alone, you lose yourself to the episode, after trying so hard to keep it inside and prevent the worst from happening. 

When you’re calm enough to face Cooper again to apologise to him for snapping, he’s gone. It almost drives you into another episode. But then you look at your phone and see that he sent you a message. An emergency at work. You don’t question it, but deep down, you have an odd feeling about the timing of it. Nonetheless, you decide to believe him, to cling onto his words that tell you that he’s going to come back to you, that he didn’t just abandon you over your outburst, and that he may not be as mad at you as he seemed at first.

You can’t get the look of his eyes from that moment out of your head, though. This murderous intent that gleamed at you. Those beautiful brown orbs that usually looked so gentle, suddenly devoid of any affection. Just cold daggers that were waiting to pierce you to death.

In the morning, after a restless night on your end, he returns home to you. He takes care of you, quietly and soothingly, not judging you for what you might have done during the worst of your episode. He lets his lips travel over each spot he knows you love to feel them most. The tenderness of his actions are a harsh contrast to the murder in his eyes the night before. Those same eyes that now look at you like you’re used to. Full of affection and care, and gentleness. 

Once you’re both sitting in silence, you apologise to Cooper, almost frantically. Still terrified that he’ll leave you, just like the rest. But he doesn’t. He accepts your apology and even apologises to you, as well. For having to leave all of a sudden when you were at your worst and needed him most, for not doing anything that helped you; not that it was his fault at all, but you appreciate the sentiment. 

Cooper finishes it with a new gift for you. A piece of jewellery he knew you’d love. He saw it on his way home, he claims, and just had to get it for you as a way to finalise his apology, but also to give you a new physical reminder of his love for you.

[valhallie]

Pregnant teen reader x Dazai

warnings:mentions of sex, underage drinking, and teen pregnancy, and mention of suicide.

You had been taken in by Mori when you were around 12-13.You had been bored there until you became friends with two other teenage executives Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya.

Eventually you found yourself catching feelings for Dazai.You tried to push the feelings away, until one night he showed up at your apartment drunk as hell.”Dazai? What the hell man it’s 3 o’clock in the morning.”

“Sorry Y/N but I missed youuu…There’s something I wanna try before I die y/n and only you can help with it.”

“W-what are you talking about Dazai?” You knew exactly why he was talking about.Sex.But you were so young and it was wrong.But the second he kissed you all of that went to shit.You woke up in the morning and he was gone.It hurt but despite that you two continued to have sex with him and it became a normal routine for you two.

Until one day.You saw him bring another girl into his office.You two weren’t exactly together but it still hurt.You decided to go to the one other person you cared about.”Huh?Y/N what are you doing here?” The ginger stared at you,worried.

“I just need someone to be with Chuuya.Please.”he nodded “Of course come on in.Two hours later you were both plastered drunk.    “Hey Chuuya?” “Yeah?” “Can we have sex?” His face turned RED when you said those words.”Huh?”

“I wanna have sex with you.” Normally he’d be hesitant but being so drunk he just pinned you down and started kissing you.The next morning you woke up with your head hurting terribly.Chiuya was gone but you opened up your phone to find a text from him saying “I’m sorry Mori-San called me in early and I didn’t want to wake you.” You were at first upset but at least he left for a reason unlike Dazai.

       Over the past few weeks you began to throw up every morning.You feared the worst.You went to Kouyou and talked to her about it and she suggested you take pregnancy test.So after you got off work you went to the market and bought a packet of tests and took one.About 5 minutes later you read the words Pregnant.You couldn’t believe it so you decided to take another test.It came back also positive.16 and pregnant.”God how did I get myself into this mess?” You thought.

Since Chuuya was your most recent sexual partner you decided to tell him first.”Are you sure it’s me?” He asked nervously.”Well no.It could also very well be Dazai but I haven’t told him anything yet so keep your mouth shut okay?”

A few weeks later you were at the doctors and found out who the father was.Dazai Osamu. You showed up at Chuuya’s apartment.”I got good news for ya Chuu.You’re not the dad.”Chuuya seemed relieved but also worried for you knowing how Dazai was.Be careful Y/N.

       When you finally built up the courage to tell Dazai you received a phone call from Mori saying Dazai had betrayed the organization and left the Port Mafia.You were shocked and heartbroken.A single mom at 16.You hated Dazai.Even though he had no idea.

        7 years later…..

He grabbed your wrist.”Yukio!”

That’s when Hana slapped his hand away.”DONT TOUCH MY MOMMY MOTHER FUCKER!” You looked down at your daughter.         “Hana!Who taught you that word?” You glared. “Uncle Chuuya!” Dazai laughed “Sounds like him.”You glared at him. “Come on Hana let’s go home baby.” “Wait Yukio!” Dazai followed you out to your car.”What do you need Osamu?” He looked dead serious. “Yukio tell me the truth.Is she mine?”You sighed. You knew you couldn’t lie to him.Dazai always saw right through you.”Yes Osamu.” He looked shocked.He has a child.”Yukio- I’m sorry…I had no idea you were-“ you stopped him in his tracks.”It’s fine Osamu.” He walked closer to you. “Yukio please I want to be in her life.” You looked shocked. “Really. You?” “I know it sounds unlike me Yukio but…Please. “Fine you can meet us tomorrow at the park.”

You were putting Hana in bed later that night. “Mommy who was that man talking to you earlier?” You sighed knowing it was time to come clean. “That was your daddy Hana.If you want to meet him we can go see him at the park tomorrow…”

Part two???

[somekindofsentience]

why secret anger is a better tool than secret sadness, or hiding rage under a persona of nurture.

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR: OMORI, DEMON SLAYER AND OSHI NO KO. I WILL BE SPOILING THE LATTER TWO'S MANGA SO BEAR IN MIND THAT WATCHING THE ANIME ONLY WILL NOT PREVENT YOU FROM FURTHER SPOILERS.

WARNING: DISCUSSIONS OF SUICIDE, GRIEF, LOSS AND MENTAL ILLNESS

We've all seen the character who has secretly been very sad their entire lives. Fuck, some of us are that character, and maybe have been for a while.

It's relatively easy to hide a sad backstory for a character, and it opens room to give them depth later on. And, unique to side or background characters, it allows the protagonist (and by extension, the reader) to connect further with them, giving the façade of plot and sub-plot depth. Of course, it's perfectly possible to do this well - it's possible to do every trope well - but it's also very possible to do this poorly.

And... it's so boring.

Like come on. Sad woman sad. Very sad. We're all sad, because we've been told to feel sad by the author. How sad.

I believe that there are far more fascinating tropes to explore, with much more depth - and I'd like to talk about one of my favourite forms of this. Hiding inner anger is infinitely more interesting, especially if the character can hide it well.

I've chosen three characters to discuss for this - Mari from OMORI, Ai Hoshino from Oshi No Ko, and Shinobu Kochou from Demon Slayer. I think all three of them perfectly capture the "hidden anger" trope very well, and I'll connect all of them, which allows us to understand the purpose of this character archetype overall.

Mari is an incredibly complex character, one whose complexity is actually very easy to miss. Due to Sunny's unreliable narration, we perceive Mari as perfect, since he blocks out any of her personality which mimics the truth. In Headspace, she's an incredibly default NPC, acting as a pillar for quest clues, healing and saving the game. As a player, you come to see her as some sort of comfort, a recurring symbol in irregular places. This evidently changes when Sunny discovers the truth, and we come to accept what he has done. However, Mari is never properly portrayed in the game - we only see her through the lens of the others - which means a lot of the fandom doesn't quite understand her character, let alone understand the selfish nature of perfectionism. There is nothing in the game that suggests she had external pressure causing her perfectionism (although I personally headcanon this), so we must go off it being internally driven.

Mari is not a tragically sad, or gorgeously happy character. She has been punishing herself with pent-up anger. Imagine you've been practicing something for months, over and over, only to find out your duet partner doesn't care anywhere near as much as you do. No-one cares as much as you do. All those months of practice ultimately mean nothing. Every time you pushed yourself to play the same song on repeat until it drove you insane mean nothing, because of this one moment, one stupid angry moment from your brother.

Despite all this, Mari isn't allowed to be angry, which is why the Truth segments still show her acting in an adult fashion (taking the unused Truth descriptions as canon).

In the photos of the truth, Mari looks like a disappointed mother, telling off Sunny. She says she "isn't finished talking...", like a parent. Mari was fifteen when she died. She had no outlet for this rage at all, no time to be a teenager, when she was the mother figure of the group. Her character trope as the "nurturer" trapped her in a hellish cycle of perfectionism, hiding everything until her absolute breaking point - which lead to her death.

In Oshi no Ko, Ai Hoshino is a perfect mother, perfect idol, perfect person. This seems widely agreed by literally everyone, and the manga follows her son's attempts to avenge her murder, and her daughter's attempts to follow in her footsteps. Although the goals of the children change partway through, when Ruby learns the truth of Ai's death and Aqua loses faith in his scheme... Ai remains a pillar of gold. And yet, we find out during the creation of the movie on Ai's life that people around her suspect she was hiding anger.

While I have perhaps... fallen behind... in my reading of Oshi No Ko, I'm just going to go purely off this panel and the previous chapters to analyse. Forgive me, I completely forgot which character says this, everyone's hair looks the same and I can't tell if it's Akane or the lady that adopted Aqua and Ruby. It's been a while.

Ultimately, Ai Hoshino is confused, and this makes her angry. We know she's never felt love before in her life - not until she had her children - which would be incredibly frustrating. You see everyone around you experience happiness and joy, and yet life keeps reminding you that your childhood was shitty, you work in the most insane industry of all time and you're exhausted. There's some implication that Ai's relationship with Aqua and Ruby's father was complicated, so perhaps that's the reason she's furious.

Regardless, Ai is far more complicated than every character portrays her as, which makes her interesting. As a reader, you smell a rat instantly. Something is off about the way she is glamourised, and you know you're missing a piece of this puzzle.

Shinobu outright states that she's been angry her entire life, at least since Kanae's death. She's been mimicking Kanae's sweet smile as an act of remembrance, but Shinobu is not happy, not calm, not sweet like Kanae was. Now, Shinobu isn't the most nurturing figure - at least not to Tanjirou, and not much to Kanao either - but she still acts in that calm, motherly demeanor, mimicking her older sister. In that way, Shinobu is also a perfectionist - she's just got a standard to match up to.

Shinobu is often mocked in the fandom for being "weak", but I think that's not the right way to understand her character. The fact that she doesn't fight off raw strength alone is symbolic, because it tricks the reader into thinking she's sweet and calm. No-one who is that weak can be full of such rage... right?

Mari and Ai Hoshino have further links due to the way they are portrayed after their death - as perfect. Sunny heavily misconstrues his sister, acting as an unreliable narrator for her personality, and it seems as though no-one will ever know what Ai was truly like inside. Instead, characters remark on their outward traits, which fandoms then fall into... guys. you're literally being trapped by the same trap their families and friends fell into. you're being gaslit by two dead women. please try to look past the silly little mirror they tried to reflect themselves in.

Now, what is the purpose of this archetype? They aren't main characters, and they aren't there as a fake display of depth, so what are they there for? All three of these characters die to further the plot - but more importantly, they act as a catalyst for character change in their sibling or children. Mari's death single-handedly destroys an entire friendship group, but it is also the reason they are brought back together. She alone allows Sunny to forgive himself, and within that, he must accept that she wasn't perfect, just as he isn't. Ai's death ruins Aqua and Ruby, but it gives them goals, something to work toward (symbolised with stars in their eyes). Shinobu's death allows Kanao to step forward and confront Akaza, which changes Kanao as a character, but it also ties up Kanae's subplot neatly.

To the player/reader, their deaths are far more important than their lives, but there is much more to explore in their lives than people understand. This is true complexity, and it's frustrating when it's brushed over in aus or fanfics.

Please, dig deeper. Look harder. Turn these dolls into humans, because they are corpses for a reason.

can you tell i find scary women pretty aggagagahgagsa

song i listened to while writing this: テレパス by Yorushika

The song is very good at capturing loneliness, and rage is quite an isolating emotion. Mari, Ai and Shinobu are all hiding an inner version of themselves, and they took that form to their graves.