#We used to be a party of entirely she/her pronouns with one he/him who we called our weed dealer

[vanhelsingapologist]

The Sorority vs the leash I am putting them all on + Leo Dilisnya.

also yes our party is like 1/2 redheads. we used to have more. we thought it was funny.

[lnfours]

us. | l.n

summary: and what seemed like fate becomes "what the hell was i doin'?" ; aka time heals all wounds, so they say, but has it been long enough for it to heal the one he left?

warnings: the highly requested part two to ‘august’, use of she/her pronouns, childhood friends to lovers, second chance romance, oscar giving lando advice bc duh, pining, language, lando absolutely word vomiting when it comes to his feelings, fluff towards the end.

‘august’ | listen | masterlist

oscar piastri took pride in being more observant rather than being the life of the party. he much rather preferred to be labeled as the 'wall hugger' rather than the wild child between him and his teammate. he let lando have that role, opting on sitting on the sidelines more often than not.

but tonight, it was completely different. the aussie driver had agreed to hitting the club in monaco tonight to celebrate charles' first home win and his own second place finish. he couldn't shake the feeling that something was going on with his teammate, eyeing him as he sat down in the lounge area the group had gotten for the evening. something out of the normal for the brit.

he decided to take matters into his own hands, joining his friend on the couch. lando sent a tight lipped smile to his teammate, another red flag the aussie picked up on. he wasn't sporting his usual smile, the one that beamed. one of pure joy.

"you feeling alright, mate?" oscar asked, genuinely concerned.

lando nodded in response, "'m good, just a bit tired."

he hummed, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked out at the dance floor of people. the crowd normally lando would be in the middle of, but not tonight.

"gonna make me pry it out of you or are you just gonna tell me?"

lando chuckled softly, letting out a soft sigh, "y'know that new reporter for sky who was in the media pen earlier?"

oscar furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, trying to remember your name, "think so? shit, what was her name?"

"y/n," lando said and oscar nodded in agreement.

"yeah, that's it," the aussie turned back to look at his teammate, "what about her?"

"well, a few years ago, her and i kind of..." lando trailed off, leaving his teammate to raise his eyebrows.

"you two had a thing?"

lando nodded, "yeah, she had a vacation rental next to mine in the states, and one summer we just really hit it off. y'know, we went on dates and eventually it turned into something more, and... oscar, i was in love with her."

the australian was shocked, "did you tell her?"

"i did," lando nodded, swallowing before continuing, "and i was with her when i got the call that they wanted me to join the team, and i just... i fucking left. i left without waking her up and saying goodbye. the best few months of my entire life, falling in love with someone who has never made me feel more loved and appreciated, and it all went down the drain because i fucked it all up."

oscar sat in silence for a minute, processing what the brit next to him had just told him, "well, do you still love her?"

"i never stopped," lando looked over at his teammate, his expression showing the guilt he still felt for leaving that one night, "i don't think i could ever."

"have you told her?"

he shook his head, "pretty sure she hates my guts, so, no."

oscar sighed, "listen, although she has every reason to hate you, i mean, i would too, doesn't mean deep down that she does. obviously, running into you again has probably brought up all of those feelings she worked to get over, but if you really feel the way you're telling me you feel about her, and it seems like you do, you gotta fight for it. you can't just let her slip through your fingers, again, and live a miserable life. nothing's gonna come out of it if you don't work for it."

lando sat in shock at his teammate, blinking at him like a deer in headlights. he had never known oscar to be this wise when it comes to relationship advice. he truly didn't know he had it in him.

"what?" the aussie laughed, "mate, i've been with lily for five years. you think we haven't had our own fair share of ups and downs?"

"no, i'm just amazed that at your age you're so wise." lando joked back, the two of them laughing.

"yeah, whatever," oscar waved him off, "but seriously, i mean what i said."

he nodded, "i know, i just don't know when i should talk to her."

oscar shrugged, "the sooner the better. that way you stop moping around like a sad, lost puppy."

lando jokingly rolled his eyes, pulling his phone from his pocket, "shut up."

his heart hammered in his chest at the thought of messaging you, opening instagram. but, just when he went to open his messages, your profile picture caught his eye at the top of the screen. he tapped onto the story you had posted not long ago, holding it down so it wouldn't disappear as he scanned over the picture.

you were still at the track, posting a picture from one of the offices. a video from your interviews today sitting on the screen, clear that you had stayed late to finish working on them. a caption written out on the photo.

'in desperate need of another cup of coffee'

he was up on his feet before he could even think through what he was about to do. shoving his phone in his pocket as oscar smiled at him softly.

"where're you heading?"

lando turned, walking backwards away from the lounge area, shouting over the bass of the club music playing loudly through the speakers, "'m feeling like having a cup of coffee! thanks for your help, osc!"

oscar raised his glass in a cheers motion to his teammate, watching him turn around and make a beeline for the exit. lily found her way to the lounge area, sitting next to her boyfriend and jabbing her thumb over her shoulder, motioning towards his teammate.

"where's he heading?"

oscar smiled, swallowing the sip of his drink, "going to get his girl."

the night breeze in the monaco air felt nice on lando's skin, a contrast against the overly warm club he had been in. he pulled his phone out once again, searching for a coffee shop that would still be open at this hour. he found one that looked promising after a few minutes of searching, putting in the directions to it and taking off in the direction.

he ignored the hammering of his heart in his chest as he carefully placed the cup in the holders of his car. was it the best idea to show up unannounced with a coffee in hand, especially when he wasn't sure how you felt about him? probably not. but after the conversation with oscar, all he could think about was how he couldn't lose you again. how even after searching for someone to fill the ache in his heart that was put there by his own doing, no one could compare to you. they couldn't ever be you, even if they tried or if he tried to make it work. it wasn't the same.

he parked the car, heading towards the building he knew all the journalists worked in. some of them still hanging around, sending lando smiles but confusion clear in their eyes as his eyes scanned the room.

"do you know where y/n is?" he asked an older man, a guy he had recognized to be your camera man from earlier. the man nodded, pointing towards the room with glass walls. he could see you in the room, your back facing the door. headphones sitting on top of your head, clearly invested in your work. he swallowed nervously, thanking the man before heading towards the room.

you hadn't noticed he entered the room until a hand placing a coffee next to you caught your attention. you slipped the headphones off, placing them on the desk before turning to see who was standing behind you.

he met your eyes, which were also laced with confusion as you spun around in your chair. he sent you a small, nervous smile. the same smile you had given him in the media pen hours ago.

"lando? what're you doing here?" you asked, "and how did you.."

he smiled softly, "saw your story."

"what is it?" you asked, moving to grab the warm cup, "i mean, i like my coffee-"

"with light cream and two and a half sugars. the pink packets, though, not the white ones."

your heart squeezed in your chest, he remembered the way you liked your coffee.

you took a sip of the warm liquid, tasting exactly the way you liked it. you took in a deep breath, meeting his green eyes once again and you swore you were slowly falling in love with him again. it was like you were back at the beach house, back at the exact moment you had realized you were in love with him.

maybe the feelings you thought had gone away after the years weren't truly gone.

your lipstick left a pretty mark on the white lid and he scanned your facial features. in the dim lighting you were still as gorgeous as the day he met you, pretty colored eyes that complimented the color of the strands of your hair. a pair of glasses sitting comfortably on your face, remembering that you only wore them when your eyes were starting to get irritated after a long day.

your voice was soft, "lando, what're you doing here?" you asked again, still confused on why he had come, "i mean, other than dropping off a coffee, which thank you for, by the way, but shouldn't you be out with the rest of the drivers? y'know, celebrating..?"

"well, i was," lando breathed, ignoring how it came out a little shaky, “but, to be honest, i just.. really want to talk to you.”

everything he rehearsed in his head during the driver over here was going out the window with each passing second. the longer he looked in your eyes the more he wished he had never walked out of that house all those years ago. the more it was eating him up inside that he let the best thing he ever had go, that he never told you why.

you sighed, pointing over your shoulder to the screen behind you, “i really have to finish this,”

“it’ll be quick,” he was almost begging. about to get on his knees if he had to, “promise.”

you nodded, your brain yelling at you for agreeing but your heart almost leaping out of your chest at the fact that he was here. standing in front of you. right now. when he could’ve been at the club, wrapped around some other girl. but he wasn’t.

“okay, just, let me grab my things.”

he nodded, biting down on his lower lip nervously as you saved your work and exited out of the editing software. you packed up everything in your bag, pushing the chair in before grabbing your coffee from the desk.

he held out his hand, “here,”

you furrowed your eyebrows in response. he motioned to the bag and you smiled softly, “oh, thanks,”

he nodded, letting you lead him out of the office. you said goodnight to the crew that was left, not batting an eye at the looks they gave you for having the, arguably, most sought out driver on the grid tailing behind you.

once you were outside, he walked next to you. matching your pace as he looked over at you, “so, uhm, how’re they treating you at sky?”

you nodded, “good,” you smiled softly, “didn’t expect i’d work in the same sport as you, to be honest.”

“you’re telling me you didn’t follow me here to make me realize i’ve been missing out all this time?” he joked and you laughed, shoving his shoulder with yours.

“shut it,”

“sorry, too soon?”

you chuckled, “forever might be too soon.”

he chuckled with you, unlocking the doors to the mclaren. he opened the passenger side door, letting you sit down in the seat. you took your bag from him and smiled, a silent thank you, before he closed the door for you and rounded the front of the car to get in on his side. he started the car, looking back over at you, "hungry?"

you hummed, "starving."

"perfect," he said, putting in the directions for a place he knew you'd like. you rubbed your lips together nervously, watching the monaco lights pass by you. the breeze was nice, something you could get used to.

you cut through the silence that fell over the two of you, speaking over the soft music he had put on for the drive, "so, what did you want to talk about?"

he looked over at you, the red of the stoplight illuminating his face. he had grown into his features, but the boyish things about him was what you loved. the way his dimples deepened the wider his smile was, the moles and freckles that littered his skin like stars, and you had noticed the small scar on the bridge of his nose. one that wasn't there years prior, but you had grown to love. you silently hoped he'd tell you the story sometime. wanting to know every detail of his life the past few years, the years you spent watching from the sidelines.

"about what happened," he said, the light turning green and his attention fixing back to the road, continuing to drive, "i feel like i owe you a very long, detailed, explanation."

you nodded as he pulled into a parking lot, "okay, yeah," you breathed out softly, "sure."

he parked the car, turning the engine off before looking back at you. you turned to face him, giving him a soft smile as he looked at you, eyes dancing around your face before he took a deep breath.

"listen, i know it's been a while and i really wouldn't blame you if you hate my guts, but i just... can't. i can't pretend that i've lived in a world i'm completely satisfied with. and i can't bring myself to fall in love with someone else because no matter what, i find myself wishing i was with you, at that stupid beach house where i first felt what love truly felt like."

you sat in silence, taking in his rambling thoughts. this conversation definitely wasn't going as well as he had rehearsed it in his head, but it was too late to turn back now. he was sitting here, spewing every emotion he's felt over the past couple of years in front of you. it's how he truly felt. no filter, no hoops to jump through, just pure emotion and longing and hints of regret, and true apologies.

"you're the first thing i think of when i wake up and the last thing i think of before i go to bed, and hell, sometimes i even find you in my dreams because for a while that was the only place where you and i co-existed. and i'm so fucking sorry for how i left you, how i packed up and moved on with my life without even considering how you would feel. it makes me sick to my stomach to think about the fact that i've fucked up the part of my life that felt normal. that felt real, and all because i was too much of a coward to tell you what was going on. too scared to drag you into all of this,"

he was still rambling and you couldn't help the way your heart hammered against your chest. the moment you had wished for all these years finally unfolding in front of your eyes and you couldn't help the tears that were starting to prick your eyes.

"but now, you're here, and i'm here, and... holy fuck i'm still so in love with you."

his throat bobbed, swallowing down the nerves as you watched him. you were speechless, unsure how to respond to everything he had just spewed to you. your heart was caught in your throat, the tears closer to spilling over after his rambling. he had said everything he was feeling and little did he know it was the same way you had been feeling too.

after every wish and journal entry wishing he'd waltz back into your life, he finally was here. sitting across from you, and now you were speechless. unable to find the words to tell him you felt the same way.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled, looking away and straight ahead of him, almost as if he was embarrassed to spring all of that onto you, "that was a lot all at once, i'm sorry-"

you leaned over the center console, grabbing his face in your hands, turning him to face you and smashing your lips against his. the tears falling down now at the feeling of having him this close again. the familiar feeling of having his lips on yours again being enough to send them dripping down and onto your shirt.

he was quick to kiss you back, as soon as the initial shock wore off. his hand moving to cup your cheek, deepening the kiss as you grabbed his shirt in your fist, not wanting to let go after he had been away from you all this time.

he pulled away when he needed to catch his breath, forehead resting against yours. you smiled softly, the two of you panting breathless and in love. he brought his thumb up to your cheek, wiping away the few stray tears that were still lingering. you leaned into his touch and he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"i love you," you breathed, nose bumping his, "so much. i never stopped, even after you left."

he smiled, his voice soft, "i'll spend a lifetime making it up to you."

you shook your head, "it doesn't matter. you're here now, that's all that matters."

"can i start with dinner?" he asked, smiling softly and brushing a piece of hair from your face. you hummed and nodded, pulling away from him as he got out of the car, jogging to open your door. you smiled and placed a quick kiss to his lips, joining your hands together. he walked with you into the restaurant, and as he opened the door for you all he could think about how he was the luckiest man on earth.

there was no way he was letting you again. you were incomparable. chemical.

[dadsbongos]

dog and rabbit

9.5 k words / summary - When your party is locked into a stuck trap, you and Laios are the only ones who can bare each other. You both want to be consumed, one literally, and know that only the other can fulfill your desire.

warnings - reader with she/her pronouns, cannibalism as a metaphor for love/cannibalistic thoughts and imagery, fully romantic but no upfront confession, allusions to spoilers but everyone should be safe to read, reader has ego issues and parental issues, laios and reader are both FREAKS, starvation as a plot device

~~~

pt 1 - dog eat rabbit

Mama’s hands are crusted with drying mud, dirt flakes up her bare arms as she smooths a lumpy plot. She’s knelt down, across from her is Papa, and beside Papa is his dog -- tail wagging and mouth dangling open to pant, pant, pant. Between them all is the small rectangular grave Mama just finished pampering. A thin stick sits up straight from the head of the filled hole. You stand at the other end, staring at Papa’s dog with ambivalence.

You wanted to sanitize her vibrant scratches and swelling bite marks, and you wanted her scrapes to get infected. You hoped she would recover to her yippy self soon, and you prayed the mounting limp from her front right paw was permanent. You’d be devastated if she died of her injuries, and you’d find the death to be just.

She’s terrible.

You mock up a world where she was the one eaten instead.

She’s your sole best friend now.

You hope she’s full, no longer at risk of starving to illness.

“Sit, girl,” Papa beckons, a calloused, wrinkled finger directed towards the gaping spot by your mother’s side, “Be respectful. You wanted this memorial, now be part of it.”

“I didn’t want- !“

As if sensing your following words, Mama hisses a sharp shush, then pats the ground beside her. Papa raises a brow at you, testing. Sunlight burns your back, and you spontaneously decide the shaded spot by your mother is more appealing (entirely unrelated to your parents’ demands).

Now, you are face to face with your new best friend because she is your real best friend’s murderer. You hate her. You love her. You want her to feel every shred and tear and pierce she inflicted upon your bunny.

“Darling,” Mama coos, fingers dancing up your shoulder and through your hair, uncaring for how she ruins the strands, “be realistic. A simple marsh rabbit was never going to survive out here.”

“He followed the river out for a reason,” you murmur, now looking down from the big, remorseful, wet eyes of Papa’s dog, “We were meant to be best friends.”

“You’re not a baby anymore,” Papa snaps, rising onto his feet, he glares at you. He glares at you with deep lines retracing their places in his forehead, and his hands clench so hard they shake, until they suddenly go lax. He waves both hands out, shaking them free of all tension as he sighs and turns and prattles down towards the ocean.

His dog follows, slower than she used to with a pause and caution fresh to her gait, licking his hand as he pulls free his fishing pole from the sand. Mama pats down your back and mutters apologies.

You rise shortly after and whistle the dog back into your small shelter, knowing how her wounds will burn should she follow your father into the lapping sea water. She licks your face and you pet around the open scratches from this morning.

You dream that night of what would happen if you let her wander into the ocean.

You wake up with an incredible sense of guilt.

…

“I’m so tired,” Marcille dregs her weight onto your back, causing you to stumble under the sudden hefty addition, “We should stop soon!”

“Agreed,” Chilchuck huffs, stretching his arms out in front of him.

“How about you?” Laois coils at the waist to glance back at you, brows raised high, “Packs wearing you down?”

“No!” you howl defensively, hands wriggling deeper into the leather of Chilchuck’s waterskin when Marcille moans in protest to your denial, “But! If everyone is tired then we should settle down, probably. I think.”

“I think so, too,” Laios nods, deferring to Senshi -- the pair murmuring about which of the dark archways lining the dungeon hall leads to a safe rest stop.

Your party finally piles into an off-room, Marcille still slouched against your back to send you both careening towards the far left end of the cellar.

“Hmm,” Chilchuck points up towards a series of holes in the cobbled archway, “It looks like this room’s rigged to lock us inside. So be careful to not step on this tile, it’ll activate the- !”

Senshi grunts over the sudden sinking in his left side, foot slid over the edge of the stone Chilchuck’s index finger is aimed at, “Whoops.”

A scream escapes the half-foot, Chilchuck narrowly rolling out of the way of downcoming spears. Pointed ends stab towards the cobblestone floor, tips scraping rock, effectively trapping your lot into the cellar.

“Eek!” you scream, both hands pawing at Laios’ arm, “We’re gonna die in here!”

“Shut up, we’re not gonna die in here,” Chilchuck groaned, rising to his knee to inspect the lock attached to the middlemost bar, “I’ll get it open in the morning. If anything, it might help keep us secured overnight, so I can’t be mad.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” you ask, Marcille nodding in backup to your question.

“It’s a pretty simple lock, so it shouldn’t cause me too much grief in the morning.”

Laios nods, stepping back carefully to avoid jangling you off his arm as he sets out his sleeping bag. You stand over him now, hands splayed gently across his back as he flattens his mat, “If you’re gonna stay by me, could you help me get my armor off?”

If anyone except Laios were to ask, you’d probably take offense to the wording -- but it was Laios, and you know Laios well enough to know he’d never want to hurt your feelings.

So you nod, despite the fact he cannot see you, “Of course!”

Neither you or Laios is certain when physical contact became so normal between you, only that now it's strange for Laios to remove his heavy plating without you. So he tries to suck up every opportunity he can now, requesting your assistance whenever the party stocks into a room with a door to keep out ambushers.

“Hey,” Marcille beckons from across the room, already having set out both your mats, “I thought you’d be by me tonight.”

“I will be! Just… helping…” you return focus to Laios, giddily undoing the leather straps of your leader’s grieves before rushing off his pauldrons.

“Thanks again,” he works off the clasps on his arms, slinking free from each piece with a noisy series of clunks and thuds.

“I love helping,” you rationalize quickly, face alight with glee as you wait for Laios to set aside his gorget. Once given a go-ahead nod, you eagerly grasp the lip of his cuirass by the waist and tip upwards. While you’re not lying about your natural proclivity to be helpful, you’re also not terribly against feeling the broadness of Laios’ body up close.

You blame it on admiration.

You admire how he can move so smoothly in such heavy pieces. You admire how despite the both of you being tall-men, he’s managed to occupy the stature to a fuller extent than you. He’s not just big because of his race, but he’s got real discipline to continuously train and hone his combat skills. His muscles are as aesthetically pleasing as they are a sign of his dedication.

In a weird way, you think every monster to be eaten by him should be honored.

Ironically, that night you dream of the party’s first encounter with monsters you couldn’t eat: Orcs.

…

“First ones to die are the ones with the weapons!”

“Aah!” you shriek, immediately releasing your daggers so the blades crash by your knees with a faint tink, tink, tink, “I’m unarmed! Please don’t kill me!”

“Have a backbone!” Chilchuck shouts at you, though beads of sweat are pouring down his face as well.

“I don’t wanna die, Chilchuck!” you cry, sniffling.

“I don’t either, you know?” he hisses in your ear.

Your eyes are too clogged by waterworks to make out the following dispute between Senshi and the Orcs. Now hugging a pair of onions to your chest for support rather than your teensy needlepoint daggers.

“Them veggies be something you grew, I guess?” despite the lilt in his tone, you don’t take the Orc Chief’s tone as a question, “We’re on a supply run lookin’ for food. ‘Preciate if you’d share them with us.”

“Sure, be happy to. What you got to trade for them?” Senshi must be crazy to expect a trade with big, hungry Orcs with big, shiny weapons surrounding you all.

“No trade. Tribe’s desperate, we barely got up to this floor alive. You’ve been a good friend and I hate to do this, but… hand over everything you got. Right now.”

You fumble the onions between your arms, then shirking off the carrots tangled in your bag’s side pockets. Senshi glares at you through his peripherals, grumbling quietly for you to pick the crops back up before returning to his parley with the Orcs.

Unfortunately, your obvious compliance earns you no favor compared to your comrades.

“Coward,” Marcille thunks her head against the cabbage in her hands, “Coward!”

“I was scared!” you wish you had your forfeited onions back, even if only to provide something to cling to. The space between your arms feels so glaringly empty it makes your racing heart swerve to overdrive.

“Everyone was!” Chilchuck glares up at you, then toward Senshi, “Except that idiot.”

“Be nice,” you knot your fingers together, only to watch them unravel again as your group is herded towards the Orcs’ makeshift camp. Then, you look to Senshi for backup, “Besides, they were getting thrown out if we couldn’t trade, right? What’s the harm?”

Senshi shakes his head at you disapprovingly, and it oddly cuts deeper than when your father would do the same, “You need to stand your ground, that’s the difference.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Laios jumps in, voice level in spite of the agitated pinch in his brow, “You all know she hates pain.”

“Who doesn’t, dumbass?!” Chilchuck grits, quickly hushing himself, “None of us want to suffer.”

With admittedly no comeback, even with all your prayers that he’d clunk one together, Laios shrugs, and -- as if sensing your dilemma -- sticks out his bicep for you to hug to your chest.

…

You woke up feeling despondent, gloomily rolling up your area and preparing for the day’s adventure while Senshi made breakfast. And as much as you wish Laios’ curiosity could inspire any excitement within yourself to try the lumpy larvae porridge from cellar-dwelling insects, you’re really not craving any.

“Hey!” but there the blonde is, calling to you and restlessly patting the floor beside him, “Come on, it’s almost ready!”

With weak, frizzly resolve, you conceded in an instant. Just as instantly, you regret it.

Faint, tangy iron clings to the gum of your mouth. A sourness washing over your palette soon after. Your lips press tightly before your tongue lolls out and you’re scraping the harsh edge of your spoon down your flesh, “Blehhh…!”

“Seriously?” Chilchuck sighs, though not withholding his own scrunched face, “You’re acting like a kid.”

“It’s gross!” you whine, bowl clattering between your legs, “It hurts my mouth!”

“Really?” Laios leans in from your left, his chest, while still unguarded, crushes against your shoulder, pointing down into your bowl with his own spoon, “Mind if I have yours?”

“Be my guest,” you slide the bowl his way, then squishing the tip of your tongue into your top gums, “I think it burnt a dent in my mouth.”

Chilchuck groans this time, loud and abrasive, eyes narrowed at you, “It’s not even that bad.”

“You’ve been brainwashed! Monster guts are monster guts, and this time their stomach acid burned my mouth!” you look to your right, at the elf contently munching on Senshi’s cooking, “Right, Marcille?!”

(Senshi’s rebuttal of, “Ain’t no guts in this.” goes unnoticed)

“Hm?” she withers under your pointed stare, shoulders shriveling towards her chest, “I mean, yeah, it is weird…” then she lifts her bowl level to her face, dodging your gaze, “But I don’t think it's burned my mouth.”

“Maybe I’m allergic,” you drivel, focus flitting to Laios’s hands as he grabs your serving to dig in -- even licking the excess off your abandoned utensil, “If I’m allergic I might die…”

“Or you’re just crazy,” Chilchuck intervenes.

“Be nice to me!” you cry, raising a fist as if to strike the man over your fire. You’d never, you don’t have the courage.

Laios nods, “Be nice.”

“You’ll be hungry later,” Senshi chastises, “Eating is the privilege of the living. You’re squanderin’ it.”

“We’ll have lunch later,” you curl your knees to your chest, binding them with both arms tight around your thighs, “I can wait.”

“Who says we’ll find anything worth eating?” you doubt Chilchuck cares about either your stomach or Senshi’s cooking, you instead boldly assume he just wants to keep lecturing you.

“We will!” you lay your head against Laios’ shoulder, peeking up at the man through your lashes, “Right, Laios? We’ll find food again today.”

“I mean, yeah,” he blinks down at you cluelessly, “Deeper we go down, the more we’re bound to find!”

“See! We’ll find food!”

“It’s too early to be fighting…” Marcille frowns, eyes flicking from you to Chilchuck, and back to you.

Chilchuck retires his own bowl and grossly wipes his mouth off with his arm before scooching to the door, waving off whatever retort could follow.

Senshi takes both yours and Laios’ bowls once both are emptied before turning to you, “You may want to dig into the spare snacks in your bag anyway. Ain’t good to start the day on an empty stomach.”

His sudden warmth inspires a molten ooze in your own chest, you shyly nod before muttering, “Sorry for calling your cooking gross… it isn’t, actually. I liked- !”

“Larvae pods can’t be for everyone,” he cuts you off with a speedy recovery, “More for the people that do enjoy it.”

“Thanks for sharing!” Laios claps your back, trying to be friendly and only rattling your balance.

Senshi and Laios begin packing up as you spindle onto your hands and knees to crawl the couple of paces towards your bag. Creeping a hand under the flap to dig for treats, your whole body spiking with goosebumps and raised hairs when you distinctly miss any indentation of rations in your palm. You prattle forward another two knees-worth and unlatch the golden clasp to dig through your bag.

“Oh, no…” you mutter, movements growing more agitated the longer you go without finding food, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“You okay?”

You jump back, clenching both hands over your heart and nodding rapidly, “Yeah, fine! No worries here, Laios!”

“Sounds good!” he backs away to continue assisting Senshi.

“No!” suddenly, Chilchuck’s voice stabs through the room, “No, no, no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Marcille rushes over, clutching Ambrosia between unsteady palms.

Thankfully the party’s attention pivots to the screaming lockpick and you get the grace of pretending there’s absolutely more food left for your group. No problems here!

“It’s jammed!” Chilchuck wrangles the silver bars, then latching onto the boxy lock itself as if to choke all life from the metal, “How am I supposed to pick a lock if the lock isn’t sufficient quality?!”

Or, apparently, you cannot pretend. At least not for long because a problem arose on the opposite side of the cell.

“You can get us out though, right?” Marcille’s grip on Ambrosia loosens, even calm enough to lay the staff against a wall.

“Of course, I can. Who do I look like?” Chilchuck scoffs.

Silently, you beseech Chilchuck’s expertise surpasses this lock’s apparent lack thereof.

“So, how’s the door?”

.

.

.

“Still not open!”

“I thought you were a specialist on these things, Chilchuck.”

All fiddling and knocking ceases in an instant, Chilchuck now staring dead-eyed at Laios for his unwelcomed quip.

“So scary,” Laios whispers beneath his breath, then turning towards you with a subtle downturn of his lips, “What’d I do?”

Hugging yours and Chilchuck’s bags closer to your chest with a stilted shrug, you reply, “I guess he didn’t appreciate the input.”

“I thought- “

Chilchuck’s icy stare kills your leader’s words in his throat.

“Well, we still have leftovers, so we aren’t in trouble of starving for awhile,” you fabricate, digging a hand through your bag to aid your illusion of ease, “When we do run out, I have a plan! So don’t worry about going hungry.”

“Hm?” Laios quirks a brow at your uneven grin.

Before he can prod for more direction, Marcille’s popping back and relieved groan creak through the room. She arches up from her recline on the ground, gold tresses fluttering out around her head. With more huffing and moaning, she flips onto her stomach and stablizing onto her elbows to stare at Chilchuck’s twiddling. Poking and striking various chords and rods within the lock’s bottom hole, you can hear Chilchuck’s frustrated swears in both common and native tongue (though the longer he goes without success, the more obscure and foreign his curses sound).

You’d hate to see Chilchuck face more defeat than he’s already bore. Few hours have passed since waking to find yourselves locked in the dungeon cellar. Chilchuck will soon be considering blood sacrifices made from all four of you, you fear.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I could wash my hair… would be nice if we were out so I could take care of that,” Marcille grins, already knowing the response she’ll pull talking like that.

“Marci, be quiet…!” you whine anxiously, eyes narrowing on Chilchuck’s back.

The man slowly turns his head to narrow his eyes at Marcille, “Huh?” she shrugs coyly, curling a finger into framing strands of her long hair, Chilchuck laughs. Rage thinly veiled by (obviously forced) lightheartedness, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Guys!” you wail, “Please!”

Senshi sighs through his nose, murmuring about kids bickering as he polishes the knife you only see used for cooking.

Tense silence descends upon your group once again.

Turning to the blonde at your side, you murmur, “I’m more worried about how to keep from getting bored. I feel like boredom is when everyone starts hating each other…”

Laios straightens up at your concern, twisting noisily through his personal bag to drag out a leather bound journal, “I could show you my notes about monsters! They’re pretty long so it’ll take awhile, perfect way to kill time while Chil’ gets us out!”

Nodding, you lean into his side, watching intently as he recites each tidbit and offbeat scribble as if by heart. You notice that none of the writing is as softened by print or recognizable as what’s scrawled in his guide on edible monsters. You don’t think this book has been exposed to the party yet, and that thought is patently delightful. That you are so dependable to Laios he’s willing to show off something born from his raw passion.

“It was something I teased when I was by myself,” he confesses, cheeks glowing rosy at the vulnerability of it all, “When I started wondering about the integrity of the Gourmet Guide, it inspired me to make a real guide. So, even though I’m sad the author probably never ate the monsters they wrote about, I can still honor the passion it gave me.”

“Wow,” you turn onto your hip and cradle his arm against yours. Perhaps overly casually, you sling a leg over one of his and rest your head against his shoulder, his chill shirt icing the heat on your own cheek (his simmering skin beneath quickly reheats it), “You’re really cool, Laios.”

Marcille’s side-eye goes unacknowledged when you say that.

“Seriously?” you’re easily distracted from everyone else when Laios is grinning so brightly at you, “You think so?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re really cool, too,” he wishes he could say more, but your pretty face so close to his is strangling his bravery.

That night, you have the strangest dream.

…

A lion of gold fur and pearly wings looms over you, globs of His drool hanging and dribbling onto your forehead. Temptation to reach up and comb your fingers through His mane rushes through you -- but you cannot move. Limbs bogged by a weight unseen, and then there is a dog.

Big black eyes pour down on you, front paws plastered at each side of your waist to hold himself up. Pointed teeth peek through its panting snout -- bloodthirsty growls verberating low through its body. You blink and the dog is different. Yipping like a friend, tail wagging at the sight of you, it licks your cheek. You blink and the dog is gone, replaced with a fellow tall-man. Armor removed and shirt hanging low, you can make out his collarbones and the dip down towards his chest -- if you dare to stare straight down then you could make out the handles of his hips.

Blood stains the seams between his teeth, chin glistening with crimson gush. Faintly, you can make out the sensation of lips puckered around your fingers; sucking and nibbling at your nail beds. Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi. They all seem so at ease, faces completely lax similar to those of nursing kittens.

Laios’ lips press into your neck, hot and cold clashing when he introduces teeth. You can’t even feel the pain as he digs in -- instead, you feel just as calm as your friends look.

You feel serene.

Marcille snaps a finger bone like it's a carrot between her molars. Chilchuck and Senshi lave the spilling blood from her cheeks. They can’t get enough of you. Laios burrows his arms beneath your waist, pressing your body closer into his as he desperately tongues your flesh down his throat.

Hungrily and contently, they swallow you down. Every morsel.

You feel most loved.

…

You woke up feeling grateful.

Chilchuck has not yet gotten your party free. As the day progresses, you feel that gratitude leaking over the floor. It curdles in the open air and soaks into the bottom of Marcille and Laios’ shoes as they ask you to unlock your food pouch.

Cheerful, expectant faces haunt you from above. Marcille, of course, has nothing but patience for you, but the killer is Laios. Obviously. Laios, who so, so fervently and imperatively trusts you so, so wholeheartedly is your biggest problem in this fiasco. He always looks at you like you could never do anything wrong, and you’ve never hated it until now.

Wide, twinkly amber eyes drill into you, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had to dig into the rations, I don’t even remember what’s all in there.”

Marcille nods in agreement, excitement at the prospect of eating obvious in the drool pooling in the corners of her mouth, “Right? It’ll be nice to have something non-monster related, at least.”

“You think so?” Laios pouts, “I thought you were warming up to eating monsters.”

“It's still not my first choice!”

In the midst of their spat, your attention is split between trying to conjure a plausible reason to deny them; and manifesting a destiny where they forgot why they approached you.

By the time Marcille’s tummy croaks through the cramped room, neither has come to fruition. She cups the pouch of her stomach, embarrassed at its echoing rumble.

“Jeez, thought I was hungry…” Chilchuck teases from his post at the door.

“Hey! That was a totally reasonable sound for how long it's been since we ate. And who’s to say that was even me? It could’ve been Laios!”

“It wasn’t,” Senshi adds.

“Definitely wasn’t,” Chilchuck’s sly grin cracks upon the sound of his own gut joining the conversation.

“Ha!” Marcille’s joy is usually able to cleanse your dreary moods, but usually you’re not keeping such a destructive secret.

Usually, you don’t freeze yourself in place like it’ll prevent your party from noticing you’re still alive -- all to avoid them asking the same question from minutes ago,

“So, can you open up the food pack?”

You are not so lucky.

Laios has asked you again.

Rare is it for you to refuse him, because rarer it is for him to ask something outrageous or impossible (or impossibly outrageous) of you. This is the one in a billion chance that you must turn him down. But how can you when he’s looking at you so kindly?

A frazzled, puny No trapped in the back of your desiccate throat when suddenly Senshi says it for you.

“Best to save our rations so we can eat right before we leave.”

Senshi’s trust in you makes you somehow more nauseous. Marcille’s downtrodden agreement makes that stacked nausea triple. Laios curling up beside you to keep you company makes you so electrified you’re certain to be hiccuping bile soon.

(you don’t end up puking, thankfully)

That night, you dreamt of the time you and Laios met.

…

He’s really beautiful, it's the first thing you notice about him. Too beautiful to be a dungeon crawler, Laios’ face is more befitting of royalty. To be praised and swooned over and kissed.

“It’ll be less pay than, well, our swordsman or mage.”

You think his thoughtfulness makes him more beautiful.

Strangely, you feel the need to comfort him. Overcompensate the mediocrity of such a position simply so he doesn’t feel guilty hiring you (because in the back of your head is the fear that if he feels guilty, he simply won’t take you on).

“That’s fine! I don’t mind at all, as long as I get any money I couldn’t care less.”

You just want a house. You just don’t want to suffer.

“Alright, then, looks like we have a carrier,” Laios looked to Falin, the girl nodding with a cheery smile.

You just want to be as close to the beautiful, shining, gnashing sun as possible.

…

You woke up feeling thirsty.

You’d twisted over to dig out your watersack when you found that your entire pack was missing. Ice spilled across your entire body at the sight, a swelling, obnoxious anxiety aching through your nervous system. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you could hear the blood pumping through your ears.

Slowly, your head swivels around the room, until you find your pack in the arms of another -- who is now settled across the room rather than beside you.

Peculiarly close to Senshi’s pseudo-camp, Marcille is scratching your bag tightly to her chest.

“Marci,” you call, dredging the boys’ curiosity towards you. You don’t know if she’s taken the liberty of looking inside, “Give that back…”

She does not, merely hugging the leather tighter. Such desperation clues you that she’s most likely just as oblivious about the bag’s contents as everyone else is. Her stomach rumbles loudly, you swallow dryly and wet your lips to beg.

“Marci, please!”

The elf hisses back, not unlike a pestered kitty, and clutches your pack tighter to her chest. She glares through her lashes, kicking her legs out when Laios reaches to take your bag back.

Senshi shakes his head and rises from his own spot in the corner. Marcille’s gaze hones in on the dwarf instantly, and she whirls around to face the wall -- now caging your bag to her chest.

“Marci,” you retry weakly, “please, hoarding isn’t- !”

She silences you with another shortburst glare over her shoulder, “Who said I was hoarding?” she ‘hmph’s and shakes her head, “How do I know you won’t just eat it all as soon as I’m not looking?! Huh?! You’ve gone the longest without food after all!”

You gasp at the accusation, then sparing a glance up at Laios to see if he’s buying her tale, “How could you say that? I always share! It’s everyone’s food!”

“Marcille,” Senshi commands cooly, standing at your side, “you should know that isn’t like her. We all share our food so nobody goes hungry. To intentionally starve others is just cruel.”

“Exactly!” you plea, shakily reaching out only to yank your hands back to your chest when she snaps at your fingers with full teeth, “Just give it back, please?!”

Laios frowns, visibly uncertain how to bring you and Marcille back to the giddy lounging gals you were mere days ago, “Marcille, you two are friends -- if you know she’s never stolen before, why would she start now?”

Marcille sharply redirects her stare into the corner, shrugging and clutching the pouch tighter.

Chilchuck bangs his forehead into the door, “Children.”

“Marcille…” you whimper, hot in the face and barely believing you’re even telling the truth right now. You’re delirious with dehydration and hunger and skepticism that you’re being honest, making it hard to see straight. Elf and tall-man faces blur together, Senshi is blotted out by the black dots in the corners of your vision, and Chilchuck is a mere speck. Far, far away. You feel far, far away. Like you could die, like you’re dreaming, and oh as the words come out of your mouth you’re actually hoping that you are dreaming, “it’s empty.”

Every head snaps to you. All dizziness snaps into hyperawareness. At minimum it's two degrees colder than it used to be, you can hear the sound of your own breathing, and the smell of mold rots away every other scent in the room.

You shrink into yourself and barely scrounge the courage to keep from curling into a rocking ball of apologies. Your disbelief doubles when you realize you’re still looking Marcille in the face -- eye to devastated eye.

“It’s empty?”

“It’s empty…”

Senshi steps back from your side, you want to dig your nails into his ankles and drag him back. You don’t. Laios retreats as well and you selfishly wish he’d just pierce you with his sword, if only to end this humiliation and regret. Now that everyone’s staring at you, you realize you probably should’ve said something from the start.

“I thought maybe Chilchuck would’ve gotten us out by now… I didn’t think we’d still be here…” you try to reason.

The harsh clatter and clang of Chilchuck’s picks against the ground draws your attention, he’s got both hands knotted into fists. His face drawn in a slant, as if he’s silently asking you to repeat yourself. As if he didn’t quite catch that.

“Then it's my fault?” he swiftly dodges the arm Senshi puts out as a blockade, now in your face and far more threatening than usual, “You’re saying it’s my fault your pack is empty?”

“No! Just- !”

“So why even mention that?!” he huffs, “Why even say my name?”

“I just thought that once we were out we’d find more food and then it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“So you still wanted to lie to us?”

“I never said that! You’re putting words in my mouth! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Your plan was to intentionally hide the truth -- that’s lying!”

“No! It’s just hiding!”

Chilchuck screams, raw with frustration and unbridled by cumbersome words. He covers his face with both hands as if he’s in pain just to look upon you.

“I’m sorry!” you plea, now turning to Laios with weak sobs bubbling right beneath your skin. Your face feels as though it's been scorched with dragon’s fire, though your eyes are flooded wet, “I just didn’t want everyone to be scared. I would’ve told you once we were out! Promise!”

Laios always liked being close to you the best, including Falin. In the wake of her disappearance, his inclination towards your presence has only magnified. You engage his interest in monsters, you’re forward and blatant with your compassion, and your skin on his is always so soothing. Laios doesn’t guess if you’re genuine, he knows you are. He imagines that’s why when you touch him it’s so warm and calming whereas others’ makes him itch.

Your soul itself must be as sweet as the bottom innard of an ivy tentacle.

“I know,” Laios nods, smiling thinly, “I know you would’ve.”

If you say you thought it was for the best, then you really must have, and he can’t berate you for having a heart.

You return his grin threefold, overtly thrilled he’s believed in you, yet again.

“You’re kidding!” Chilchuck shouts, now tugging sharply at his hair in frustration, his face red, “Laios, how can you let her get away with this?!”

Marcille shoves your pack into your face, standing over your toppled form. She looks like she hates you.

Now you’re the one cradling a food-barren bag to your chest. Laios assists you to your feet, prying your bag from your arms with gentle fingers to settle it along the wall. It sags, giving way to its empty stomach and collapsing over itself, folding into halves.

Marcille inhales deeply, mouth popping open to speak, but it's your resident half-foot’s voice that cuts through the air.

“Why are you here?” Chilchuck grumbles, glaring up at you.

His sudden venom stuns you into silence. Chilchuck’s face round with a specifically unfamiliar malice. Through his wired irritation at mimics and tentacles, he has never looked so particularly irked. So vexed. He looks like he detests your very face.

“I need money…” you murmur, curling into yourself the longer his terrible stare goes, “Just like you…”

“No. You’re not just like me, we’re not alike,” he’s unnecessarily defensive at your claim, “I’m useful. I work. You don’t do anything. Why are you here?” he lowers his voice, but you can’t mistake the change for any sense of relief, “There’s lots of things you could do for money.”

“Chilchuck!” Marcille wails, eyes wide -- snapped from their previous disdain and now fraught with shock and dread, her hands hover at her chest as if she could physically slice, rearrange, and mend the tension, “Don’t say that!”

“Be nice,” you wring your hands, “Be nice to me,” you frown, “I didn’t want to work a hard job, and being a carrier pays well enough. Then, uh, then I thought maybe I could be useful if I died… I could be like a meat shield, and then when I die you could eat me. You know, if you ever got stuck down here… like now.”

Chilchuck guffaws, jaw dropping and brows furrowing in distraught, “Eat you?! You thought we would eat you?!”

“I wouldn’t be offended,” shrugging, you crane your head down before subtly ticking sideways towards Laios, “You’ve never eaten human, right? I’m sure it’d be interesting.”

“How could you say that?!” Marcille buds in, once again on the offense. Senshi lingers in the back of your party, beneath the shaded hood of his helmet his gaze is steely. Determinately opposed to your very ideals. He’s eerily quiet, as if complying with Chilchuck and Marcille’s side will mistakenly motivate your own. That, or he’s so horrified none of his nerve endings will respond to his brain.

Laios does not refute your claim.

He swallows roughly, eyes darting to the floor.

“Everyone,” still staring at the ground, Laios steps between your group’s semi-circle, “Enough fighting,” his voice is quiet, too, but not calm. Ragged and soft, exasperated, “Please, stop fighting.”

A sturdy markdown of your offer never escapes his lips, though.

You nod slowly, “I’m sorry for being so useless. I thought I was doing something good…”

“You do,” Laios takes you by the shoulder, spinning you the other way towards your lone mat. His voice grows quieter, by the echo you can tell he’s talking to the others now, “Don’t antagonize her.”

Your sleeping bag is cold, it ruffles stiffly everytime you move. The fluffed material beneath your head fares no better, frost biting your cheek and lapping your splayed, exposed eyeballs. Tears prick as both eyes crisp dry -- cooled droplets dripping across your cheeks. Sorrow mixes with the salt, you thought you were doing good.

Perhaps by volunteering yourself to be used to the very last shred of meat, you could be more treasured. Cowardice outweighed by willingly absorbing the worst of your party’s instincts. By this method, you are more desired.

So you thought, but you’ve been rejected.

Squealing with protest, your sleeping bag retches around shivery shoulders as you smush your quivering lips into the material of your mat.

“These past couple of days have been hard on you, huh?” Laios unrolls his own sleeping bag beside yours. You flinch at the unwelcomed rumble of his voice, unfortunately he continues, “I get it. Everyone’s on-edge,” his comforting words fail to reach you, he slips into his bag, staring at you, “I hope you’re not sleeping yet… That’d make this kind of pointless…”

“Laios.”

“There you are,” he sighs, relieved, and you cannot imagine why. You don’t think there’s anything to be relieved about as long as you’re around, sucking up space and precious resources.

“Laios,” you call, “We should just do it. Right here.”

“Huh?”

You twist your head to peek over your shoulder, chilled tears drying tracks into your cheeks, confirming each of your friends is tucked and slumbering on the other side of the room. Surely, none of them would hear so long as you didn’t fight back; and you’re certain you won’t. Laios isn’t the type to make you suffer. He knows you hate suffering. He isn’t sadistic, after all, the only pleasure he takes in killing is the follow-up: eating.

“You want to, right?” you usually wouldn’t be so daring as to make the suggestion on your own, but food supply has dwindled too drastically by now. Everyone else can maintain their delusion all they want, but you know Laios is not one to deny himself, “Laios, you want to?”

He inhales sharply, molten amber eyes blazing through your face -- faint candlelight shines against his irises and bounces back the lump of your silhouette. Stubbornly, he says nothing -- neither nodding or shaking his head. Instead, he lies still, as if bitten by a Cockatrice.

“We can do it right now. They’re all asleep.”

Laios sneaks a hand through the neckhole of his sleeping bag, arm slithering out to soothe the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Silently, he appreciates the roundness of your face, the slope of your neck.

He does want to sink his teeth in, but this feels stranger than consuming monsters. It stretches far past the walking mushrooms or slimes on the top level; the problematic nature of your proposal even surpasses Chilchuck’s humanoid debate. You’re not a mere humanoid -- you’re human. Another tall-man. Your muscle composition is just the same as his -- your skeletons indecipherable from one another.

It shouldn’t be difficult to decide, Laios knows that much. He shouldn’t have to think about it. He shouldn’t shut down every time you mention it.

Despite that, he does -- he considers how the flesh of another tall-man would roll between his molars. Would the meat be salty? Or savory? How much fat should he trim -- or should he boil it all down just to save?

But aside from that, the reason he wants to mark your neck is not those taboo urges. Completely unrelated, in fact.

Laios’ fingers trail from your pulse point, curving along your exposed shoulder and dipping beneath your bag to dig blunt nails into your arm.

“No,” he squeezes your shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, “Not you,” his hand retracts, coiling back to his chest, “I don’t want to eat you.”

“We’ll all die…” you frown, eyes of an iridescent sunshine sheen maintain their hold on you, “It’s better for one to go rather than the rest of the party, right? I can be useful like that��”

“I don’t want to eat you.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter shut, brows pinching towards the middle of his face. And he cares not for what that may say about him as a leader. He’d giddily offer up the entire party to be found by corpse retrievers before gobbling you down.

“But then why keep me around? I don’t do anything special like Chilchuck or Marcille. I can’t cook or fight like Senshi. And I’m nothing like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” he tucks his chin by his chest, still avoiding your stare, “I prefer you as you. I’m glad we know each other, I don’t care if you feel useless because you’re not. Just having you around makes me feel more alive. More excited to explore the dungeon, even before Falin got taken. I feel like I need you around more than before. Since Shuro said he hated me… I guess it’s been tougher to trust that I’m not annoying everyone. With you, though, I don’t even have to question it. Outside the dungeon, too, when we’re in town. It’s nice to be around you the most.”

His eyes are clenched tighter and tighter the longer his spiel goes on -- he cannot bear to look you in the eyes while guts and bile spew from his lips. His cheeks are red, raw from self-imposed exposure.

“Do you mean that?” you ask quietly, eyes so wide in shock he’s forced to meet them as he opens his own, “Am I useful to you, just because I’m me?”

He hums, nodding softly. Crude emotion overwhelms you at the admission; confusion and disbelief and desire tangle in your stomach, loose tendrils flapping up into your gullet and knotting around your uvula until you spit up a meek,

“Can I sleep with you?” as if he would refuse you, you tack on, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Wordlessly, Laios unzips his sleeping bag -- you crawl out from your own to invade his space. His body is soft yet firm against your back, and he makes a clear effort in keeping his breaths shallow. You can see the worsening red tint of his cheeks, even in the wavering candlelight.

Laios’ body goes limp once you’re settled beside him. Selfishly, you press into his lax form -- exhaustion and hunger making your head light. You’re not concretely sure you’re conscious right now. Maybe this is your final dream before you are culled by starvation.

Your stomach grumbles, and Laios pouts at the sound. Bringing one hand over his own abdomen, Laios edges his fingers around his ribcage. He can feel the bone’s impression. He hasn’t been able to feel the protrusion since splitting from the traveling caravan with Falin. He’s unaccustomed to starving himself, he’s unsure how much longer he can hold himself together. You, however, pay no mind to the sound.

You don’t so much as crimp into yourself.

“It’s kinda weird,” you muse suddenly, turning in Laios’ bag so your chest is pressed to his. Oddly, for all its intimate implications, the contact feels natural, “I hate suffering more than anything else, but I can’t bring myself to regret giving you my breakfast a couple days ago. Even though the suffering that nasty junk gave me was a lot better than how I feel right now.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Laios’ arms wrap around you, tucking you even closer to him and forcing your legs to mingle with his, “Eating is the best thing you could do for your body.”

“I’m happier you got to eat than I would’ve been after eating it. Besides,” you cant your head up, chin digging into the center of his thick chest -- looking up at Laios, “I prefer sleeping to nourish my body.”

“As soon as we’re out, you’ll have the most delicious meal we can make in the dungeon.”

He hugs you tighter.

You don’t dream that night. But Laios does.

pt 2 - rabbit eat dog

Laios’ cheeks sting in the frosty air, forearms and knees stubbornly tingling through the puffer of his red long-sleeve. Attempting to make out the space even five inches before his face is impossible through the thick, icy fog, but he knows the way. His feet pivot in perfect tune to each divot and roll of the plains.

He’s grown up here. Ran over these lands since he could lift one leg over the other, though now he is alone. Wandering with only the intent to find, and even then he is alone. Laios never feels more alone than when he is in a room full of people, at least in solitude he cannot be ridiculed or judged. Cowardly as it may seem to run from his problems, Laios chases relief -- where exactly that is, he’s unsure. His relief comes in forms that move, much more inconvenient than ale or tobacco but also much more divine. Moving sister, moving moon, moving monsters.

A cursory, confirming glance up gives sight to the real moon hanging above Laios -- a pale face beaming down to give light, only to be choked out by this unabating fog. Fond for night, Laios feels eased by the celestial. Nighttime, childishly, is something he’s always associated with terrible creatures in the bowls of dungeons. Besides that, is how quiet the house becomes past sundown, when the only conscious soul is his. Sometimes his sister stood up with him, too, and that was nice.

Nice, still, is the other moon’s presence. One less large and pale. One that walked at his side.

A soft glow scourges through the plumes of gray, encouraging Laios to quicken his pace. Warmth blooms across his frosted extremities, thawing stiff joints until suddenly he’s too hot beneath his puffer. Stripping the material, he’s left to sweat in a simple pullover shirt as he begins stumbling towards the glow.

Fog clears, drifting apart seamlessly.

Laios trips abruptly, seemingly over his own footing, before tumbling to his knees, hands scraping on hidden rocks and dirt clots. His eyes water from the intense sear of light painting the ground.

“Hey.”

Laios, against better intuition, feels a bizarre sense of calm wash over him at the voice’s intrusion. Perhaps specifically because of whose voice calls to him.

You loom over his huddled frame, just as bright and welcoming as the moon, and just as pretty too. Prettier, he corrects.

“Hi,” he returns your greeting lamely, rising slowly to a stand.

“You look hungry.”

Recently, Laios has discovered that even after a hearty meal his appetite is not quite satiated. During the brief moments where his mind can wander, he spends it contemplating what he could be eating in that moment. Well, that when he’s not thinking about you. While his stomach is not a bottomless pit ever unfilled, more often than not he’s adopting the attitude of well, i could eat. Not quite greed, not quite temperance. He’ll take what is offered and be gracious.

So, yes, in short, Laios supposes he is always hungry. Admitting that to you is particularly embarrassing, however, because you never seem hungry. Even when your stomach sings with starvation, your discomfort is completely invisible.

He used to assume it was your resilience -- a sign of your courage, to continue adventuring regardless of your terror.

(now, he’s starting to think differently, with your fresh disposition of raw nerves and desperation to be enjoyed)

“You’re hungrier, right?”

“Not really.”

“Oh…” he’s unsure how to respond. Trapped to stare at you while you stare back.

These parts of the fields are entirely unfamiliar to Laios.

“You should be hungry,” he tries to reason.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just a feeling, really.”

“What should I eat?” you frown, inching closer.

“Whatever you want,” he answers honestly. Laios believes in free will, but in some strange, completely unintelligible way, he thinks you deserve the most free will. He thinks you should do whatever you want, whenever you want, and he’s left confused how you don’t feel the same.

(feasibly in light of the night’s cannibal-themed fight) You suddenly suggest, “What about you?”

Laios freezes at that, all fire radiating from you icing over in an instant. Gaze sinking to his feet. Could he realistically agree to that? End his life to feed you? Does his devotion stretch so far?

Laios would hate to (permanently) die… but he would hate more for you to (permanently) die before him.

He dodges your question with one of his own, “Would you still like me if I was a monster?”

When he’s feeling distinctly indulgent, Laios flashes into long past fantasies of becoming a tri-headed beast.

And if he were to become one, would you gaze upon him just as kindly? Would Laios still be Laios to you?

His eyes follow each twinge in your face as you think, brows scrunching and bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Eventually you nod, slow and measured, “Yes. I would.”

Laios believes that, honestly. You would have to. You’re just that amazing. So, he should be amazing in equal measure -- or more, he should aim to impress you with his greatness.

So, yes. If you really wanted to. He could feed you with himself.

…

You wake up feeling unrefreshed.

Senshi, Marcille, and Chilchuck continue to bar themselves across the room from you. Laios freely travels from one end to the other despite your party’s annoyance with him. Grumbling stomachs echo from each person in the group now, and you wonder if maybe you should circumvent Laios’ rejection to feed your friends anyway. To make up for your various mistakes and blunders. It's only right.

You stare at Chilchuck’s back -- his arms no longer flailing with movement, hands instead paused around the box lock itself. He’s glaring at the mechanism, you think he’s hoping nobody notices his lack of effort. Marcille and Senshi are murmuring amongst themselves, casting wry glances your way every other sentence. Perhaps they’re discussing potential ways to make you suffer when they finally gut you.

You wouldn’t fight back, you know you wouldn’t. For the good of the pack’s survival, you’ll let them feast upon you.

(it does not once cross your mind that they could be talking about how to best convince you you’re wrong for writing your own consumption off so easily)

Laios sits at your back. Not moving. Not touching. Watching.

Your eyes drift from Chilchuck’s petrified frame to the floor, then to one cobbled block slightly lower than the others. About an inch below level, but not sunken in completely: the stone Senshi stepped on.

“Senshi?” you call.

No response.

“Hey, Senshi?”

He’s staring at you, but his eyes are hard to make out beneath his helmet. You shift upon your knees despite Laios’ soft bleat of disapproval. Marcille now stares as well, eyes much easier to spot when they’re wide with worry.

“I think this stone is…” you shove the step with your meager might and it budges a mere centimeter.

Laios’ hand overlaps yours, pushing down as well. The stone thuds loudly, and Chilchuck suddenly jumps back as the spears clink and shoot into the holed ground. He rockets back up to fuddle the lock, this time it clicks and pops open first try.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Chilchuck kicks up at the retreating bars in vain. He whirls around to see you and Laios hunched over the stone and sighs, silently passing you both to collect his bags and exit.

Senshi and Marcille follow example.

Laios unlatches from your back, and you miss his warmth more immediately than you thought you would.

“I think I should leave the party.”

“Why?” he frowns so genuinely, you’d be unable to buy his cluelessness if you hadn’t known him for so long.

“They don’t like me anymore,” you settle both hands in your lap, plucking at the skin around your nails, “They know I’m useless.”

“So?” his tone is soft, so opposite to his callous start, “I want you here more than anybody. I’m happy to have people I trust and who are good at their work, but I think if you didn’t come with us back into the dungeon, it’d be another thing I’m always thinking of instead of what’s in front of me. And nobody gets my fascination with monsters like you do.”

“Senshi does…”

“I like you more than I like Senshi.”

“Why?”

Laios opens his mouth, teeth white and glistening in the soft flicker glow of dancing orange candle flame. You await his bite. He closes his mouth. You wish you were so confident to pry it wide and press yourself into his cheeks. You wish he’d just eat you whole. Spare no mind to how the others thought of it. If they won’t accept you bones and all, then you’ll continue to long for Laios. You can do that easily. You’ve been an expert in the matter since you joined his group.

“Nobody else will take me, Laios,” you greedily grasp him by the shoulder, “I’m being so selfish, but I need you to- !”

He slaps your hand away, reaching over your offending hands to snag you by your own shoulders, “I don’t want to hear that, you shouldn’t talk like that! You deserve to live, and eat, just like everyone else! We’re friends as much as we are party members, right? They wouldn’t stick around if they weren’t. Your friends wouldn’t want you to be eaten either.”

You glance at the archway, none of the three others are visible, “Is that why they were mad?”

“I can’t speak for them, but you should be up front about how you feel. Talk to them before leaving,” he lowers his head, “If you’re planning to leave still, anyway. Though, I really hope you stay.”

Laios is too afraid to say he’ll beg, if it would enrich the offer. The mere idea of your face twisting angrily or an annoyed rejection slipping past your lips kills him. With both you and Falin gone, Laios would feel a sense of estrangement he hasn’t since his army days. Loneliness amplifying until it's unable to be ignored. The grief and confusion of your loss would muddy the remaining friendly faces in his party -- the taste of monsters would even be dulled. Humiliation would rattle his sense of self everytime he remembered that you’re not even dead, just drifted away.

He’d never survive without you, but he refuses to steal your entire life that mercilessly so he pretends he could.

“If we all just talk to each other, then nobody has to get hurt,” Laios’ hands lower to yours, he squeezes gently while avoiding your eyes, choosing to study the way you lean into his touch, “I don’t want you to go. And I don’t want them to be hurt.”

“Okay,” you rise onto unsteady feet.

Laios separates from you to begin stowing away both your belongings while you squirm into the hallway in front of your party. They shuffle awkwardly, with only Senshi capable of meeting your eyes. Yet he stands the furthest from you.

“I- “ the words dance over your tongue, you thought you were prepared to say them. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. But you can’t. The words trip and fall and tumble back into your throat before you surrender, “I don’t want to leave the party, but I am sorry for lying. I know I don’t do much, but I love adventuring with everyone. Really, I only- !”

“We were stressed,” Marcille steps forward, releasing one hand from Ambrosia to lay on your hand, “I don’t think it’d be easy on anyone to say the leftovers were actually gone. Especially when you knew that’s what we were relying on to not starve.”

Senshi nods slowly, “We weren’t expectin’ you to run off as apology. You’re young, you make mistakes.”

Marcille elbows your party’s half-foot.

Chilchuck sighs, shaking his hands out at his sides in the way your father used to, “I’m sorry. For calling you useless. I get why you lied, I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position to keep the party from freaking out. But, please,” his usually (deceptively) friendly and pleasant face has morphed into one of weary, a grown man concerned for a child, “Never say anything like that again. We don’t want you dead, let alone to eat your body. You have to plan to stay alive with everyone else, otherwise what’s the point of even joining the party?”

“Right. Sorry,” you blurt, increasingly ashamed of your suggestion earlier.

Their rejection stems not from disgust, then, but love.

They don’t want to eat you because to them you shouldn’t even die.

What a strange conclusion to now be forced to draw. You’re not sure how to swallow it, every time you try it rushes back up. Your friends’ concerned faces give you the determination to keep trying, though.

Laios barrels through the doorway -- redressed in his armor with the remaining bags slung over his shoulders, grinning broadly, “Looks like we can start walking again.”

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the trek towards the next floor begins on an empty stomach. When you reach up for the packs you usually carry, Laios jerks them from your grasp, you whine quietly, “Hey, that’s my job!”

“I know,” he shrugs the bags around his broad frame to fit them more comfortably, “but you haven’t eaten longer than me, and you didn’t sleep very well last night. So let me.”

His strides quicken until he’s by Senshi, you watch him point towards you and Senshi hums thoughtfully.

Your stomach rolls with hunger, and the sting makes you reach out for Laios. You slip your arms around one of his and cradle his elbow into your gut, reducing the ache with a different digging sensation. Laios leans towards you to make the work easier, all while continuing his conversation with Senshi about what the most delicious dungeon meal they could make you would be.

~~~

i like relationships where they dont understand each other but want to try anyway :3

i also love writing readers that are insane and fundamentally insufferable, but still loved

[callmelittlesunshinefics]

Dancing On My Own (Gambit X Reader, Part One)

Alrighty folks, this was meant to be a quick fluffy one shot that keeps getting longer and more angsty and has been sitting in my drafts for entirely too long now. Still very much a WIP that will be continued this week or next, PG13 for the time being with potential to take a turn for spicy down the line :)

A/N: Some quick background, the reader (Y/N in fic, described with she/her pronouns) is based off of an OC I tend to pull out pretty frequently. Half human, half angel, displaced from their home universe and dropped into this one (in which Lucifer, the tv show, is also cannon because why not maybe do a crossover down the line?). Gambit x Reader is the main ship we're sailing towards, but there's definitely some Logan x Reader if you squint. OH and last last thing, there's a party and I'm shamelessly linking the dress I had in mind for the reader here.

gif credit :) : @counterspelling

Dropping below a read more, don't be shy, come say hi when you're done reading! :)

“‘Stay for the summer!’ they said, ‘quiet and relaxing’ they said!” You throw the words you were told back at Jubilee who looks back at you completely unfazed as you continue untangling string lights to hang in the garden. 

“Honestly Y/N if you had stopped for two seconds to think about who was telling you that, you probably would’ve gone back to LA.” 

She was completely right, of course. You showed up to Xavier’s school not a mutant, not fully human either, and just looking for a place on the east coast to stay. Your uncle Lucifer made a few calls, found a friend willing to host a universe-displaced nephilim, and the rest was history. You might not be a mutant, but you were a partial human with powers you couldn’t always understand, and even other angels in this universe weren’t always able to help. Charles met and understood you quicker than anyone you’ve ever encountered in this universe or the next, so when you were asked to extend your stay and take on some guardian duties over the summer you were happy enough to agree. 

“Jean is the one who told you it would be relaxing, and Jean’s idea of relaxing is staying at a constant level 8 of activity.” 

“How is that not like the school year?” You rolled your eyes, dropping the lights. 

“Well during the school year she bounces between a 9 and 10, reserving 7s and 8s for the weekend. I can make you a diagram or something if you need it.” 

“I’m going to need a lot more than that by the time we’re done here.” 

“Maybe Gambit can help you with that?” Remy had sauntered over from the basketball court, at least that’s what you assumed given his current state of undress. 

“Unless you’re here to help decorate, I don’t think so handsome. If Jean catches us behind schedule the phoenix might make a reappearance…” You looked around and took a deep breath, realizing that other than the lights, everything looked pretty set. There was a reasonable sized clearing in the garden and Jean had hired a company to install a temporary dance floor. Chairs and tables were scattered around picnic style, and Jubilee had done an amazing job of setting up the bar despite being the only one unable to drink, legally.

“I think it’s actually just the lights,” Jubilee nodded to the messy pile at your feet, “And I think Gambit would be more help with that than me anyway, so?” 

“Go ahead,” you nodded smiling and she ran over to hug you, “And if you go to the mall, bring me back a pretzel!!!” You yelled after her knowing it was useless, she’d bring you a pretzel whether she heard you or not. 

“Avoiding me, chere?” Gambit eyed you with his usual flirtatious undertone that you couldn’t make heads or tails of. 

“In fact, I am. Grab that end?” You handed him the lights as he waited for an explanation, “Okay, I’m going to sit in the tree, I just need you to feed me the lights as we move. Ready?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, disappearing and reappearing in the branch just above his head. 

Gambit stared back troubled and suspicious, so you nodded and gave him the sarcastic, albeit not entirely untrue, answer he was waiting for, “Oh Remy my attraction to you is just so strong and all consuming that I had to avoid you in order to get anything done at all. Every second I can’t throw myself at you is torture. Et cetera, et cetera, please start passing me the lights so I can go inside and shower.” 

He laughed and finally did as you said, “You know if you wanted ol’Gambit all you had to do was ask.” 

The two of you worked in a comfortable silence passing the lights through the trees. Just as you finished wrapping the last string, your footing slipped and you let out a quick yelp before bracing yourself for a fall that never came. 

“I never would have guessed angels could be so clumsy.” 

“If we weren’t you’d be short of a pickup line. Tell me honestly, how many times have you asked a lady if she fell from heaven?” Remy laughed and began walking away with you still in his arms. 

“Not as many as you think, chere. Are we about done out here?” 

You looked around and nodded, “Finally, yes. It was a good catch by the way, but I think I can walk on my own.” 

Placing you back on the ground, the two of you walked towards the mansion in another comfortable silence. Remy was probably tied with Jubilee as your closest friend in the school. You could remember the first day you arrived, how he couldn’t stop watching you. It wasn’t until later that same night, you were out in the garden and could still sense him watching you, that you decided to do something about it. You walked right up to him, introduced yourself, and asked him to kindly explain why he was staring at you like he’s seeing a ghost. 

It turned out the boy who grew up being told he was a demon had a lot of mixed feelings discovering angels and demons were not only real, but one of them was living under his roof. Remy felt a bit silly admitting it to you, but he owed you an honest answer when you confronted him so directly. And when he told you what people had said about him, what he suspected his own parents must have thought of him, your heart broke. You told him stories of all the demons and monsters you’ve encountered, and reassured him that he didn’t come close to fitting the bill.

“What’s on your mind, Remy?” There was quiet and then there was Quiet. You were still pretty new, but you knew well enough when something was bothering him.   

“Are you heading back?” You stopped short, and he stopped to face you. 

“Back where, Rem?” 

“Anywhere that’s not here.” He was facing you but he wouldn’t quite look at you, as if he didn’t actually want to hear the answer.

You took a deep breath, “The honest answer is that I don’t know. I don’t really feel like LA is where I belong, but I’m not a mutant or a gifted youngster either. I mean, I’m not even from this u-” 

“Okay, okay.” Gambit interrupted you with a hug, correctly sensing an impending panic attack from you, “Gambit just worried he won’t get to see you s’all.” 

You took a deep breath, sighing into the hug, “Well that’s really stupid.”  He pulled back to look at you, full of confusion. “It’s really stupid because if I were going anywhere you’d be the first person I tell, and because it takes me about 5 seconds flat to get anywhere. I’d be back before you even knew I was gone.”

You smiled wistfully and he returned it, “I’d know.” 

The two of you continued heading in and you finally felt brave enough to ask the question you’ve really been wanting to ask. 

“Well, I have to head up and start getting ready for tonight. What about you, getting ready for your date?” Of course, you weren’t sure he actually had one, but that was as direct as you could bring yourself to be. 

“Suppose I should be doing the same. Save Gambit a dance?” He kissed your hand and walked away, leaving you flustered and confused. You immediately pulled out your phone.

Y/N: okay so i said ‘gotta go get ready! what about you, getting ready for your date?’ and he said ‘suppose i should do the same’ what do we do with that??

JB: does he think you have a date?? 

Y/N: SHOULD i have a date??? 

JB: yeah, one of you should have asked the other out by now 

You dropped your phone on your bed, having finally made it to your room after a flurry of texts. Complicated feelings for your maybe best friend aside, it was still important to you to be slightly better than presentable tonight. 

Tonight was the first time all summer the adults of the mansion could relax and have a good time, and some non-residential mutants would also be joining the mix. You had never really been to anything so strictly social with the gang, and you didn’t take your invitation lightly. 

It wasn’t exactly formal, but Jubilee was able to confirm your suspicion that it wasn’t exactly casual either. You showered, taking more time than usual to exfoliate and moisturize, trying to pamper yourself into relaxing and getting excited for the night ahead, trying to ignore Remy’s words from earlier bouncing around your head. 

Two simple words that have had you in a tailspin since he said them so casually. ‘I’d know.’

The trouble maker in you wanted to test him on it, and you did a quick assessment of yourself to see if you could. Fresh out of the shower but mostly dressed, you were presentable. Should you take a quick trip overseas, hop over to France for some wine for tonight and back in a blink? You closed your eyes and heard a knock on your door just as you were about to take off. 

You opened your door more suspicious than you’d care to admit, suddenly paranoid that Gambit sniffed you out, but you were met with Jubilee instead, weighed down with garment and shopping bags from the mall. 

“You never answered me! I have your pretzel and you promised we’d do makeup together so-“ it was all the preamble she gave before forcing the pretzel on you and making herself at home in your room. 

“I was showering! And I really thought you were going to be gone longer?” 

“I just had to pick up some stuff I ordered for tonight, plus giving you and Gambit some time to flirt didn’t seem like a bad thing.” 

You rolled your eyes, “We have banter, definitely, but I’m not sure I’d call it flirting. He flirts with everyone.” 

“So you realize that what he does with you is different?” She turns it on you but you’ve heard it before. 

“Yes, different as in he’s not interested!” 

Jubilee made a sound of frustration before giving up and asking for help with contour. You dropped the subject and fell back into your usual routine, an easy friendship that reminded you more of sisters than friends. You showed up at the mansion looking for a place to stay while you visited old haunts, and you made a friend in Jubilee who was willing to venture into those places with you, even if it meant confronting ghosts.

“Lucky for you I think I found the perfect way to test his level of interest. You didn’t pick out what you’re wearing yet, did you?” 

“Well yeah, I was just going to wear-” You started motioning to the dress you picked for tonight, but Jubilee was moving and cutting you off before you even finished.

“Okay so scrap that, I grabbed something for you at the mall,” she reached for one of the garment bags she had laid across your bed, “and if this doesn’t get a reaction out of him, I’m at a loss. What do you think?”

She unzipped the bag and your eyebrows flew up so fast you wondered if they were still there. It was hot pink, sequined, and most noticeably, short and backless. You reached out to touch it and couldn’t deny how beautiful it was. Sure, the pink was a lot and it showed more skin than you were strictly comfortable with, but you couldn’t deny that the striped details of the sequins were gorgeous, or that the dress would hug and accentuate your curves…dangerously. 

“Now tell me what’s really going on because there’s no way you were able to afford this dress.” 

Jubilee snorted, “You got me, it comes with a letter.” She handed you a small envelope you promptly opened and started reading. 

‘Your young friend told me you planned to attend a party wearing some frumpy thing off a rack and that’s simply unacceptable for my niece, I have a reputation to uphold, Y/N ;) Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Sincerely, your Fairy DevilFather (p.s. TRY to have fun?)’

“Lucifer intervened to send me a dress?? How did you two even contact each other?” 

“I answered your phone once when he called while you were showering. We really hit it off, he actually sent me one too!” She excitedly pulled out another bag and showed you an equally gorgeous, albeit much more modest dress. Part of you wanted to argue, but another part of you realized how exciting this was for your friend and you weren’t about to let her down when she was waiting for you to join her excitement. 

“I think we might be best dressed tonight?” You smirked and she whooped, celebrating her victory. 

“Oh I’m ready, maybe everyone will finally accept the fact that I’m 20 and stop treating me like I’m still 15.” 

You knew it was a sore point for her, but you still smiled. The way all of the x-men treated Jubilee as their adopted child was something that endlessly warmed your heart, even if it frustrated your friend. The two of you took your time helping each other get your hair and makeup perfect before donning your dresses and leaving your bedroom, having already started to hear the arrival of a few guests and the slight murmur of conversation. 

You stopped just short of the stairs, turning to face Jubilee, “Don’t they say ‘fashionably late’ is a good thing?” Your anxiety was starting to get the best of you, wearing such a risque dress to attend a party with lots of new faces. 

“I think we’ve already reached fashionably late, babe, if we wait any longer they’ll think something is wrong.” You took a deep breath and started to make your way down the stairs. The mansion was empty, signalling that everyone else had already made their way out to the garden. 

The sun was just beginning to set when the two of you arrived to find the party already in full swing. Jean and Scott were dancing, Logan and Hank sharing a drink by the bar, and around 20 faces you had never seen interspersed with the rest of the team. You heard a low wolf whistle behind you and felt a hand on your lower back. 

“Breaking hearts tonight, chere?” Remy was on you before you could even turn to look at the sound. 

“If I’m lucky.” You shrugged. 

“Think I have enough of that for the both of us.” He winked and you tried and failed to suppress a snort that only made him grin wider. 

You turned to say something to Jubilee and your eyes narrowed when you realized the little traitor had run over to greet her friends, leaving you and Gambit alone. She looked your way and winked as you openly glared at her. 

“Well it looks like I’ve been ditched so I’ll need to borrow some of it.” You grimaced in the direction of the crowd, not needing to elaborate.  

“All yours, chere.” He offered you his arm and you accepted, making your way into the party and jumping right into a flurry of introductions, hugs and handshakes that Remy led you through, guiding you away when it was time to move on. 

It seemed innocent enough but you couldn’t stop focusing on the fact that Remy’s hands never left you. Whether it was an arm wrapped protectively around your waist or his hand on your exposed lower back, lazily tracing shapes you couldn’t make out, it was becoming increasingly distracting. He introduced you to Kurt and you only caught 30% of the conversation, too distracted by Remy’s hand tracing the curve of the dip at the back of your dress. You were relieved when Remy excused the two of you to go grab a drink.

“Admit it, not as bad as you thought.” Gambit smirked at you, leading you to a table where Logan and Jubilee were catching up. 

You rolled your eyes, “I never thought it would be bad, I just,” You took a deep breath, “I don’t know, I guess I was worried I wouldn’t fit in here, or that everyone would be wondering why I’m even here but too polite to say anything.” 

Logan and Jubilee both looked in your direction, hearing the tail end of your conversation that you didn’t bother hiding from them. Logan very openly looked you up and down before chuckling and taking a sip of what you suspected to be whiskey. 

“No one’s kicking you out of here looking like that, that’s for sure.” It was maybe the first time the wolverine had ever given you a compliment and you blushed. 

“You clean up rather nicely yourself, Logan.” 

“Then why are you spending all night with the cajun instead of talking to me?” You were surprised but did your best to cover it up, meanwhile Jubilee was fighting off a laugh herself by taking a sip of her drink.

“Because the cajun knows how a lady should be treated.” Gambit grumbled, leveling Logan with a look before departing briefly to get the both of you drinks.  

“Does he?” Logan asked you while you sat to join them, shooting him a quizzical look before he continued, “Know how to treat a lady?” 

“How much have you had, Logan?” You asked, eyeing his drink. 

“Not that much, darlin’. Answer the question.” If there was one thing you loved about Logan it was his lack of bullshit, and judging by the look on Jubilee’s face as she waited for your answer, right now it was probably her favorite thing about him too, 

“He’s been a perfect gentleman, but we’re just friends.” You tried to say it in a way that wouldn’t reveal how much that bothered you, but both of them knew better. Gambit returned a second later with your drinks and you only got two sips in before Logan insisted on a round of shots. 

One round turned into two, turned into three, turned into…you lost count. Jubilee was swaying happily in her seat, having convinced the two men to let her join in with half shots somewhere around round three. Everyone’s judgement was impaired by that point, but she made a great argument about drinking for the first at home where she’s safe or something else you couldn’t remember anymore in your happily inebriated state.

A song came on and you gasped, turning towards the dancefloor and excitedly announcing your love for the song. What it was called? You couldn’t remember if your life depended on it, but you needed to dance. You locked eyes with Remy who smiled but shifted his eyes away awkwardly, causing you to quickly deflate. 

“Have you even had a dance yet tonight, Y/N?” Logan asked you suspiciously. 

“Not yet.” You pouted, considering heading out on your own, dance partner be damned. 

“Knows how to treat a lady my ass.” Logan grumbled in Gambit’s direction, shooting a glare at him before getting up and begrudgingly but kindly offering you his hand. 

“Oh. my. GOD.” Jubilee squealed, far too gone to contain her excitement at the drama, as she would say.  

You beamed at Logan, accepting his hand and making a run for the dance floor, pulling him along behind you. 

“That crazy cajun might try to take my head off later for this.” Logan grumbled, settling his arms at your waist while you threw yours around his neck, getting closer than was strictly necessary so the two of you could continue your talk while dancing. Your eyes shifted over to where you just left your friends and you felt a stabbing pain in your chest when you looked for Remy just to see he had also made his way over to the dance floor, with Rogue. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Logan.” Your eyes were starting to tear up and you looked up trying to stop it as Logan became worried, turning to figure out what made you so upset. His eyes landed on Gambit and he growled, holding you a little closer as he actively tried to calm down. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

“You won’t.” You laughed, “He’s allowed to be with whoever he wants.”

“Yeah, but he’s not allowed to follow you around all night like a lovesick puppy just to ditch you when he catches another scent.” 

You smiled sadly, “He was being a good friend earlier, that’s it.” 

Logan pulled you closer and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “I watched his hands stray all over you, Y/N,” He touched your bare back to emphasize his point, “He’s not a friend, he’s a coward.” You couldn’t take it anymore and hugged Logan, hiding your face in his chest to let a few tears escape, hoping you would feel a bit better if you could get some of your distress out. 

“Might have to kill em for making you cry.” Logan grumbled and you laughed, smiling up at him despite yourself. 

“Believe it or not you’re helping enough like this.” The two of you continued dancing and Logan’s discomfort wasn’t wasted on you, but he’d be damned if he let the two of you leave that dance floor before Gambit and Rogue. He was making a point. 

The music began to slow down and Rogue and Gambit finally went their separate ways. You watched as Remy found Jubilee again and made their way back over to the table, you turned to Logan.

“Think we should head back?” He looked behind you and shook his head.

“We finally get a song that’s more my speed and you want to leave?” He shook his head no and pulled you closer, making you laugh and rest your head on his chest as the two of you swayed lazily. 

“Thank you, Logan. It’s not how I expected the night to go but I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you.” 

“Dancing with you looking like that isn’t exactly a punishment.” He snarked and you chuckled.

“Mind if I cut in?” You looked up to meet red eyes, Remy looking between you and Logan harshly before addressing you again more quietly, “Didn’t Gambit ask you to save him a dance?” 

You hesitated and Logan took that as his cue, “Bad timing cajun, Y/N just said she was getting dizzy, we’re heading back to the table.” Logan put his arm around you and lead you out of there, leaving Gambit to grumble and trail the two of you back. 

Jean had joined Jubilee to rest and eyed the three of you quizzically as you made your return.

“Y/N!! I found out that shots of vodka with cranberry juice is amazing, look!” She held out a shot for you and you grabbed it and threw it back before Logan and Remy could even finish their protests.

“Chere! Didn’t you say you were dizzy?” Gambit took the shot glass out of your hand, leading you to a chair. 

“From the dancing, Rem! I definitely haven’t had enough to drink yet.” 

Jubilee whooped and passed you another shot, clinking it to her own before you both threw them back. Jean looked at you even more confused and you tapped your temple with a wink, an agreed upon gesture inviting her to read your mind. 

“Rough night but I promise everything is okay, just need to drown my sorrows a little with you guys. Logan’s been doing his best.” 

You heard Jean’s response in your head, “Fair enough. I’ve been cutting Jubilee’s shots with a lot of cranberry juice. Seriously, a LOT.” 

You struggled to mask your laugh, “As I was saying, definitely not enough to drink, I’m gonna go-“ You stood and made your way to the bar on your own before anyone else could say anything, but you could feel a few sets of eyes watching you leave. 

Someone had been manning the bar, but as the night wore on and the guests dwindled, those of you remaining were left to fend for yourself. You assessed your options and reached for the gin, giving that a generous pour before adding sprite, a splash of cranberry juice, and a lime wedge before you can talk yourself out of it. 

“That looks amazing, can you make me one too?” Jubilee had appeared at your side and you smiled before making her a much more restrained version of yours. “Now I need you to tell me eeeeevery detail of you and Wolvie dancing I mean I neeeever-“ 

“To be clear,” you interrupted, sipping at your drink, “It was a pity save when it became painfully obvious Remy wasn’t going to ask.” 

“After spending literally all night following you around and basically growling at anyone that tried to get near you, what’s up with that??” She made a good point but you weren’t sure what she meant by that first part. 

“Pause, rewind, what are you talking about ‘basically growling’?” 

“You seriously didn’t realize how handsy he got with you when Kurt started getting friendly?” 

You realized you were drunk when you couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, “I was so distracted by him being handsy I didn’t even hear whatever Kurt was saying to make the connection.” 

Jubilee nearly spat her drink in your face and she started smacking you excitedly, “Can you please please go tell him that??” 

“But then he didn’t ask me to dance!! He pointedly looked away!!” 

“So Logan? What happened there?” You were starting to suspect your friend wasn’t nearly as inebriated as you thought, her tone sounding surprisingly sharp shifting gears. 

“I really don’t think there’s anything more than his mother-hen instincts going on there.” 

Her eyes rolled and she shrugged, “I’d agree if it was just one dance, but-“ 

“Again, pretty sure that was to save me from being zeroed in on Gambit’s dance with Rogue..” 

She didn’t have a response for that one and she simply clinked your drink before you both took generous sips, “Don’t tell Jean.” You whispered as you topped both of your glasses off before heading back to the group.

Jean had left to track down Scott who was mingling in the small groups that remained, some still dancing but most everyone else was doing the same as your small group. Jubilee bounced into the seat next to Logan and you drifted a beat too long before sitting next to Gambit. The silence that stretched between the two of you was no longer as comfortable as it was earlier, so you broke and piped up first. 

“I almost tested you earlier, you know.” 

“Almost?” Remy squinted at you, “Been testing me all night, chere.” 

You narrowed your eyes back but decided not to engage, continuing your thought instead, “When you said you’d know if I left?” His playful glare dropped and he waited on your next words, “Just a quick trip before the party but still, decided against it.” 

Remy chewed on what you were saying and not saying, wondering how the night had gotten so far away from him. Everything started out better than he expected, getting to show you around the party, not letting you too far out of sight in that dress, and then the hesitation. His own doubt sneaking in, reminding him that Y/N is quite literally an angel, he knew her place in the world, but his? He looked over at you waiting for a response and decided that didn’t matter right now.

“Still have sea legs or are you about ready for that dance, chere?” He didn’t leave you much room to answer, already standing with his arm extended. 

“You know I literally just sat back down, right?” He rolled his eyes at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet alongside him. Your night was clearly nowhere near over and you gave in, letting Remy lead you back onto the dance floor and into his arms. 

[sturn1olo-ffics]

- VIOLET -

- Matt Sturniolo x Fem Reader (she/her pronouns used)

- Warnings: making out, pining, profanity, use of y/n; NOT PROOFREAD

- About: Reader has a huge crush on Matt but figures the feelings weren’t mutual due to a caption of his on Instagram. That is, until he shows up to her apartment and those thoughts are turned around.

—————————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV):

I’ve liked Matt for as long as I can remember. And the only person who knows that is Nick. Partially because I told him and partially because he could tell. I mean everyone could tell, right? There were edits of us all over social media shipping us… he had to have known… right?

Wrong.

Matt was the most oblivious person I have ever met in my entire life. You could outright tell him you love him and he still wouldn’t pick up that you have a crush on him.

Matt was my best friend and we told each other everything. Well maybe not everything since I still hadn’t told him about my crush on him.

It was a chilly Friday night in October and I was scrolling through my Instagram feed. I come across a post from a super gorgeous girl that Matt follows with the caption: “The after party”

I didn’t think too much about it, it was just a normal Instagram post. That is, until I came across Matt’s recent post with the caption: “Was on Wilson and 73rd”

The Color Violet by Tory Lanez. One of my favorite songs. Why was he matching captions with this gorgeous girl on Instagram?? Why didn’t he tell me he was talking to someone?? My heart sank into the floor.

“Nick-” I called him, tears slipping out of my eyes on the other side of the phone.

“Hey y/n- what’s wrong??” He could tell by my voice that I was upset.

“Can you just come over?” I replied quickly.

“Let me ask Matt if he can take me. I’ll text you babe.” He ended the call.

I winced a little when Matt’s name left his mouth. Why was I hurting this much? Was this just a crush or something more?

(NICK’s POV):

“Matt! Can you take me to y/n’s house right now? She seems upset and wants me to come over.” I asked Matt.

“Is she okay?? What’s wrong?? What’s going on??” Matt threw way too many questions on me all at once.

“Why the fuck are you questioning so much? With the amount of care you have for her you’d think you were like in love with her or some shit.” I joked.

“Shut the fuck up Nick.” He snapped.

“Woah- Mattitude. You don’t have to get mad, it’s not like you like her or anything.” I stepped back before he could shove me.

“I-” Matt started, but everything clicked in my head.

“WOAHHH WAITTTT DO YOU LIKE HER?” I excitedly raised my voice.

“NICK SHUT UP BRO HOLY FUCK” Matt screamed at me.

“You should tell her.” I giggled.

“Tell her what?” Matt questioned.

“That you like her? What else dumb fuck?” I started grabbing my things.

“Nick it’s not like that- okay maybe it is a little bit but I’m not telling her. Go get in the car.” Matt replied.

I grabbed my stuff and headed towards the car before me and Matt got in and drove to y/n’s.

(Y/N’s POV):

I heard a car pull up and immediately knew it was Nick.

“The front door’s unlocked.” I text him.

After seeing Matt pull off, I hear Nick make his way up the stairs and down the hall to my room.

“What’s wrong? You good?” Nick questioned upon entering my room.

“Dude I literally just saw Matt have a matching Instagram caption with this really really pretty girl and I’m having an anxiety attack which I don’t even know why because it’s not like he even would like me back anyway-” Nick cut me off before I could continue.

“Ok first, breathe exercise, remember? Second, what?” Nick asked, obviously concerned.

I showed him the posts.

“Y/n, babe, her post was an entire day after his was posted. He doesn’t even know her in real life. She probably just copied his caption to make it look like that.” He laughed.

The weight on my chest instantly lifted.

“There is no way I got that worked up over a misunderstanding.” I laughed along with him.

“Also, what makes you think Matt doesn’t like you?” He started interrogating me.

“Girl be for real.” I ran my hands through my hair.

“I am being for real.” He stated.

“He just wouldn’t, I know.” I laughed.

The conversation soon drifted to what our Halloween plans were and what we should do for a Thanksgiving video, ending with Nick leaving my apartment when Laura came to pick him up for a meeting.

That conversation with Nick honestly made me feel relieved, even though it didn’t get rid of my crush on Matt, which I wish would’ve happened.

I had just finished dinner, turned the LED lights in my apartment to a violet color, and pressed play on a Halloween movie when I heard a knock at my door.

“Hey” Matt said breathlessly as I opened the door.

“Matt?” I was so confused.

“Can I come in?” He asked.

“Yeah, of course. It’s chilly out there.” I giggled.

We sat down on the couch before continuing the conversation.

“Y/n I’m gonna get straight to the point. I love you. It’s you. It’s always been you. It always will be. And I know you don’t feel the same but-” I didn’t even let him finished before I spoke.

“Can I kiss you?” The words fell out of my mouth and I was almost embarrassed.

“Please.” Matt responded with a deep breath.

The kiss was passionate and hungry, like we had been parted for years.

His hands made their way to my waist, guiding me closer to him, while my hands roamed his hair.

Breaking away from the kiss, I responded: “I love you too” before tilting my head and deepening it.

After a few minutes, we pulled away and leaned back on the couch.

“Please be my girlfriend.” He begged.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I responded, smiling.

“Wow these purple lights are a really good touch in your apartment.” He laughed.

“Bro I know they’re so cool.” I giggled along with him.

I think I’m gonna keep my LED lights on violet more often.

—————————————————————————————

A/N: On a real note guys I’m so tired so I’m sorry if that was ass. Anyway, thought I’d feed y’all another fic. Peace and love 😗

[defectivevillain]

fake dates [and real ones, too]

pairing: jake peralta x reader

reader’s pronouns: he/him

summary: Jake and you are assigned to intercept Michael Augustine's criminal activities. You're not sure which part of the night will be more difficult: the mission itself, or pretending to be engaged to Jake Peralta.

“Table for two, please.”

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing available,” the hostess says mechanically.  You share a worried glance with Jake. Well, that’s not good. Your mission can’t fail before it’s even begun. The two of you were assigned to follow behind Michael Augustine, a notorious identity thief. He stole a laptop that has access to over 100,000 Social Security numbers and he’s apparently planning to sell the laptop to an interested party from China. Jake and you were told to watch Augustine and intercept the handoff of the laptop. It’s not a hard mission, but the restaurant’s inability to find you a table may prove to be a big problem.

“Oh no,” you remark sadly, trying to think of a cover story. “Tonight’s a really important night for us. Johnny and I just got engaged and… this is where our first date was.” You blink at Peralta, who seems to recover from the sudden shock of it all. To your surprise, the detective puts a hand on your arm and smiles at the hostess. Right, for the mission, you remember. You have to be touching to sell it.

“Yeah, it would mean so much to… Casper… and me if we got a reservation,” Jake continues. It takes every ounce of strength you have not to react. Casper, as in Casper the friendly ghost? That’s the fake name Jake chose? You groan internally. “But I didn’t know if he was going to say yes.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. The hostess is staring at you expectantly. You know that you need to lay it on thick if you want her to believe that you’re truly an engaged couple. In a burst of spontaneity, you lean forward and kiss Jake on the cheek. His eyes go wide and he looks genuinely startled. You turn to the hostess and manifest a confidence that you don’t quite possess in the moment. “He was so nervous,” you whisper to the hostess, as if you’re telling her an inside joke. Your heart is racing in your chest but the smile on your face doesn’t falter.

Fortunately, the hostess seems to eat the act right up. “Well, I’ll see what I can do for two young lovers,” she smiles, looking down at the screen.

“Yeah, we’re lovers,” Jake remarks, clearly feeling a bit flustered and overwhelmed. You subtly elbow him in the side and he stops talking. A small part of you wonders why Peralta seems so off-kilter. Is the idea of dating you really so bad to him? You push that thought away before your mind can needlessly spiral. The hostess steps away for a moment to speak with someone. When she comes back, there’s a waitress smiling at you.

“Right this way, you two.” You both exchange surprised looks before you’re led to your table. The waitress lays down two menus and promises to be back with drinks in a few minutes.

“Well, we’re here,” you say, sitting down in the chair Jake had scrambled to pull out for you. Your voice only cracks minutely, a feat you’re rather proud of. The menus are laid out in front of you and empty glasses recline on the luxurious white tablecloth.

“Yeah,” Jake nods, evidently feeling as perplexed and lost as you do. He takes a deep breath. Jake seems to be rather practiced at assignments like these, because he looks entirely unaffected. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was enjoying his night as any other person was. “We’ll be fine. We just have to pretend to be more sophisticated than we actually are. Should be easy, right?” The grin on his face is definitely a little tight at that. You can certainly sympathize. “I think you’re missing the part about us being lovers,” you decide to point out. That will be the most difficult part of this assignment. This restaurant isn’t super fancy, so you’ll get by with basic table manners. Your so-called engagement with Johnny- Jake- will be harder to maintain. “Johnny.” You’re kind of bad at remembering to call people by their names. This will be tough.

“Right,” Jake grimaces, a strange expression flickering on his face for a fraction of a second. He smoothly adjusts his posture. “Here, hold my hand. It’s only very sweaty.” The detective reaches out and leaves his open palm on the table.

“I’m nervous, too; it’s okay,” you reassure him, reaching out to clasp his hand. Jake murmurs something under his breath about different reasons, but you can’t hear exactly what he says. Instead, you settle for squeezing his hand in a reassuring gesture. The detective actually seems to relax at that, as he sends you a grateful smile. “Do you see him?” Jake sends a glance to his right and, sure enough, the enamored couple is sitting at a booth a couple hundred feet away.

Surprisingly enough, the dinner proves to be rather boring. Jake and you order, but you’re not anticipating actually getting to eat your food. Sure enough, Augustine and his partner are already done eating by the time the waitress walks away with your orders. You hear Augustine get up and put on his coat, as his partner walks back to the car. He heads off into the direction of the kitchen. Evidently, the chef will be making the handoff. You grab Jake’s hand and drag him after you, until you’re both awkwardly hovering in the hallway. The two of you look into the kitchen, only to see him talking to the chef. You don’t see any actual handoff being made. Perhaps he just knows the cook? Jake seems to be just as confused as you are, as he keeps trying to adjust his view of the kitchen.

Unfortunately, Jake’s movements seem to catch the criminal’s eye and Augustine turns his head suddenly,  his eyes catching on Jake and you. You swear under your breath, turning to Jake. He bites his lip, quickly looking back at you. The criminal is still hovering on the edges of your vision, even when you focus on the detective. What the hell are you going to do? He’s spotted you- the mission is practically over.

While you’re entirely helpless, Jake seems to come up with an idea. You nod to let him know that you trust him and his expression morphs into a grimace for a fraction of a second. Before you can ask what the grimace is for, Jake’s kissing you. You stiffen for a moment, until you remember that it’s just for cover. You put your hands on his waist and pretend not to notice Augustine hovering near the two of you. You almost forget that you’re on a mission, that you’re hiding in plain sight from one of the most prolific criminals in the city. Unfortunately, a pointed cough breaks you out of your thoughts and you remember the man’s presence. Jake and you break apart quickly.

“Oh, we’re so sorry,” Jake apologizes smoothly, a graceful smile on his face. You conjure up an embarrassed expression, which isn’t exactly hard to do given the situation. Your grip slips from Jake’s waist, but he grabs your hand and interlaces your fingers. The rest of the conversation begins to escape your notice, as Jake prattles on about engagement, dating, and other things. Eventually, the criminal seems satisfied, because he walks away. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Jake and you wait a few minutes before following Augustine’s lead and walking outside. It appears he’s taking the package to a park. Thankfully, you don’t have any close calls and the criminal is soon gone. Jake and you position yourselves so that the package is within sight. You then turn to Jake. “I can’t believe you named me fucking Casper,” you blurt out, the moment the two of you are safely away from prying eyes. “As in… Casper the Friendly Ghost. Really?”

“Hey, Casper is a cinematic masterpiece,” Jake remarks, sending you a disbelieving glare. He looks behind him at the package- it’s still there. The detective turns back to look at you again. “Besides, it was the first thing I thought of.”

“I’m so glad that I resemble a ghost in your mind’s eye,” you snipe. Jake rolls his eyes, evidently not wanting to even dignify your remark with a comment. For a few moments, there is nothing but silence. You look around the tree you’re hiding behind. There’s no one near the package.

“Ugh, I’m starving,” Jake groans, drawing your attention back to him. “Never actually ate anything in the restaurant.” You nod in agreement. Neither of you ended up even touching your plates. It really was a dine and dash, but without the dining. You shove your hands in your pockets, feeling a little restless.

“Know what I’m getting on my way home?” You grin, excited to brag about your future meal.

“Yeah,” Jake nods quickly, before proceeding to rattle off your favorite meal. It takes you a few moments to process that he gets everything correct, down to the tiny details of your favorite drink and what restaurant you’ll go to. You blink at him a few times.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to get,” you agree, staring at him in disbelief. Jake nods and sends a glance over his shoulder, evidently checking if the handoff is taking place. You take the opportunity to dissect the expression on his face. He didn’t seem to make that comment out of jest. You suppose you underestimated how well he knows you.

“I will be having pizza,” Jake announces, an excited grin on his face.  “Two Meat Supremes from Tony’s, served display temperature.” You can’t help but grimace.

“That’s gross.” You shudder at the thought of eating lukewarm pizza that had been sitting on a display all day. You love pizza, of course, but display pizza is an entirely different beast. You look over to the package, only to find that there’s someone standing near it. Fuck. “Jake-”

“It’s not cold,” Jake tries to justify, rolling his eyes. “It’s just… significantly less warm than it should be.” As much as you’d love to spend far too much time debating with Jake over the morality of display pizza, you have other things to worry about- namely, the mission.

“No, Jake, he’s looking at us,” you hiss, brutally aware of the guy staring at you. You have to do something and you have to do it quickly. Fuck! There’s nothing you can do. Except…  “Well, I guess we’re doing this.” You take a deep breath.

“What-”

This time, you’re the one to make the first move. You grab his collar and surge forward, kissing him before you can think to hesitate. For a selfish moment, you let the assignment, the criminals, and everything simply fade from your mind. It’s just Jake and you. Surprisingly, Jake doesn’t stiffen or freeze up. Rather, he reacts immediately- his hands snake up your waist and he pulls you flush against him. Unfortunately, you don’t have the time to savor the moment, and you have to break apart so the criminal doesn’t get away.

“NYPD, you’re under arrest!” You yell, gun pointed at the man. Jake seems to recover a few seconds later, and he pops out from behind the tree to stand next to you. “Hands up in the air.” You’re expecting Jake to make a characteristically badly timed remark about the two of you being only partners, but amazingly enough, he doesn’t say anything. You decide to focus on alerting Rosa and Boyle, who are quick to finish apprehending the criminal and send him on his way. Before long, the four of you are piled back in the van.

“How’d it go?” Charles is quick to break the somewhat awkward silence that had descended upon the vehicle. He is nearly bouncing in his seat, evidently asking for some sort of explanation. You don’t know how to rationalize what just happened, admittedly.

“So normal,” you blurt out, immediately wincing at how strained your voice sounds. Jake is sitting up front next to Rosa, so you can’t see his expression. Unfortunately, you’re too discombobulated to maintain an unaffected appearance. Charles’s gaze is digging into the side of your face and you’re just about to make up another stupid excuse when Jake interjects.

“We kissed.” You inhale sharply, not expecting him to outright say it. Although, now you’re glad that you can’t see Jake’s face, because it would surely be twisted in discomfort.

“What?” Charles screeches, his energy somehow increasing even more. He looks at you giddily. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you instead look to the side and remain silent. Your heart is hammering in your chest. “Tell me everything!” Charles grabs your shoulders and starts shaking you.

“We had to do it, um, to maintain cover,” you manage to choke out, only sounding rather strangled. Your remark doesn’t seem to convince Charles, because he only exhibits more energy and excitement. You’re certain that he’d hit his head on the ceiling if you weren’t sitting in a big ass van. As is, he’s making you dizzy just looking at him.

“To maintain cover,” Jake reiterates. This remark seems to go in one of Charles’s ears and right out the other. The rest of the car ride is split between Charles asking you for explicit details and Rosa telling him off for shouting, but smirking in the rearview mirror all the same.

Finally, after what seems like an infinitely painful amount of time, you’re back at the precinct. The four of you briefly stop by your desks before walking back out to the parking lot. Boyle carts Rosa off somewhere- evidently to a birthday surprise of sorts- which leaves Jake and you. The two of you are silent as you walk down the path towards the parking lot.

“What do you say to display-temperature pizza?” Jake asks, shoving his hands in his pockets. He seems uncharacteristically restless, for some reason. You try to think about what could be making him so nervous, but nothing comes to mind.

“I say hell no,” you shake your head, unable to shake the shiver that goes down your spine. Jake’s face quickly falls and you realize that you’re likely giving him the wrong impression. You do want to go with him. You just… don’t want to eat hours-old pizza. “How about takeout?” Jake raises his eyebrows at you, evidently not expecting you to offer an alternative.

“Yeah, sure,” Jake agrees. There’s a dazed expression on his face as he looks at you. He’s squinting at you as if trying to discern if you’re joking. Evidently, Jake must realize that you’re entirely serious, because he nods.  “Cool, cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool… Cool.” He pushes his hands further in his pockets and then frowns.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“Um… I don’t have my keys, actually,” Jake remarks, after searching his jacket and pant pockets several times. You take a deep breath and motion for him to follow you to your car. After getting in your car, Jake is visibly stiff. “This is cool. Cool, cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool… cool.” You roll your eyes and pull out of the parking lot with an exasperated smile on your face.

[midnightsunnyday]

With Good Intentions (Chapter Three) ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

(Chapter One) (Chapter Two) Masterlist A03

➥pairings: MC & Everyone, MC/Everyone ➥content warnings: Not Beta Read, We Cook Our Stories Like Solomon, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Some Humor, Explicit Language, Not Canon Compliant, Though Sometimes It Is, Fighting, Family Drama, Family Bonding, Emotional Manipulation, Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Lesson 016 Spoilers, Post Lesson 016, Other Additional Tags To Be Added. ➥summary: after the events of chapter 16, MC learns three important lessons: one, that Diavolo is an asshole. Two, as it turns out, being immortal doesn't make you smarter, wiser, or mature, it just gives you a thousand more chances to be a fuck up and not learn and damn thing from it. And three, that there are no therapists in hell. Though they could really all use one. Or in which MC suffers an existential breakdown and Diavolo and the brothers learn that maybe throwing a party wasn't the best response to someone dying. ➥A/N: hello everyone, it's good to see you again. I hope everyone is doing well and whether you're a return reader or just getting started, thank you for your interest in my story. Work has been kicking my ass, but still we persevere! Anyway, until next time, take care and enjoy this very long chapter.

He could tell his brothers grew tired of it. That whenever the topic of their sister was brought up, Belphegor always felt an underlining exasperation, as if they’d all been over the subject for some time and were only waiting for him to do the same, as if she were nothing more than a ghost who’d overstayed her welcome in the rebuilding of their lives.

Or maybe they were just tired of him. Tired of his whining about her. Tired of his disgust for Diavolo’s ideals. Tired of his hatred of all things human. He barely smiled, barely ate, and slept for most of the day. He wasn’t the “sweet, innocent Belphie” they knew and loved. The one who found wonder in everything around him and whose laugh, though rare now, lit entire rooms. No, something within Belphegor was broken and they’d have to accept that it would never be whole again. Not without Lilith.

But who said death was pleasant? That it was something one should simply get over? Loss never leaves one gentle. It doesn’t decide to remove itself after a month, a year, or centuries after. It stays with you, becoming part of you. Some days it gives you the illusion of respite and on those days you go through life barely noticing the quiet, emptiness of it all.

Yet on other days, it breaks you, leaves you shaking and crying, wishing for your thoughts to cease so you can finally be “normal” again. Grief, also like loss, never comes when the moment is decent, does not give you warning. Grief strikes when it chooses to, replaying the moment of your loss ad nauseam, until the whole of you becomes nothing but a shell of memories, wading away to the tides of time.

Most days Belphegor remembered Lilith. Sometimes it seemed he was the only one who did. He remembered her in lunchrooms when the desserts were particularly sweet. He remembered her in corridors, the kind they’d both raced down as fast as they could. He remembered her in dreams, luring him into the forests they used to play in, with trees as high as the sky and where the wind swept through and made waves of shimmering sunshine. In the distance would be Lilith, the years waning upon her memory, yet she waved as she always did, an insult to every petal, every ray of sun. He would run to her, feel the tears wetting his cheeks, his tongue tripping over her name over and over again: Lilith. Lilith. I’m here. Please.

He remembered blood. Too much of it. The kind that no matter how much you scrubbed yourself raw, the stench would remain clung to you like death. The fall was not a pleasant one; they did not streak across the skies like beautiful jewels, they were burning, dying. The landing nearly killed them, sent the earth running each and which way in disgust of them.

How through it all even the Father, no matter how hard they prayed, was always silent. Maybe he too, saw what was to become of them, and closed his heart and ears to it. It was easier, at least for Belphegor, to believe that he’d simply abandoned them, rather than knowingly allow the pain that would scar them for centuries to come.

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

The Celestial Realm had no seasons, but on days when the light was mild and winds smooth for flight, Belphegor and Lilith would sneak amongst the forests, finding shelter under the tall, dense trees. For Raphael, who’d come to search for them in time, the siblings were abandoning their duties, but for Belphegor and Lilith, it was simply a break, albeit a long one.

“Oh, Belphie, he’s simply divine."

Divine. An odd choice of words for a mortal, yet Lilith thought otherwise, not that Belphegor knew enough to object. After all, he’d just learned of the man’s existence a few moons ago, and what he knew was only through her words of him. He wasn’t rich by any means. His family tended animals and sold what they could in the town market. There was a time when the family lived well, but some of the animals were stricken with disease or killed by wolves, and they suffered greatly for it. Even so, this man had “a spirit worth more than all the wealth in the world,” she exclaimed. That despite his awful predicament, he made a way for his family, taking on various forms of labor to keep them fed.

"He's very skilled with his hands." Lilith winked, to which Belphegor pretended to gag. Relations between humans and angels were not unheard of, but ones with the image of his sister he'd rather scrub from memory.

In any case, this man could "literally do anything" and Belphegor sat in awe of this. If all this were true, then Lilith found someone beyond any human he could think of.

Belphegor watched as she twirled about, nearly skipping in her joy, her long hair unfretted and chasing the wind. She was led by a tune only she could hear, her dress gathering at the thick of her sun-kissed legs.

“He’s so polite, a true gentleman,” said Lilith. “He picks me flowers, opens doors, and by Father is he handsome.” She sighed lovingly and clasped her hands against her flushing cheeks. “He could give Lucifer a run for his money, you know?

Belphegor snorted. "A man as beautiful as Lucifer is surely a sight to behold."

"It's true, you know," she said, ignoring his skepticism. "That and he’s strong. Can tend a whole field before sundown without breaking a sweat. Why, I saw him raise two goats on each shoulder and…”

Belphegor rolled his eyes. Though he had no reason to doubt her, his sister found ways to bolster the human past the point of believability, at times. Extravagant. Amazing. Beguiling. Was it even possible that so many adjectives could describe one person? Yet Lilith went on, singing the praises of this fabled man she’d found such importance in.

“He’s just so…so…you understand, don’t you Belphie? How interesting and unique they can be?”

He did. Belphegor loved humans. He found them special, more than most creatures. It was their mundane everyday ways. It was the way they sought purpose from them. It was how they loved and celebrated and burned away life until none was left. Compared to angels, who were created and bound to fates unchanging, mortals were born with the blessing of choice, and it fascinated Belphegor what they did with it. So he watched and soon enough, went to gather in their joy. However, it wasn’t long until his curiosity prompted Lilith’s own, and the young angel began to visit the human realm of her own volition.

While Belphegor didn't fully understand his sister’s ways, he couldn’t help but be drawn into her joy. She’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow, trapped in an endless spring. It’d been beautiful to witness, and while such things didn’t strike him as important before, Belphegor couldn’t help but think of his love, whenever or wherever that might be.

“Belphie, are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm?” He said, led from his thoughts. “What was that?”

“I said Lucifer plans to meet him.”

Belphegor shrugged. “Well, so much for that.”

“I’m serious, Belphie!” She stamped her foot, pouting. “You know how big brother is.”

“Maybe he’ll like him,” Belphegor assured, swallowing his lie. Lucifer wasn’t the best at being impartial, especially when it came to Lilith. She was the youngest, barely new to the world, and he’d sooner have her wrapped up and tucked away than allow any harm to come to her. This man she’d found, without his or any of her sibling's knowledge, was an anomaly, a blind spot in Lucifer’s ever-watchful eye.

“Honestly, he’s always so worried. I told him there was no need, but he insisted.” Lilith’s face fell, eyes widening to some unfounded fate. “What if he doesn’t like him? What if he forbids me from seeing him? Tries to lock me away, key and all? Then what am I to do? I’d have to change my name, hide amongst the humans. We’d be outlaws. Fugitives!"

“Lilly!” Belphegor laughed. She always had a flare for the dramatics. “It’s ok. Lucifer is strict, but I’m sure he’ll come to see him as you do.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I’m sure of it…probably.”

“Oh, you!” she swatted at the air between them. “But you know, maybe you’re right. After all, Lucifer would never do anything to upset me, considering I’m his favorite and all,” she said in a snobbish tone. Lucifer spoiled her. They all spoiled her, really, and it seemed to be rubbing off.

But there was one question Belphegor failed to ask. The most important of them all. “Does he have a name?”

Lilith smiled. “Of course he does, silly. H̵̸̷̶̸̨̡̘̯͇̾̀͋̓̍i̶̴̷̶̷̥̠̬̖͖̋͐̄̎͆s̵̶̷̵̵̢͈̟͕̝̊̌̅̾͒ ̷̵̶̸̵̱͕̦͕͕͑̓̀̍͠n̴̸̸̴̶͈͍͍̯̳̎͛͂̄̏à̵̷̷̷̴͚̟͈̲̃̑̍̾͜m̷̵̵̶̷͉̗̜̗̻̓̀̽̀͝e̴̶̸̷̵͔̻̜̳̣̽̃̋͑͠ ̴̷̵̶̸̧̰̲͙̺̀̃̐͗͑i̶̷̴̷̴͎̪̳̫̬̔́͐̈́͝ş̵̴̴̶̵̠͕̰͕͗̅̅͋̕…̴̷̸̶̵̯͚̲̯̺͐͌̑̔͠

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

“Lucifer! Please, tell them. Tell them they can’t do this!”

Belphegor turned to his brother, who looked as if the world was ending and there was no way to prevent it.

The Father spoke through Michael: Lilith had committed the unpardonable sin, one in which there was no forgiveness. She would be wiped from the face of existence, never to be a part of the cycle of creation again. All this for stealing a fruit, though it was said a simple apple led to Eve’s downfall; what difference would there be for his sister?

Belphegor dug his nails into his palms, neck burning with heat. The Father had refused them council, choosing to lay His judgment through the only other angel he abused more than Lucifer. Did He truly not care for them? Was fighting His battles and upholding His will all they were good for?

“The Father’s word is final,” Michael’s voice was calm, yet short. “Lucifer knows this as well as I do.”

“So you expect us to stand aside and allow our sister to face a fate so cruel?”

“Belphie, please,” Lilith cried, shaking. “It does not matter my end—“

“—But it does matter. You matter.” Belphegor pointed at her with angered assertion. “Not some mortal who was fated to die sooner than you are to blink.”

“Our brother is right, Lilith.” Leviathan shook his head as if trying to unravel what was happening. “Your actions…they make no sense.”

“No,” Lilith spoke, “what makes no sense is a Father who would sit and watch while death and sickness run rampant throughout his creation while having the power to prevent it.”

“How dare she’s” and “heresies” spiraled into the air, forming a tornado of indignation that grew louder and more violent with the need for retribution. Belphegor sneered at the angels who formed a ring of judgment around his sister. It was hard to believe that at one time any of them could be called his brothers and sisters.

“Enough.” It was Raphael, who, unlike Michael, held little reservations in his approach to an otherwise dire situation. “You stand amongst the divine court. Your blasphemy will not be tolerated.”

“Ah, can it,” yelled out Mammon. Someone gasped from the crowd. “You threaten the life of our sister. You better believe we’re gonna cause more than just a ruckus.”

Belphegor looked to Lilith, his eyes imploring her, though there was no answer she could give that would make any sense to him. “Even if he didn’t die today,” he said, “he would’ve died regardless. What then? Why risk your eternity for something so finite?”

Lilith parted her lips as if to form some half-uttered verb. Then she began again, though her mouth did not quiver. She stilled her face, hardened her lips, and spoke her words simply, “For the life of the one I love, I would do anything.”

Belphegor winced, his sister’s words a slap in the face. He would be angry if only there wasn’t so much to go around. What about their love? As if theirs hadn’t outlived kingdoms for her. What love could a being of such little potential possibly give?

It was Beelzebub’s turn to speak, pain shaking his voice. “But…what about us? How could you be so willing to leave us here to grieve you?”

Lilith was quiet, her face turned to some far, distant place. Belphegor wanted to shake her, to wake her from this eternal dream of love that did nothing but harm her.

“There has to be something we can do,” Asmodeus spoke, looking desperately at Michael. “It can’t end like this.”

“And just what do you plan to do to avoid her judgment?” Raphael’s eyebrow rose with his question. “Are any of you willing to take her place?”

They all looked at each other. Not in fear of Raphael’s words, but because neither of them could see themselves as the Father’s children, the remains of their allegiance shattered and pooled in the pit of their stomachs. In the end, what they gained for their loyalty was death, but they would not go without a fight. Finally, Lucifer stepped forward. It was clear to Belphegor that something inside his brother shattered, too. Not broken, but free.

“If the father’s word is law,” he said, “then maybe such laws should be challenged.”

“Be mindful of your next words, brother.” Michael stood with all the caution of a vigilant lion. “Think of the lives of your siblings. Of what you’re sacrificing.”

Lucifer stood, clearly battling himself. Belphegor only wished to know what his brother and Michael were thinking then. Both were close, so much so that they could be mistaken for twins. Maybe they both wanted to see something in the other that was no longer there. By then, Belphegor and his brothers gathered beside the morning star, unwavering. It was clear where their loyalties lay and always would.

As if in understanding, Michael sighed, and drew his blade as if the entire issue were a mere inconvenience. “Don’t make us do this, Lucifer.” Raphael, however, had already summoned his spears.

“You all still have the chance to repent in front of the Father. This will not go without punishment, however.”

“And Lilith?” Asmodeus said, his voice almost hopeful.

“She will leave this plane in peace.”

The once favored son of morning yanked his blade from his sheath and with it t̸̵̵̵̵͙̼̫̗̥̉́̇̈́̈́h̸̶̸̴̴͚͖̥̗̖̊̾̄̒̕e̶̶̸̸̸̻͈͍̗̱͒̆͊̋̒ ̸̵̶̵̵̜̥̭͎̝̑̓̓̀̾h̷̸̶̴̸͓̠͙̹̤͌̄̈́̂̚ḙ̷̸̷̷̸̢̯͖̄̂͂̾̾͜ȧ̴̶̷̴̷̩̯͓̤͋̄͊̍͜v̶̷̸̶̷̧͙̺͇͔̓̇̽̆̔e̴̴̸̴̶̢̖͍̰̫͊̍̔̉̉ņ̶̶̷̴̵̻̣̹͗͊̉͆̎ͅs̴̵̴̵̴̝̻͚̟̖̆́̇̇͠ ̶̸̵̸̶̨̩̞̗̖͒̊̀́̓c̸̴̶̶̶̬̼͎̱͔̈́̏̑͂̑r̶̷̷̴̵̯͚̫͕̳̓̽͂͐͝ĩ̶̶̸̶̷̺̙̠̰͖̏́͆͘e̸̴̸̵̷̹̰͉̫̠̓͌̆̃͂d̸̴̶̶̵̨̻͉̮͕́̈́̈̽̈́.̷̷̵̸̴͓̱̲̘͖̑̓͒̾̕ ̴̸̸̷̴̙̬͉̱͗̉͂̀͂ͅ

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Not once had Belphegor known the smell of blood until that day. It ranked of rusted metal, and it took all within him not to vomit in the middle of battle. An angel he once played with amongst the lilacs of the Celestial Garden fell limp, a sword thrust through his chest. Mammon had done so without hesitation and proceeded to chop the head of another, his strokes quick like thunder strikes.

A scream, this time from his right. It was Beel caked in a thick carnage of blood and feathers. He’d torn through their attempt at a flank, their weapons barely grazing him as he ripped wings from flesh, bodies spiraling towards the earth.

“Look out!” Asmodeus yelled, his shield snapping against metal. Belphegor leaped to the side, a beam of light zipping downward where his body would’ve been, leaving a hole of ozone in its wake. Belphegor raised his bow in return, his arm unsteady. Shakily, he aimed, barely managing to wound the angel who’d gunned for his head.

The realm was drowned in chaos. A frenzy of limbs and wings dancing to the tune of annihilation. He’d only seen Lucifer once, his body burning white as he bathed the battlefield with righteous fury, sending angel after angel toward their doom. Belphegor had only heard stories of Leviathan’s skills in battle; it was another thing to see him flay a throne alive.

“Lilith,” he heard Mammon cry.

“I’m ok,” she called back. A twang of metal after. “Just focus on yourself.”

So many voices, Belphegor thought. It was hard to keep his bearings. He was nowhere near a child of war. He’d never honed a weapon or raised it against another. His purpose was that of a virtue, to spread the word that with faith and hard work, one would gain ever closer to what was promised. But his life had been so easily tossed aside, his diligence made nothing. And now that one was threatened and the other gone, what then would become of him? Of his brothers? For a moment, he stilled, unable to focus on the battle at hand. It was as if all the air had left him, his breaths jagged and choking.

“Belphie!” Beelzebub’s voice rumbled. Belphegor squinted his eyes toward the sky. It was hard to make them out at first, little glints of sunshine that they were, yet as they drew closer, Belphegor saw the sharpened hatred of a thousand arrows bearing down towards him. He turned.

“Lilith,” Belphegor wailed. She’d been near him, maybe trying to call out to him, for that he’d never know. By then the first arrow struck her wing, then another, piercing through her flesh as her body flailed unnaturally. Beelzebub leaped towards him, tucking him deep into his grasp as they fell downward.

From above them rang a cry so loud that it shattered the noise. Lucifer broke through the sky like a roaring flame, barreling downward towards his sister. It was then Mammon who fell after him, then Leviathan, then finally, Asmodeus. Belphegor’s ears filled with a humming static, the world becoming focused and pin-like. He willed his head to gaze at Lilith. She hurdled downward, specks of ash trailing the air as her wings caught flame. With arm outstretched, he reached for her, ţ̴̶̸̷̶̨̛̠̖̤̈́̔̋̌ḫ̸̷̶̴̵̬͉̞̗͑͋̈́̅͝e̵̶̵̷̷̼̮̝̿̀͑̓͗͜͜ ̶̶̶̶̴͓̘͓͎̼̾̋͒̏͝w̸̸̴̷̵̨͈̼̯̞̉̆͆̒̌ơ̶̵̸̷̶͖̠̬͈̻̈́̓̎̽r̴̸̸̴̵͕̘͚̬̩̾̍̑͒̕l̷̵̷̶̸͕̱̜̯̙̑̈̂̎͠d̵̴̶̶̷̡̰̼͇̊̑́̒̾͜ ̵̸̶̷̸̳͙̭̱̂̍͋̓͘͜f̵̶̶̸̷̙̪̘̟̙̊̽͂̾̕ǎ̵̴̸̴̶̪̰̣̳̫̌̓͛̚d̸̶̸̴̴̻̪̘͇̻̒̅͆̀͛ḯ̷̶̴̴̵͙͇̞̲̜̽̈́͆̔n̶̶̴̵̶͇̲̭̰̻̍̾̑͂͘ǧ̷̶̷̶̶̡̺̪̻̦̃̃͌͝ ̶̵̶̶̴͇̗̠͉̣̍̀̆̂̐

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

“What?”

"̸͓͛W̴̻̒ẖ̵͝a̴̖̓t̴͔͝?̸̢̓"̵̢̒ 

“Come again?”

“I said have you calmed down yet?”

Calmed down. As if he were a child who’d thrown a tantrum and was placed in time-out.

“What do you mean?” Belphegor gazed at Lucifer through hair-draped eyes, annoyed at being interrupted by what would’ve been a critical moment of his performance. He’d begun talking to himself. Wasn’t sure when it started, yet if only to break the monotony of his current tenure. In his mind, Belphegor was the sole performer on a brightly lit stage. In front of him, his audience, cheering for his one-night, one-man show.

Ladies and Gentlemen, he’d say, on behalf of the entire circus troupe, I welcome you to one of the most astounding shows you will ever see! I promise you, it will be something truly special, like a wonderful, fleeting vision—“

“--Belphie?” Lucifer called to him.

Oh, right. This asshole. “What?”

“What is it with you in needing things repeated?” Lucifer said. “I told you to use your time in here to calm down and rethink what you said earlier.”

Belphegor spat, rolling his eyes to some corner of the room. If one were to ask his brother, locking Belphegor away was done for his protection. That it was love, not pride or sick devotion, which forced his hand that day. If not by Lucifer, then Diavolo, and if the rumors regarding the castle’s torture dungeon were true, therein lied the many ways of subjecting the seventh born to a fate worse than boredom. If anything, he should be grateful that the only current threat to his health was the admitted lack of ventilation and an idle mind.

Yet if one were to ask Belphegor, he would’ve gladly accepted torture just to spite him, the unyielding screams of the forsaken a welcomed company compared to the horrid solitude of being trapped in a fucking attic.

“In that case, I’m going to be stuck in here forever,” Belphegor said. “Because there’s no way I’m ever going to take back what I said. No way am I ever going to change my mind.”

He was adamant then, on his hatred of humans. The day he learned of Lilith’s death, from Diavolo of all people, was the day any ounce of empathy he had died with him. Once again, the prince would prove to be a never-ending red stain on his sister’s life. Even after death, he found ways to dishonor her memory, if not through the subjugation of his brothers, then through the announcement of his shitty exchange program, one that Belphegor vehemently denounced. Yet Lucifer, being the boot licker he was, had other plans. It was hard to tell how many days passed since then, let alone how long Lucifer planned to keep him here.

Lucifer sighed and gazed over at the canopied bed. Belphegor had found a few Christmas ornaments packed amongst the attic’s boxes--a nutcracker, a gingerbread man, and a tiny reindeer--to act as his makeshift audience. In noticing Lucifer’s quizzical look, Belphegor hissed, literally hissed, at him in embarrassment.

“Oh, calm yourself,” Lucifer said, stifling his amusement with a cough, remembering that the moment was supposed to be serious. Hell forbid it was anything less. “Regardless, we’ve gone ahead and chosen the second student from the human world.”

“Really…Well, that’s awful news,” Belphegor said, stomping over to his bed and smothering his audience with gathered sheets, his skin heated.

“This time it’s not a powerful, elite sorcerer like Solomon, but a regular, average human.” “And why are you telling me this? I’m not interested in hearing about any hu…”

Belphegor’s smile was wide. “Actually, wait. Maybe that’s not true. Bring that human to me right away, Lucifer. I’ll tear them to shreds so tiny that there won’t be anything left of the body or soul when I’m done.”

Maybe being tucked away inside that large castle of his made the prince a bit dull-minded. Solomon was deemed one of the most powerful magic users in the world, one who—without even raising a hand—could turn even the strongest demon to ash.

But a regular human with no power and no way to defend themselves? It was as if the universe simply hated this human, one that would surely shit themselves after being summoned out of thin air to a realm, as far as they knew, should not exist and amongst beings that only lived amongst the pages of their various religions and stories. It was a tragedy waiting to happen and one Belphegor, with quivering hands, planned to bring forward.

“If this precious student from the human world were to meet an end like that,” Belphegor went on, “it would bring this little exchange program to a screeching halt, wouldn’t it? And what’s more, there’s no telling what it might do to Diavolo’s reputation.”

Lucifer observed him with a sort of veiled heatedness. It was clear his tantrum held little weight, but would end it if needed.

“Oh, I know. If you refuse to bring that human to me, then I’ll call them here myself,” Belphegor clasped his hands together, pleased with his plan. “I may not be able to get out of here, but I can certainly lure a single human half-wit to me without much trouble.”

“Impossible,” Lucifer spoke in a matter-of-fact tone.

“And why’s that?” Belphegor raised his brow, his unease growing.

“The door to this room can only be seen by demons. It’s invisible to humans. Also, I put a curse on the stairs leading up here so that no demon other than me can climb them. No one will ever find you, and no one will ever know you’re here, be they human, or demon, or any other creature.”

Of course. Leave it to Mr. Kill Joy to take the fun out of homicide.

Belphegor’s face slumped, sucking his teeth. “You’ve taken quite the precautions, haven’t you? I’m touched that you’d go to such lengths for me, your good for nothing brother.” Lucifer was taller, about a few inches so, but Belphegor met his gaze all the same. “What exactly are you so afraid of Lucifer?”

“I’m afraid of losing my brother,” Lucifer said, quickly and without a hint of dishonesty.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Belphegor said. He wouldn’t allow it. To feel sympathy for the devil. Not after losing what mattered most, and what may’ve been his only chance to correct it. He needed to be the one hurting in this situation and needed Lucifer to be as one-dimensional as possible. “What scares you is the thought of disappointing Diavolo, isn’t it?”

Lucifer was…silent. For what, Belphegor wasn’t sure. Was the answer truly that complicated? Maybe there wasn’t anything more to his brother. Maybe he had become nothing more than a loyal lap dog.

Belphegor pounded his foot against the attic’s ancient floorboards, them rattling as if to collapse. “Say something Lucifer,” he yelled. “The old Lucifer wasn’t like this. He wasn’t afraid of what someone else thought of him. He wasn’t pathetic like that.”

“You’re free to think whatever you want, Belphegor. Also…” Lucifer turned towards the attic door, his voice low and solemn, “I’d say you changed as well.”

“Lucifer!” Yet Lucifer would never turn. Never question any part of himself that held weakness.

As the bars to the attic room clanked shut, Belphegor heard his brother’s footsteps trek down the towering staircase and into the house. Once again, he was left alone, spiraling into the silence of the attic.

He wouldn’t mind being tortured at all. Not at the glint of the blade as it sliced his flesh. Not at the blood that pooled from his wounds. Not even as his limbs were torn from his body or flayed alive. The rush of pain and paranoia would keep him, startlingly, sound. At least then he could see what harmed him. Give it a name, his fury. Tell himself that logically, it was ok to cry, scream, and lash about as he was now, smashing mirrors and ripping pillows to shreds.

But in this attic, this fucking horrible attic, there was no one to blame, and it left Belphegor with only his thoughts, screaming over and over: It’s your fault. It’s always been

your fault

YOUR FAULT

It’s always been

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Not my fault. It’s not my fault!

It was a lie, of course. Your death was in motion the moment you appeared in front of him, doe-eyed and disturbingly lax for someone in your position. For all Lucifer’s scheming, he’d forgotten one fine detail: that idleness didn’t weaken sloth, but enabled it.

But it is, Belphie. It's what you did.

He didn't think you were dumb enough to believe his story. A human "just like you" who'd been captured and trapped by Lucifer, yet you proved otherwise. Even when his true identity was revealed, you continued to help him as if the threat hadn't shown itself. Things were moving about too easily; the universe truly did hate you.

No that's not...I did it for you. For us.

Admittedly, he'd wrestled in the corners of his mind about it. Argued until there was nothing left to argue. A part of him had grown to like you, strange, dull-headed thing that you were, but if he weren't to kill you, what then? Would he live his life, seeing you coddle up to his brothers? Eat from their plates and take part in their celebrations? Would you somehow charm Diavolo and have the rest of your ilk invade here? Hell forbid the fools began to fall in love with you, then he’d have to bear witness to some half-assed love story, and that he couldn't live with. So he stilled it down. Beat back the part of him that doubted his conviction. This was for Lilith, always for Lilith, and nothing more.

Oh Belphie, you knew I never wanted this. This was always about you. This was your revenge.

How he killed you was deliberate, too. Strangulation was one of the more intimate forms of death one could give. To do so was to be conscious of your victim’s suffering and to take pleasure in it, having the power of life and death weighted within one’s grip. Humans were fragile. Anything more than disembowelment would be too quick and he needed you to feel it. To know how little your life meant as he wrung every inch of it from you.

Please, I'm sorry. I didn’t know. Didn’t know what they were to you.

He admits enjoying it, laughing as the confusion mangled your face. It didn’t take much to knock you on your back, even less to pin you down. You were so weak. How you managed to survive this long was merely incompetence on his brother’s part. They were fools, too cowardly to do what needed to be done. But not him. He’d end your life and soon any hope of continuing this miserable sham of a program.

It’s not about what they were to me, Belphie. You took a life. And you can never take that back.

You withered and flailed beneath him, trying to lift yourself to no avail. A numbing high swept over Belphegor as he took it all in. The beating of your heart, the sound of wheezing lungs, the sweat that drenched your brow, the bright red of your blood. All the colors and sounds bled into a final point until he was overcome with it, twisting, clenching, enamored in the hues of your dying face. Your eyes bulged and the quakes of your death throes rumbled the floorboards. You clung to him, nails scraping the skin of his wrists. When that didn’t work, you clawed for his eyes. The desperation. The fury. He could laugh, so he does, slamming your head into the floor when you attempt to swipe at his face. Your head bounces forward, then goes limp, throat giving way to a sick crunch. He squeezes tighter, breaking through bone, through artery.

Finally, you stilled and so does he.

He assumed your death would be less monotonous, the fires of euphoria dwindling into barely an ember. A cold realization sweeps over him, sending his body to chill and his empathy to reanimate. No, he won't allow weakness. Not a moment for remorse or sorrow. He shakes them from his mind, putting it up to shock and nothing more.

He gazed at his hands, flexing them, feeling like an outsider in his own body. He sits in silence. The attic does not answer with its usual hum of wood. The house does not creak. Instead, it engulfs him in a sea of quiet, and for a moment he wades in it. Hearing his heart, his breathing, the tiny hiss of air that escapes you. For some reason, he cannot will himself to look at you longer. Your face is uncannily calm, though your neck is twisted into unrecognition, the flesh bruised and mangled.

Now, there was nothing left, but still so much to be done. He wrings you by the collar of your shirt, and it seems an eternity before he reaches the attic door. The attic steps feel smaller and out of focus, the house halls a labyrinth. He’d almost forgotten where the main entrance lay until he heard his brothers, their voices joined in a chorus of "where are they?" and "They should be" and "could be." It's the only time he smiles. Not for his brothers, though it was Beel he missed most, but because he finally, finally would have his audience.

Slowly, as he reaches the landing of the stairway, a thought inches forward. Yet this one he couldn’t shake away. Over and over it repeats itself, almost pleading:

Oh, Belphie.

Belphie.

J̸̸̷̷̴͔̪̗̱̊͑͋̈̚͜ J̸̗͑u̸̼̎s̴̬̔t̴̗͌ ̵̅͜w̵̪͘h̸̥̀a̶̮̓t̵͕̅ ̷̱͊h̸̼͝a̴̛̪v̶͕͆e̷̫̍ ̵̩̈́y̶̲͝o̶̫̕u̷̞̍ ̷͉͌d̵̦̐ọ̸́n̸̪̽e̷̫̓?̸̡́

≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫

Belphegor lurched forward, sweat chilling him to the bone. His dreams were becoming too vivid for his liking. In the corner of his eye sat a large figure, blanketed in the cover of darkness. He blinked. Was he still dreaming?

“What...I...Beel?” He spoke, gasping for breath. How long had he been sitting there?

“It's ok,” Beelzebub said. He sat on the edge of Belphegor’s bed, stroking his shoulder as if to still the chills away. “You had a bad dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream,” Belphegor choked, words rushing from his mouth,” I did it I did all of it I killed Lilith and then I killed them and I…I…“

“Just breathe, Belphie.” But there was nothing Beelzebub could say or do, only wait until the torturous spell was over.

Belphegor placed his hand to his chest, heart beating as if it were going to burst from him and go running off into the world.

In and out. In and out. It didn't help his breathing much, but it made him focus on something other than the panic. Everything felt so heavy like the sky had fallen upon his shoulders.

"It's all...my fault," Belphegor heaved, “my fault.”

In a way, he should be grateful. Lilith lived a long, happy life and that’s all he could ask for. Still, it all felt like a dream and in that moment, he’d forgotten where he was. That the Devildom, despite its idiosyncrasies, was a punishment. That they were damned and whatever fate held for them was often cruel and rarely giving. He knew they were uncomfortable at the party, could feel their quickened breaths rising in an off-tune chorus of sheltered panic. He should’ve helped them, walked them through their spell. Instead, he froze, feeling the judgment heavy in the room, the waves of anger and disappointment hitting him in a heated haze. He watched you run away and with it, his redemption.

“That’s not true, Belphie. Don't blame yourself. If anything...” Beelzebub paused, and Belphegor listened between breaths for the words that never came.

He was about to blame himself again, he thought, yet he could not will himself to assure him otherwise, his breaths still too quick and sharp. Instead, Belphegor buried himself into his twin. If he could not use words, he’d use his actions. Surely Beel, who wrapped his brother in a tight hug, would understand him. Beelzebub, after all, was but a wall to Belphegor’s emotions. Allowing his tears and agony to fall upon him, but never breaking himself. Instead, Beelzebub sat in silence, and together, they rocked each other through the darkness, waiting on the morning hours to break the curse that was Belphegor’s anguish.

Surely, you’d forgive him, he thought. That night at the party meant nothing. That disgusted look you gave him meant nothing.  

[vampcrystal]

Don’t look at him, look at me.

Anthony Lockwood x reader

Summary: Kipps asks the reader on a date. Anthony sees and him and the reader get into an argument, leading to a confession.

Requested: Yes

TW: Some swearing

Reader uses she/her pronouns

btw this probably won’t be entirely accurate to how things played out because I’ve forgot and I can’t be bothered to go and check lol. I also don’t know how many words this is, but it’s a bit long.

Enjoy :)

-

The invitation to the Fittes party seemed awfully suspicious. You, Lucy and George all agreed on that. Lockwood, however, thought that getting noticed by England’s biggest agency was like a gift sent from God. He didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, but none of you were surprised. It was Lockwood, after all.

The same boy you’ve been in love with since you arrived at his front door 6 months ago.

You needed a job, and after getting rejected by Fittes multiple times you decided to just give up, but then you saw the advertisement in the newspaper. It was for a small, ramshackle agency called ‘Lockwood and co’, and it seemed real enough. The pay looked good, so you decided to apply. That was how you met Lockwood and George. You all hit it off rather quickly, George taking longer to warm up to than Lockwood, but you weren’t surprised after learning he had grown up having 3 older brothers and the only female figure in his life was his mum. You passed the interview with flying colours, having an above average ability of sight, with also an above average listening talent. You and Lockwood got on like a house on fire. He was secretive though, never fully opening up to you, and even now you still don’t know everything about him.

He was, and still is, a closed book to you.

Then Lucy came along. You and her got along pretty quickly, both being girls and all. She became the sister you always wanted but never had. Lockwood and co was your family, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Then your feelings for Lockwood started becoming a problem. They turned from a little crush to a full on infatuation with the boy. You always got jealous when he was smiling while talking to Lucy, or when he and Lucy were joking around. You were sure he didn’t like you back. He flirted with you a lot, always complementing you on your outfit, or how smart you were while researching for a case. You learnt to love a lot about yourself all because he said he liked that part of you at one point. But then, he started flirting with all the girls he saw, even Lucy. It confused you.

Even George was confused, and that was saying something. He saw the lingering looks he gave you when you weren’t looking, or how when you were laughing with another boy that wasn’t him he was giving you an unreadable expression.

Man, love is confusing.

Flash forward to present day.

“How did we, of all people, get invited to a Fittes party?” George questioned to no one in particular, sitting at the dining table facing you and Lucy, who were leaning against the kitchen counters. Lockwood was pacing around the room, obviously unable to contain his excitement. You and Lucy shrugged simultaneously, eyes falling to the tall brunette as he spoke.

“Who cares how, Penelope Fittes knows who we are”. He stopped his pacing to turn towards you three.

“Well…are we going or not?” You spoke, looking at Lucy and George who both gave you mixed looks of unsure and confused.

“What kind of question is that? We have to!” Lockwood spoke, turning to face you. “This could be a brilliant opportunity to finally get noticed, maybe pick up a case or two”.

“We could use the money I guess, so finding some cases could help” Lucy spoke, siding with Lockwood.

Lockwood shot her a look of agreement, which you noticed. You quickly looked away, awkwardly coughing, which caused George to give you a comforting look.

He figured out you had feelings for the other boy almost exactly after you did. He was quick to catch onto things like that. Lockwood however. He was the only one who the brainy boy couldn’t decipher. He was like a code he couldn’t crack, and it frustrated him, like he had all the numbers except for the last one. He was annoying. All his continuous flirting made George second guess a lot, and George second guessing something used to be a rare occurrence. But it wasn’t his place to say something, and besides, he wanted to see how it would all play out without him intervening.

Wanting to get out of the now tense atmosphere, you made an excuse to leave, stating you had a book you wanted to finish before you got ready for the party later tonight. George and Lucy smiled at you, while Lockwood had barely even noticed you had gone, only shooting a quick ‘ok’ before you left the room.

Now that that was out the way, you had a bigger problem: deciding what you were going to wear.

-

“Are you sure this is the one? Do I look ok?” You asked Lucy, turning round to show her the 5th dress you had tried on. Her eyes looked up from the necklace she was trying to sort out around her neck, the one you had noticed Lockwood had given her earlier, but you weren’t going to reminisce on that, and her mouth broke out into a big grin.

She turned around, hair swishing around her shoulders now that she had slightly curled it. Her blue satin dress suited her perfectly, and her makeup looked like it was done professionally. No wonder Lockwood liked her so much, you wondered.

“That’s the one. You look gorgeous!” She said as she rushed up to you and grabbed your shoulders, shoving you in-front of the tall mirror in the corner of the attic bedroom you shared.

The red satin flowed neatly down your body, accentuating all your curves. The loose sleeves hung carefully off your arms. It stopped at your shins, making the black heels you wore visible. It sounded vain in your head, but you really did look stunning.

The other girl left the mirror for a moment, returning with something in her hand. She held it out for you, grinning. It was a beautiful silver necklace with a tiny red pendant.

“Wear this” Lucy spoke. “It’ll really suit you”

“Luce..”

“Nope, no buts” She said, turning you around to put it on for you. You recognised it as the one Kipps had gotten her a while back. He had asked her out, given her a little token in the form of the necklace, and they went on one date before realising that it wasn’t going to work out. She hadn’t worn it since.

“Now” Lucy spoke, pulling you from your thoughts. “Time for makeup”

-

20 minutes later and you were ready to go. You and Lucy both looked like you had stepped out of the front cover of some fashion magazine.

“What do you think?” You asked the girl, posing with her in the shared mirror. “Do we look important enough to look like we belong at one of Penelope Fitte’s balls?” You joked.

Lucy chuckled. “Oh, absolutely” she chimed in. “Remember, the main reason that we’re going is to find that book”.

Right. The book by Mary Dulac that was important in the Bickerstaff case that was only available at the Fittes’ Black Library. Lucy had clued you in earlier on what the plan was to obtain it, as well as letting you know George wasn’t coming because he had research to do, or something.

“Yea yea, I know. Doesn’t mean we can’t look hot doing it” You winked at her and laughed as she rolled her eyes and smiled. Just as you were about to speak, you both heard Lockwood’s voice from downstairs.

“Hurry up you two, the taxis waiting!”

You both took one last look in the mirror before descending down the stairs, Lucy going down before you.

Lockwood was waiting by the door, attaching his rapier ,just in case, to his waist. He always brought it with him everywhere, saying it was for protection, but you knew he just didn’t like to go anywhere without it.

As soon as he heard the click-clack sound of your heels on the hard wood floor, he looked up, and when he did, his breath hitched.

My god, did you look stunning. He quickly looked away to try and hide the red that was creeping up his neck, but his avoidance to look at you didn’t go unnoticed by Lucy, who gave him a smirk and a knowing look. He just gave her a confused one in return, clearly trying to play off what just happened. You, however, hadn’t noticed the silent escapade of glances between the other two, simply saying goodbye to George and following Lockwood and Lucy out to the taxi, where you all left for the ball as soon as you shut the car door.

-

The party was already buzzing by the time you got there. Music was blasting loud in your ears, not the kind you’d expect at a ball, but still good none the less. There were people from all sorts of backgrounds there. Businessmen and women, kids who looked to be no older than you three were mingling here and there, and everyone looked rich. Thankfully, so did you, so standing out wasn’t really an issue.

As soon as you arrived, Lockwood split ways with you and Lucy, drink in hand, probably off to go see if he could score you guys another case, one that would pay well. You didn’t think he’d have too much trouble finding someone who’d pay a handsome wage , everyone here looked like they kept £50 notes as pocket change.

“Thank god you’re here, I’d hate being by myself” Lucy spoke, having to make her voice louder even though she was standing right next to you over the sound of everything else.

You chuckled, nodding in agreement before noticing something, or someone, out the corner if your eye.

Kipps was staring at the two of you from across the room, clearly paying no mind to the conversation that another Fittes agent was trying to have with him.

“I think Kipps is staring at you” You nodded your head in the direction of the boy, sipping your drink. Lucy turned around just to see the aforementioned boy walking towards you.

Lucy looked between the two of you quickly. “Actually, I think he’s looking at you”

You turned your head to give her a confused look just as he reached you.

“Lucy, Y/n, nice to see some familiar faces” He spoke, smirking while taking a sip of his drink. Lucy showed him a small smile before averting her eyes to something else.

“Kipps, what a wonderful surprise” You spoke, voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. You didn’t mind Kipps. He didn’t do your absolute head in unlike Lockwood, who thought the world would be a much better place without him in it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes get on your nerves.

The taller blonde boy laughed, eyes scanning you up and down, much to the chagrin of a certain tall brunette who was watching the whole ordeal not far from where you stood, close enough to hear what was happening but not close enough to be seen.

Kipps’ eyes landed on the necklace you wore, the one he bought for Lucy before they ‘broke up’ if you could even call it that, and rose an eyebrow.

“Nice necklace” he spoke, and there was a hint of some kind of sadness in his voice when he said it.

You looked down, remembering what Lucy told you, and met eyes with him.

“Shit, sorry, Lucy gave it to me, I didn’t think you’d-“

“No, it’s fine” he cut you off, voice laced with sincerity. “I’m guessing you already knew that me and her didn’t work out, but it’s fine. Besides it’s just a necklace”.

You slightly smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. You looked around to see that Lucy had wandered off, most likely gone to find Lockwood.

“Listen..um” Kipps’ voice brought your eyes back to his. “I know this is sudden and all, but… did you want to maybe grab coffee with me tomorrow morning?” His eyes held a glint of hope, and you almost felt sorry for what you were about to say.

“Kipps I- I’m sorry but I-“

“-Am not interested” A voice cut you off, rudely filling in your words for you. You quickly turned your head to meet the face of the person you were but also weren’t expecting it to be.

“Sorry, Kipps, but I think she’s got far more interesting and overall better things to be doing with her time. Goodbye” Lockwood grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the blonde. You quickly shot Kipps an apology look before being pulled into a lonely corridor by Lockwood.

“What the hell were you doing talking to Quill bloody Kipps?!” Lockwood half shouted at you, letting go of your wrist.

You turned around to face him and gave him a look of utter bewilderment. “What?! What the hell?!”

Lockwood just scoffed. “I heard the whole thing, I know that he asked you out”.

“Well I for one don’t think it’s got anything to do with you” you replied, shooting him a dirty look. “You didn’t seem to mind when he asked Lucy out and she said yes”.

Lockwood looked exasperated. “That was different”, he muttered.

“How? Because it didn’t work out? Anwser me dammit!” You shouted at him, growing annoyed because he was purposely avoiding your gaze.

“No, because I don’t fancy Lucy!”

“What?”

Both yours and Lockwood’s eyes grew wide at the sudden confession that just came out the brunette’s mouth.

Lockwood, knowing there was know way out of this, spoke. “I..I don’t fancy Lucy”

“But… what’s that got to to do wi-“

“I love you for gods sake! It’s always been you, never Lucy”.

You were in shock. All this time, thinking your feelings for the boy weren’t reciprocated, yet here that same boy was, confessing his love for you after you just got asked out by another guy.

This felt like a dream.

“Well…. say something” Lockwood said after you hadn’t replied to his sudden outburst.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just laughed. It started out as a little chuckle and turned into a full on nearly- on- the - floor laugh, which confused the hell out of the boy.

“I’m guessing that means you don’t feel the same-“

“Are you kidding me?” You loudly spoke, still half- laughing. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute I stepped through your front door for the first time!”

Lockwood’s eyes widened. “Wait- really?”.

“Yes, really” you replied, your smile growing every passing second, and his doing the same. “I didn’t know if you felt the same because…well..you were a bit confusing at times. You flirted with like, every girl you layed eyes on and I just assumed you didn’t like me back”

Now it was Lockwood’s turn to laugh. “No-I- I only flirted with them because I was positive you didn’t like ME back” he gestured to himself as he said that.

You two both looked at each other in silence, until you both simultaneously burst out laughing.

“God, we’re such idiots”

“We really are”

Just as you were about to say something else, you noticed Lockwood’s eyes drift down to your lips, and as you were leaning in, the door opened to reveal Lucy.

“Jesus Christ, finally! You two are so oblivious it was actually driving me insane.”

You both looked at her exasperated.

“You knew?!”

“Yep! Took you two long enough to figure it out yourselves.Now, i’m gonna go see if I can scope out the library, come find me when you’ve finished making out”, She spoke as she left, making kissing noises with her lips, slamming the doors behind her.

You and Lockwood returned to looking at each other, chuckling slightly.

“Bet George knew aswell?”

“Oh 100%”

You laughed again, and remembering back to what Lucy had said before she left, looked down to Lockwood’s lips.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the boy though, as he carefully placed both his hands on each side of your face, his fingers feeling cold against your warm cheeks, his touch gentle.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked with sincerity, eyes looking down at you with admiration. His gaze made your knees weak, and if he wasn’t holding you ,you were sure you would’ve fallen to the floor there and then. Heat rose to your cheeks as you slowly nodded yes.

His face leaned in closer and you closed your eyes as you felt his lips ghost over yours, then finally, they met.

His lips were soft against your own, moving ever so slightly as your hands gripped his waist. You felt his breath hitch at the touch, and you deepened the kiss.

He pushed you slightly so your back met the wall, and you broke apart, eyes looking longingly at each other. God, he was pretty.

“I love you so much” he spoke, thumb stroking softly over your cheek.

“I love you too, and I always will”

Sorry if this is bad, I don’t really know how to write kissing scenes and stuff like that, so keep sending in your requests so I can practice pls. Anyway hope you enjoyed :)

[wiphur]

They Wouldn't Understand

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Ron Weasley x trans masc! Slytherin! Pureblood! Reader // slight! Molly Weasley x platonic! Reader

Pronouns: he/him

Warnings:  internalized and externalized homophobia/transphobia, dysphoria, ABUSE, lowkey torture, use of dead name (dead name will be used as Tamsyn to try and prevent any mention of your own dead name!), large (but also kinda rushed) buildup, nsfw joke at the end (last two lines), secret relationship (and it being exposed)

Word Count: 2.9k

A/N: Posted from my old account. Sorry for the spam, I just wanted to go ahead and post all of these fics from my old account

Nothing was okay anymore. He felt fine, maybe even safe, at school. But now? It was summer. School was over. That meant he had to go back to his house. To those “parents” of his that always strived to make his life a living hell.

No one even knew how bad it was. As his friends waved to him, and as his boyfriend (albeit in secret, but they were still dating) sent him a small smile while he walked over to his colossal family, the gravity of everything fell onto his shoulders. Nobody knew how bad it was. Hell, most people didn’t even know he was who he was. Only a few people knew he was trans or into men. Both of which were frowned upon. 

He wasn’t normal by any means, but these two struck him deeply. Why couldn’t he follow in his parent’s footsteps? Why was his entire life against the people he was supposed to love? Why wasn’t he a she?

Those thoughts rattled in his mind as he left the train station, moving to grab hold of the house elf’s hand. His parents didn’t even bother to show up. Typical, honestly. He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually been picked up from the station by his parents. Only by the house elf. 

Briefly, he realized that he was definitely not going to be perceived well at home. His boyfriend had loaned him so masculine clothes to help with dysphoria, and he couldn’t just change out of them on the train, so he was forced to disapparate to his house in the masculine clothes with a binder on and a semi-realistic looking packer that was just a pair of socks in his pants. This was not going to turn out very well, he already knew it.

The loud crack! had been mostly ignored. No one came to see him or greet him at the door. Almost with a goal in mind (to change out of the masculine clothes into something hopefully more feminine but not dysphoric-so), he hurried to the stairs. He was almost there, stepping onto the first step when his mother walked into the entryway.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Even after being used to the words, he flinched. A year at school where people called him a boy had changed his mindset ever so slightly. “We have a dinner party tonight.” He didn’t turn around, afraid of her reaction to his appearance. “Tamsyn.” She said, her voice becoming more stern as she drew closer. “What in Merlin’s name are you wearing?”

He panicked briefly, praying there wasn’t an indication of whose clothes he had on in the fabric, or design, or even the tag. “Nothing, Mother, just going to change from my school clothes.” 

She tsked slightly, “Tamsyn, you know it's rude to not look at someone while having a conversation. Turn around.” He hesitated. “I will not repeat myself.” He followed the instructions timidly. He heard her gasp. “What is this?!” She seemed to be enraged. She called for her husband as tears gathered in his eyes and fear gathered in his chest. 

As soon as his father came out, he knew he was done for. His father’s eyes scanned his body, narrowing his eyes at the almost non-existent chest and the very existent bulge in his pants. “Tamsyn? What is this?”

A sudden wave of courage passed over him as he spoke, “I- uh, I’m trans! I’m a boy, not a girl. My name isn’t Tamsyn-”

Laughter cut him off. “You? A boy? You are the farthest thing from a boy!” His mother laughed, “When you were pulled out of me, the doctor yelled that you were a girl. Trust me, we would have been better off with a boy, but we had you. Go upstairs and change. One of your fancy dresses. Our daughter will not be embarrassing us tonight.”

The courage was still present. While he knew it was a horrible idea, he spoke again anyway. “No! I’m not going to be your stupid puppet! I’m not a girl. I am a boy. There’s nothing you can do to change that fact!” 

A sudden wave of anger coursed through his parent’s face. “You had better watch what you’re saying, girl. Or you’ll be in a lot of pain.”

He stood his ground, only barely trembling in fear. “You can’t change this. I am a boy-”

The shout of a curse almost made him freeze in total fear, however the spell moved faster, forcing him to the ground as he screamed in pain. Complete agony and pain washed over him, wave after wave. He was crying and screaming, his voice hoarse. He had never expected his parents to go this far at all! What was he thinking? His parents were right! How could he think he’s anything more than a pathetic little girl?

After a few moments, the pain waves stopped. He shivered from the pain, trembling in fear. “So, dear, had enough? Gonna go change into the most beautiful and girly dress you own? The bright pink one should be good.” His father almost taunted.

“Oh, no, no. She can’t wear that one! You’re going to wear that new one I bought you.” There was a twinkle of hatred in her eyes. “The real revealing one. That way, you can see all of your feminine traits. Maybe we’ll get you a husband tonight. The Malfoys and Zabinis are coming tonight.” 

The urge to throw up was overwhelming. With little disagreement, he nodded to his mother and turned to walk up the stairs. When he reached his room, a house elf was already there. She gave him a sad look. “Mitsi is sorry, Master.” She murmured. She helped him change, as pain flared every time he moved. She gestured for his packer and his binder. “Mitsi was instructed to take these and burn them.” She said sullenly. Choking on emotion, he handed her the objects that helped him through so much. The only things that truly made him feel like a boy. Right in front of his face, she snapped and the things burst into flames. 

Without much disagreement, he climbed into the elegantly made, yet extremely provocative, dress. Mitsi beside him nudged him into a chair. “Mitsi was instructed to give you makeup.” He looked at his reflection as he was transformed into someone who was not him. As he was transformed into someone he was “supposed” to be.

Once Mitsi was done, she left the room. As soon as she left, tears welled in his eyes. He refused to let a single one fall, in fear of it ruining his makeup, or in fear of his mother seeing his ruined makeup.

His name was called and he took a deep, straggly breath. He urged himself to walk down the steps and into the main hall, where his parents were greeting the families who had come for dinner. 

“Ah, finally. Mr and Mrs Malfoy, Mr and Mrs Zabini, this is our lovely daughter, Tamsyn.” While the adults took a look at him in interest, their children looked at him with utter disbelief. 

“Pardon me, Mrs L/N,” Blaise Zabini spoke up, eyeing his classmate oddly, “I was under the impression you had a son? I wasn’t aware you had a daughter.”

With a forced laugh, his mother responded, shooting him a deadly glare. “I suppose you must be mixing us up with another family. I apologize, but I’ve only given birth to a girl.” The adults shared a laugh, as if it was some kind of joke. Draco and Blaize gave each other a confused look, speaking through their eyes. Y/N avoided their gazes as best as he could. 

Dinner was a mess, and by the end of it, his parents had a pleasant surprise for him.

“Well, I suppose the news should be announced.” His mother started, dinging a spoon on her glass. She smiled at the families. “The adults have been talking about the best move for all of us, and we have decided that Tamsyn is to be married to Blaize once of age!” The drop of cutlery startled his mother. His hand was empty as he stared at his plate. He was in a happy relationship. This was not supposed to happen. This was wrong! All of this was wrong!

“No.” The word came out before he could even stop it. “No, I refuse to marry him.” He gave a slightly apologetic look to Blaize and he returned the gesture with a nod, telling him he understood.

“This is not up to you, darling.” His mother said, trying to keep her anger at bay. “This is the best solution for our family.”

“This is the best solution for you! This has nothing to do with me!” Tears fell from his eyes, now. All of those pent emotions he had been feeling were coming out tenfold. “You keep trying to ruin my life! Well, congrats. You’ve succeeded. You don’t have any right to tell me who I am or who I have to marry! I’ll shout it from the rooftop if I can!” He stood up, climbing onto his chair. “ I am Y/N! I am a boy and I can choose who I want to marry! You have no control over me anymore.”

The anger in his parent’s eyes was monumental, not even describable. The guests left fairly quickly after that, claiming they were ashamed of how the night went. That left his parents in even more immeasurable amounts of anger.

As soon as the Malfoys and Zabinis left the property, the sound of the loud crack! echoing through the house, they turned towards him. “Have you any idea what you’ve just done?” His father’s voice was near silent. A terrifying edge to his tone.

“You’ve cost us everything.” His mother continued, stepping towards him and slapping him across the face with enough force to throw him to the floor. “You’ve ruined our name!”

The silence after the final shout was broken by screams as the cruciatus curse was thrown in the situation again. Again and again. He felt like he was on the brink of death. The pain was agonizing and he wanted to give up. He truly did. But he couldn’t let himself die. Not from these people. After they stopped (something about not being able to kill him because that would tarnish their reputation even more), they practically waltzed away from his agonizing pain. He was numb, but also felt so much pain. His body was confused. He couldn’t tell anything. 

He was surprised to feel a hand fit into his. He glanced up to see Mitsi. She gave him a small nod, “Mitsi takes you to the friend from the letter house.” She had to have meant Ron. There was no one else sending letters his way.

Within moments, he was outside the door of the Burrow. Mitsi was gone as soon as she had appeared. With the last remaining strength he had, he knocked as loud as he could. He hoped someone would hear, despite it being late. Sure enough, as his eyes fluttered shut, he heard steps making their way to the door.

When he woke up, he was expecting a lot of pain. Well, a lot more pain. He was sore and it hurt to move, but he wasn’t in excruciating pain like he had been when he showed up at the Burrow. The Burrow… His eyes widened and he forced himself into a sitting position. His head spun and his head fell back again. He groaned, earning the attention of someone from the other room.

“Oh, dear me! She's awake!” A woman mumbled to herself. “Dear, do you know where you are?” He nodded, but hissed at the feeling. “That's good, dear. Do you know who I am?”

“Mrs Weasley, I presume.” He muttered. She nodded.

“Alright, one more question then I’ll get you some stew. What happened?”

It took a moment to even realize what happened. What had happened? He was struck many times. Too many times to count. “The curse.” He murmured.

Molly gasped, “Oh my, do you mean the pain curse?” He nodded numbly. “Oh, who would do such a thing?”

“My parents.”

She looked furious for a moment, “Oh, Godric! That’s horrendous!” She paused for a moment. “Sorry, dear, let's get you out of these clothes. They’re filthy!” He glanced down, noticing the sweat stains and blood and tear stains on the corset and the dress itself. “I’m sure my daughter has-”

“No!” The word came out of him with more fear than he had expected. “Please, no. I- I’m not a girl.” He seemed to almost be convincing himself.

Molly paused for a moment before nodding, “Ahh. Let’s see then. You look about Ron’s stature. Let's get some of his clothes, alright?” He nodded, extremely grateful for the reaction she gave. It was only a plus to be in the comfort of his boyfriend’s clothes. Speaking of, where was he?

“Mrs- Mrs Weasely?” He asked when she returned with a pair of loose fitting pajamas. “Where is everyone?”

“Oh, so you know the whole family, eh? They’ll be home soon, dear. They just went to play some Quidditch with an old family friend. Been gone for the last two days. Should be back sometime today.” Just as she said that, the pair heard a loud whooping noise from outside. “Or, perhaps, they’re here now.” She closed a curtain that was surrounding the couch he laid on, which he had just noticed was there. “I’ll make sure they don’t disturb you at all.”

“Wait- Can- Can I see Ron?”

She blinked in confusion, “I suppose. Are you friends with him from school? Gosh, I thought you had graduated! What year are you in?”

“Same year as Ron, ma’am.”

“Oh, goodness me!” She seemed to have to leave to collect her thoughts, so she just left. He closed his eyes, imagining the things Ron would say when he saw him. Perhaps he’d be pissed that he was there? Ron was always so secretive about their relationship. Or perhaps he’d be joyous? Confused? Maybe, and he hoped this was true, maybe concerned? 

It didn’t take long to figure out. The curtain shuffled aside and someone stepped in. He didn’t open his eyes to find out for sure, but he had a pretty good clue when he heard a quiet gasp.

“Angel?” Ron muttered quietly. “What- What happened to you?”

His eyes finally opened as Ron leaned beside him. “My parents finally found out I’m trans.” Fury lit up in his eyes. “They also didn’t like how I refused to marry Zabini.”

“Why? Why didn’t you just marry him? Then you wouldn’t be here like this!” Ron mumbled.

“Because I love you, my love. You are supposed to be my happily ever after.”

“It can’t be a happily ever after without you being alive and yourself.” Ron looks at his boyfriend’s eyes, seeing a deeper feeling in them. “You don’t believe them, right?” 

“What?”

He leaned closer to press a kiss to his forehead, “Your parents. You don’t believe them when they say you’re a girl, right? You are the manliest man I know. You are pure man.”

Y/N laughed quietly, “Yeah, okay.”

“No, I mean it. Like a huge macho-man. Big muscles and you can eat a whole ton because that's just something boys can do, is eat a lot of food-”

He laughed louder this time, alerting the rest of the family. “Stop! You know that’s not how it works!”

“Sure, but it made you laugh.” His laughter continued as he pulled Ron up into a kiss. When they pulled away, Ron leaned his forehead on his boyfriend’s. “I don’t understand what you’re going through. But I know it's hard. I just want you to know that you are my boyfriend. Hear that? You're my boyfriend. I love you.” It was the first L-word to be spoken in the relationship.

“Ron, I- I love you too.”  His eyes drooped, ready to put him into a lulling sleep.

“Sleep well, Angel. Okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He smiled slightly, closing his eyes and getting comfortable, hissing softly over some bruises. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Once he was sure his boyfriend was asleep, Ron left the curtained room. His eyes quickly fell upon the rest of his family as they stared at him. He blinked in surprise, not expecting them all to be there (he was only expecting Fred and George- maybe even Harry or Ginny).

“Uh, yeah, I’m gay.” Ron said awkwardly. 

“Kinda gathered that, mate.” Fred quipped.

“Yeah, just a bit late.” George responded with a subtle laugh. “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

He shrugged, “Me and Y/N were keeping it under wraps, so we decided to keep the fact that we’re both gay a secret too. If his family found out, well you see what happened. “

His family nodded. They were all silent until Harry clapped his hands together. “Okay, how long have you been together? Have you had a first anything? Kiss? I love you?”

George and Fred supplemented an example simultaneously, “time?” 

“You’re sick.”

[kaermorhenatnight]

Something real

Astarion x Tav, Tav is afab, she/her pronouns

word count | 2.5k

warnings | act I spoilers; conversation about SA; mentions of the previous sexual encounter, story seems to be going towards another but it doesn't; drinking blood.

A/N | This fic takes place somewhere in the act II, Tav and Astarion had their little hook up after the tiefling party. I see it as another version of the unprompted confession he makes/the talk after meeting Araj Oblodra. I just think that the game focuses on the romance progressions too much and feel like there were things that should have been said (he jumps into being okay with having sex again without any real discussion about boundaries or about what he says in the unprompted confession - or at least it didn't happen in any of my playthroughs) so I wrote this to kinda fix that in my head. I know a lot of people who experienced SA still want intimacy and a healthy sexual relationship is important to heal, but I felt like a lot of discussion was missing in the game (which is understandable, they cannot elaborate on everything)

Read on Ao3 here

As he takes a step towards Tav's bedroll, she raises her head and tenses, but quickly relaxes again when she sees his silhouette.

*

Astarion looks around to check if the rest of the camp is surely asleep before swiftly sneaking into Tav’s tent. She told him he can come by to drink her blood tonight, so he was going to do exactly that, but he would still prefer their companions didn't know about their little agreement. 

“Hi.”

“I thought you’d be asleep by now. Did I wake you up, darling?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep. A lot is happening around us, you know.” She rubs the corners of her eyes.

“I guess I understand.” He shifts his weight nervously. “So, can I still…?”

“Sure, I said what I said. Just please, be quick.”

“Of course, dear, I wouldn't want to take too much of your night.”

Astarion kneels next to her, one hand slipping under her neck to hold her head still, gentle fingers grazing her skin. His other arm reaches to her side to stabilize himself over her. As he does that, his fingers drag, probably accidentally, against her stomach towards her pubic bone. Even through a shirt, his touch burns, sending shivers through her skin. His closeness, his touch, his smell, stir feelings inside her that she is only recently becoming brave enough to admit.

Tav remembers how they sneaked out after the celebrations with Zevlor's people. How ridiculously good Astarion looked in the moonlight, leaning over her, how he whispered sweet praises in her ear while he fucked her numb. When she didn’t even know he was a vampire and he gently nibbled at her neck, grazing it with his teeth. Now she knows he was showing a lot of restraint that night. Restraint, she almost wishes he didn’t have. 

And now he was over her, fingers twisted in her hair, face reaching towards her exposed neck, the memory of pleasure he gave her and yearning for a pleasure he could give coursing through Tav's entire body and forcing a sharp inhale as she tenses to hide the excitement and warmth accumulating in her abdomen.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his lips curving into a smug smirk.

“Yes, just get on with it.” Tav's hands form into fists to focus some of the tension and blush of embarrassment creeps on her face.

“Darling, what did I do to excite you so much?” His hand slips from under her head and he playfully strokes her increasingly red cheek with his thumb. She doesn't have enough willpower not to lean into his touch, feeling more and more blood just flooding her face and loin. “Are you so eager to have me bite into that darling neck of yours?” He chuckles. “Or maybe it’s something else you want from me?”

He moves from her side, grabbing and decisively moving her legs to place himself between them and wrapping them around his waist as he leans over her. “Maybe, since you were so kind to let me... dine with you… And we are in a rather intimate setting,” –he glances to check if the flaps of the tent are enough to obscure them from prying eyes of their companions should they wake up– “I can do something to make it worth your while.” He rolls his hips gently, putting pressure between her legs, right where she needs it.

A sigh that Tav tries painfully hard not to turn into a moan, stumbles from her mouth. She looks up at him. 

He is just… so pretty. His hair, in a seemingly chaotic disarray, that he in fact spends a lot of time combing it into and securing with some kind of magical cream. It's truly impressive he learned to do that without any mirror. His eyes, burning red, glistening in the dim light of the singular candle in her tent.

His eyes.

There is sadness and a silent resignation in them that wasn’t there just a minute ago, when he was leaning down to bite her. He was flamboyant, relaxed, and a little bit excited. Now he is looming over Tav, his growing erection pressing against her and yet he seems… defeated. 

He doesn’t really want it. He is just afraid she will punish him, even if just by rejecting him, if he doesn’t do it right now.

“You know you don’t need to do this?” Tav slowly gets up, forcing Astarion to sit back on his heels. 

“Oh, but I want to.” He gently caresses her cheek, thumb dragging down her bottom lip. “I want your pretty mouth to scream my name.” Now that she knows what to look for, she can see how forced his smile is. She moves back a bit, so he's not between her thighs anymore.

“Do you? Or are you just afraid of what would happen if you say you don’t? I didn’t offer my blood to you to get something in return. I did it because I want you to feel strong. And comfortable.”

Astarion looks at her with visible surprise and confusion like he never imagined the possibility of anyone doing a nice thing without expecting something in return. Or, more specifically, like he never imagined anyone doing it for him. And, like no one ever made sure he actually wanted to be intimate.

“Look,” Tav presses her fingers to her eyes, to ground herself a little and focus on forcing all of the remaining arousal out of her body and mind. “I don’t want you to fuck me because you think you have to. I offered to let you bite me tonight, so let’s do just that. I’m sorry for my reaction earlier, I–” She takes a deep breath. She needs to choose her words carefully. Astarion looks at her, tense, brows furrowed. “In other circumstances, I would love to share a bed with you for the night… but not like that. Not with you feeling forced to do it. You should never feel forced to do it.” She grabs his hands and gives them a sympathetic squeeze.

His eyes wander on her face, trying to read her, like he is trying to figure out where’s the trick, what is she trying to achieve, in what way is her kindness just a decoy. It’s Cazador, still whispering into his ear. That he’s not a person. That his wants don’t matter. That he cannot say “no” and he can never refuse.

“Come on now, Astarion.” She lies back down, turning her head slightly to expose her neck. She really wants to make him understand that he does have a choice. He is free now. And she will not reject him or change her opinion on him for setting a boundary. Because despite his meticulous attempts at being an unbearable asshole to everyone around, she cares about him. She can see his trauma. And she is not going to contribute to it. “I invited you to eat. So eat. We can have sex another time. If you want to.”

“I–” he starts, but his voice seems to get stuck in his throat. “Thank you,” he says finally, his shoulders relaxing, his face softening. 

He resumes his position at Tav's side, and bites into her neck. A familiar sharp cold pain hits her and weakness swirls in her head. After a moment he lets go of her, and sits back. A drop of her blood dribbles down his chin. He shoots her a charming smile and licks the corners of his mouth, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

"Delicious as always."

"You know how to make me blush," she says breathlessly, knowing well that right now her body doesn't really have enough blood to spare some for her cheeks.

She expects Astarion to say his goodbyes and leave but he just sits there, staring at her. Maybe he still worries that I expect something from him, she thinks. She needs to let him know he can leave, nothing is expected or required of him.

"I think I will have an easier time falling asleep now, feeling a bit dizzy and all. So goodni-"

"Can I stay?" he interrupts. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, like a lost puppy. "Just stay in your tent. I don't want to be alone."

"Of course." Tav smiles and wants to reach for Astarion's hand, but stops half way. "Do you… want to cuddle?" He doesn't sleep, really, so she's not sure what exactly he wants to do. Maybe just sit in the corner, reading a book.

"Yes, please." He whispers and without further encouragement crawls onto Tav's bedroll throwing his arm around her to pull her down with him. "Goodnight, Tav."

"Goodnight, Astarion." She rests her head on his shoulder and quickly drifts away.

"Hey, Tav, Gale made killer eggs for breakfast, better hurry if you want–" Karlach pushes away the flap of Tav's tent and stops in her tracks as soon as she sees Astarion raising his head, before Tav shakes off the rest of sleep to sit up. "Oh, shit, sorry. Erm, didn't mean to interrupt. I– will leave now." She swiftly backs out, but pokes her head back inside for a moment just to add: “Nice!”

"Well, good morning, Astarion" Tav laughs, and stretches her arms.

"Did you sleep well?" He stays down, head propped up on his elbow, with his usual flirty smile.

"Very well."

"Glad to hear it."

They just look at each other, smiling, breathing in this intimate moment. 

Suddenly, Astarion sits up, puts his hands on Tav's cheeks and places a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, pulling away.

“For what?”

“For last night.”

She understands, even if he doesn't know how to vocalize what he means exactly.

“I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do.” 

“It's a novel concept, I admit. And a little intimidating. I wasn't entirely honest with you. That night, in the forest. You… you asked what I wanted. And the truth is, I wanted protection.” His posture goes back to the carefully curated smug, confident one, to mask the vulnerable position he is putting himself in. “People don't usually trust vampires, perhaps understandably, so I needed someone on my side. And seducing you was easy, frankly. So imagine how stupid I felt when I started to… genuinely… feel something for you."

Tav bites her tongue to not show that she is sincerely hurt a little by that confession. She knows where he is coming from, she knows his history, but it still stings.

“Trust me, I was not happy about it,” he continues.” You're a… complication, I didn't see coming. And yet…” He pauses for a moment. “Last night was the first time I was told I don't have to do something I don't want to. Especially of sexual nature. I really appreciate that.”

Tav touches his hand gently and he immediately tangles his fingers with hers.

“Cazador has no power over you now. It's not fair how many things you were forced or pressured to do. I care about you. Deeply. And I would love to have something more with you. More than friendship. But if our nights together was something you had to endure and not something you really wanted, then I regret it ever happened.”

“Well, it's not really nice to hear you regret having sex with me.” Astarion tries to laugh off the seriousness of the situation, but fails, as his voice breaks a little. “I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing… it never mattered. And… being close to someone, any kind of intimacy was something I performed to bring people back for him. Even though I know things between us are different, being with someone feels… tainted. Still brings up those feelings of disgust and loathing. I don't know how else to be with someone. No matter how much I'd like to.”

“I want to be intimate with you, Astarion. But only you if you really want it. Not when you do it out of fear.”

“I– I would also like that. But… I don't think I'm ready yet.”

“Of course. And just so you know, it's also okay if you're never ready.”

He looks at her surprised.

“Would you… Really? You would still want to… have something more with me, if sex wasn't even on the table?”

“Of course.” Tav smiles and strokes his cheek. 

“Why?”

The confusion on his face seems sincere. Not because he wouldn't want to be with Tav if she didn't want sex, but because he can't really see himself as worth more than what his body can offer in the end.

“Because” –she leans closer, taking his hands into hers, gently tracing patterns on his palm with her thumb– “as gorgeous as that body is, it's not all that you are. You are intelligent. You are funny. You are sensitive. I love being around you. You are curious and you want to live. And I want to help you live. And live with you.”

Astarion just looks at her, processing what she just said. He swallows loudly, pressing his lips tightly together to hide the tremble of his chin. 

“And you shouldn't have thanked me for what I did,” she adds, firmly. “Asking for consent shouldn't be something you're grateful for. It's the bare fucking minimum, okay?”

He nods weakly. She can see he doesn't fully process it and doesn't fully believe it yet. But she hopes one day he will.

“But surely you–” he shakes his head, still not grasping at what she is trying to say. “You still have your needs. I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to take another lover–”

“Astarion. I am not a wild animal. My genitals don't dictate what I think or feel. I think with my brain. And feel with my heart. And my heart is yours. If you'll have me.”

“I–” he pauses for a moment, staring at the ground and then raises his head to lock his eyes with hers. There's hope in his gaze. Warmth. Adoration. “I would love that. I would love to have–” he pauses, scrunching his face, as if the phrasing bothers him. He quickly corrects it. “For us to have each other. To have something real.”

She leans forward and pulls him into a hug. Just a hug. No hands wandering around looking for sexual pleasure, no lips searching for his lips, no tension. Just a warm, soft hug. He is slow to reciprocate it, his hands just frozen in air, but when he does, he holds her tight.

When Tav finally pulls away from the hug, Astarion seems to tremble a little, reluctant to let go. She stands up and offers him her hand. “Let's go before they eat all the eggs.” 

He accepts her hand and lets her help him get up. He doesn't let go of her, until they sit down at the campfire and she needs her hand back to hold a spoon.

[songforeddiemunson]

Happy Hawkins Holiday

For the @stcreators event 02: family

Submission for @bettyfrommars and @allthingsjoeq 's Holiday Prompt party #9: "You’re decorating Christmas cookies and something catches on fire"

Submission for @palomahasenteredthechat and @indulgence-be-thy-name 's 12 Days of Joemas Event prompt: "Is that mistletoe?"

Happy Hawkins Holiday

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader (description vague apart from use of she/her pronouns)

Summary: Reader is spending her first Christmas in Hawkins with the Munson family. This could be a sequel of sorts to Next Summer and Things that Go Bump,

Warnings/Tropes: a comedy of errors, lots of fluff, oodles of love. CW for swearing, drinking, and minor injuries. No smut. No use of Y/N. No upside-down.

Word Count: 2200

Christmas 1991

“Shit,” you cursed loudly, waving a dishcloth below your wailing smoke detector like a flag of surrender. “Eddie!”

Acrid black smoke billowed from the open oven door, polluting the entire kitchen and making your eyes burn.

Your boyfriend, who had you by some inches, trotted into the room and reached up to silence the alarm with a bemused expression.

“Thanks,” you said, slumping your shoulders in defeat as you turned to open the window behind the sink.

“Soooo…what happened? If you hated this apartment so much, you could have just said, you didn’t need to burn the place down,” Eddie joked. 

You were not in a joking mood, unfortunately.

“Very funny,” you said dryly. “I was pulling out another batch of cookies, and one of them slid off the baking sheet onto the heating element in the oven. It caught fire.”

Eddie grinned and pulled you in for a hug. “No harm done,” he said sweetly into your hair. “You made so many cookies, we won’t miss one.”

“But now the house smells like burned gingerbread man,” you countered sourly.

“We’ll light some candles. It’ll be okay.”

“But–”

“Babe,” Eddie pulled back to look at your face. “Dinner’s done, the place looks beautiful. You look beautiful. It’s going to be an amazing night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now go relax and get ready. You’ve been working on all this since 6am and you must be exhausted.”

“Well you helped,” you replied. Eddie really had been a great helper all day.

“Please, barely. Now go on, I’ll clean up in here.” You wanted to protest, but he had already started rolling up the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

“Eddie–” you began.

Eddie planted a big wet kiss right on your pout. “Stop. Go relax, that’s an order.”

You sighed. “Aye aye captain,” you saluted limply, and shuffled off to the bathroom. Perhaps a hot shower really would be what the doctor ordered.  

This would be your first Hawkins Christmas since moving to Indiana to be with Eddie from Chicago. It was also Eddie’s first year in his own place, since moving in with his Uncle Wayne when he was 18, over seven years ago. You had obviously met Wayne and gotten along with him wonderfully, but you had never hosted a holiday celebration before. You wanted everything to be perfect.

The Wheelers, your cousins, had invited you to their family gathering, but you didn’t want Wayne to be alone on the holiday.  He was too introverted to come to the Wheelers’ house, even though they had extended the invitation. The town had not been kind to the Munson family, and it would take a little more time to bring Wayne out of his shell.

So, you decided to host a small Christmas gathering at your new apartment for just the three of you, and naturally you prepared enough food to feed a small army. Eddie was right, you were exhausted, and the steaming hot shower water did wonders for your muscles and your mood.

By the time you were clean, dried and dressed, you were refreshed and ready to take on the night. You emerged from the bedroom to find Eddie wiping down the kitchen counter, with all previous signs of disaster gone. You breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The doorbell buzzed, and Eddie, ever the helpful partner, proclaimed, “I’ll get it!”  As he rounded the corner from the kitchen to the front door, he accidentally bumped a beautiful vase of flowers you had placed on the entry hall table. It tottered back and forth as Eddie muttered, “Shiiiit…” before it fell to the floor with a crash, sending red and white flowers, water, and broken glass in every direction.

“Oh no,” you moaned as you put your face in your hands. 

“Fuck babe, I’m so sorry,” Eddie said, his expression panicked.

You took a deep, steadying breath. “It’s alright.”

“Fuck fuck shit…” Eddie knelt and started picking up the larger pieces of broken glass. You placed a hand on his shoulder. “Honey,” you said, and he looked up at you. You managed a warm smile, despite your frazzled nerves. “It’s really okay. Accidents happen. Why don’t you let Wayne in, and I’ll grab the broom.”

Eddie nodded and moved to follow your instructions.  When you returned with the broom, Eddie was just taking Wayne’s coat. “We had a little mishap,” you declared brightly as Eddie stood by, looking embarrassed. You began sweeping up the glass and strewn flora. “Probably wasn’t the best place for me to put that vase…” you continued as you swept. 

“She’s being diplomatic,” Eddie said. “I knocked it over because I’m a klutz.”

“Well I see not much has changed since you moved out,” Wayne said dryly, but the twinkle in his eye belied his serious tone. He clapped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Merry Christmas kid,” he declared before pulling him in for a hug. 

You were just finishing sweeping up the mess when Wayne turned to you, handing you a bottle of Korbel sparkling wine. “I thought I would bring some bubbly. Merry Christmas honey,” he said, before giving you a hug as well. 

“Oh that’s so nice Wayne, thank you,” you smiled, the trials of the day beginning to fade away. “This will go really well with the charcuterie plate I made for an appetizer.”

You carried the bottle of wine into the kitchen where the snacks were laid out, and put the broom back in its closet. 

“This looks really nice,” Wayne said when he saw the spread of fruit, cheese, and cured meats.

“She’s been working on this all day,” Eddie declared proudly.

“And Eddie helped a lot,” you said, and you exchanged a smile with your boyfriend as you worked at the foil of the wine bottle.  Before you could properly secure the cork for removal, it flew off the neck of the bottle with a loud POP, surprising you. The cork sailed across the room like a bullet before smacking Eddie in the middle of the forehead with a solid, PLAT sound.

The three of you stood in stunned silence. Wayne’s face was frozen in an expression of shock and delight with a sliver of concern. “Nice shot,” he said with awe, breaking the silence.

“Jesus christ!” Eddie yelled as he rubbed his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you yelled. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Eddie said, laughing.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Yeah totally. Was that payback for the vase?” 

“No! Not funny!” But you had to admit, it was, and you started to giggle.

“Good thing you weren’t an inch or two off; you’d put his eye out,” Wayne added.

“Ha, like A Christmas Story,” Eddie laughed, but the idea of how close you’d come to disaster made your blood run cold for a moment.

Without further incident, you poured the wine and snacked on charcuterie in the living room, as It’s A Wonderful Life played on TV.  When it was time for dinner, you all gathered in the kitchen as you began pulling out dishes that had been keeping warm in the oven.

“I was thinking we could do this buffet style on the counter since we don’t have a big dining room table,” you began. “But where the heck is the can opener for the cranberry sauce?” You started pulling open drawers and rummaging around in the pantry, but the blasted gadget was nowhere to be found.  “How the heck did I manage to lose the can opener?” you asked nobody in particular with a frustrated sigh.

“Give it here, I can do it,” Wayne said while pulling out his pocket knife.

“Uh,” you said trepidatiously, with your can-holding hand paused in midair. “The way today is going, I don’t want to have to spend Christmas in the ER waiting for you to get stitches.”

Wayne laughed. “I used to open cans this way all the time when I would go camping. It’s no sweat.”

“Very well,” you said and handed it over. You exchanged a worried glance with Eddie, who answered with a shrug as if to say I have no idea how this is going to go.

Very reassuring.

The good news was that Wayne did not cut himself. As he jammed the blade of his knife into the thin aluminum lid, it seemed like everything would be fine.

Until he made the second cut, which by way of science that you didn’t fully understand, caused the liquid inside of the can to spray out of the first hole Wayne had made. It shot out of the can with nearly the same velocity of the sparkling wine cork, and landed directly on your chest, on the white Christmas blouse that you bought especially for this occasion. Bright red cranberry syrup. Kapow.

“Oh dear,” Wayne said, and Eddie lost it.

As you stood dumbly looking down at your ruined blouse, you realized it looked as if you walked into the line of fire of arterial spray. 

“At least it’s just cranberry sauce and not you bleeding out from cutting yourself,” you said, needing to raise your voice slightly over Eddie’s cackles of delight. Wayne looked horrified, but the absurdity of everything had you fighting not to join Eddie in his hysterics.

“If you change, and we put something on it right away, maybe it won’t stain…” Wayne began.

You shook your head as giggles fought to escape; even though your shirt was surely a lost cause, you weren’t mad about it. 

“Red on white. It’s festive!” Eddie squealed, and then you started laughing too.

You doubled over, all the stress and tension of the day flowing out of you as you laughed. Wayne looked unsure of what to do.

“If you squint just right, it could be a poinsettia,” Eddie said, pointing at your shirt. It only made you laugh harder. Wayne finally joined in, after really realizing that you weren’t upset.

“I’m really sorry,” Wayne said, though he was smiling. “I’ll replace the shirt.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it, I was probably never going to wear this again anyway…”

“You should frame it, it looks like a Jackson Pollock,” Eddie managed while wiping his eyes.

The rest of the dinner mercifully went off without a hitch, though it took a while for Eddie to stop giggling every time he looked at you. In fairness, a purple bullseye bruise started to emerge in the middle of Eddie’s forehead, so the feeling was mutual.

“Well,” you said as you polished off the last of your meal. “Tonight we’ve had a small kitchen fire, a broken vase, and assault by wine cork and cranberry sauce. All in all, things turned out pretty well.”

“Well the food was delicious, honestly babe.” Eddie said, giving your thigh a squeeze under the table.

“It really was, my compliments to the chef,” Wayne agreed.  

“I think the more memorable gatherings are the ones where things go wrong,” Eddie said. “We’ll be laughing about this dinner for years.”

Eddie’s innocuous mention of the future made something warm and comforting unfurl in your chest.

“To making memories, and family,” Wayne said, holding up his wine glass.

“Here here,” Eddie said, hoisting his glass by way of response. 

“To making memories, and family,” you repeated, feeling very happy, and you all clinked your glasses together. You took a moment to observe the scene, smiling to yourself as Wayne and Eddie chatted, Eddie’s animated gesticulating juxtaposed with Wayne’s calm manner, and you realized you were a very lucky person indeed.

Wayne helped clean up before excusing himself; it was Christmas tradition to have pints with the guys from the factory at the Attic. After you hugged goodbye and the door closed behind him, you breathed a deep sigh of relief and contentment. Despite the mishaps, it was a lovely evening, but you were happy to be alone with Eddie again.

Eddie had his arm draped over your shoulders as Wayne departed, and then pulled you in for a hug. “Merry Christmas babe; I love you so much. I’m a really lucky guy,” he said. You thought you might swoon, he was so sweet.

“Merry Christmas Eddie; I love you too,” you replied, your heart full.

“Wait, what’s that?” Eddie said, feigning ignorance as he pointed toward the ceiling.

“Wha–” you began as you followed his point. “Is that mistletoe?”

“I suppose so! How did that get there?” Eddie said, making you giggle.

“Well I guess we'd better appease the mistletoe gods or Jesus or whoever,” you said, with a grin.

“Actually mistletoe dates back to the ancient Greeks,” Eddie said, unleashing another random factoid that his brain stored as a result of his voracious reading. “They thought the berries helped with fertility, but even before that the Druids used it in rituals and sacrifices…”

“Dude,” you said. “Would you shut up and kiss me?”

“Sorry,” Eddie smirked, and he did. 

And he did, and he did, and he did.

Thank you for reading! As always, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of all fic writers. Please show us some love! :)

MASTERLIST

[emeritus-fuckers]

How do you do, fellow simps?

We are Nosferatu (also known as Rat; any pronouns; main @nosferatu-inside-of-me), Nyx (she/her; main: @christie-r0ad), and Death (she/they; main: @deaths-reign02) and we have decided to do write horny shit here. This sideblog will mostly include anything Ghost and Repugnant related. You can learn more about us here.

We also have a discord server! You can find it here.

We provide content fot the entire Emeritus bloodline and some personal favorites, which means we write for:

Papa Emeritus Zero/Papa Nihil (both young and old because we're filthy simps)

Papa Emeritus I/Primo

Papa Emeritus II/Secondo (biblically accurate because y'all forget he's a party animal)

Papa Emeritus III/Terzo (he/they)

Papa Emeritus IV/Cardinal Copia

Sister Imperator (both young and old because, as written above, we're filthy simps)

Mister Psaltarian

The Director

Father Jim Defroque (because y'all are sleeping on daddy Jimmy fr)

Here you can find out more about our headcanons about their identities!

Multicharacter human masterlist (more than 3 characters) can be found here.

As well as all the Ghouls:

Fire Ghouls

Alpha (he/him)

Ifrit (he/him)

Sodo (NOT Dewdrop; he/him)

Blaze (Papa Nihil's Ghoul; he/him)

Water Ghouls

Chain (it/ghoul)

Lake (he/him)

River (they/them)

Cowbell (headcannoned by us as a water ghoul; they/it)

Mist (he/she)

Rain (he/she/ve)

Storm (Papa Nihil's Ghoul; they/he)

Earth Ghouls

Cliff/Big Earth (first Earth Ghoul; they/he)

Pebble (he/him)

Ivy (he/xe)

Mountain (he/him)

Quake (Papa Nihil's Ghoul, they/them)

Air Ghouls

Eurus (first Air Ghoul, they/she)

Zephyr/ChAir (they/he)

Cirrus (she/ze)

Cumulus (she/her)

Tornado (Papa Nihil's Ghoul, ze/zir)

Quintessence Ghouls

Omega (he/him)

Delta (transelemental Water-Quintessence; they/it)

Aether (he/him)

Phantom (he/they/xey/it)

Chaos (Papa Nihil's Ghoul; he/she/they/it)

Multi Ghouls

Swiss (he/it/xey)

Phil (he/him)

Sunshine (she/her)

Aurora (she/they/fae)

Here you can find out more about our headcanons about their identities! (Ghoulettes/Ghouls/Papa Nihil's Ghouls)

Ghouls masterlist can be found here.

Other Ghost headcanons (mostly world-building) can be found here.

We also make content for the following members of Repugnant:

Mary Goore (they/them. i will not answer anything where mary goore is regrded as a he/him.)

DD Sars (he/him)

G. Grotesque (he/him)

E. Forcas (he/him)

Tom Bones (he/him)

Sid E. Burns (he/him)

Carlos Sathanas (he/they)

Chris Piss (he/him)

Here you can find out more about our headcanons about their identities!

Repugnant masterlist can be found here.

We provide both SFW and NSFW content in forms of headcanons and fics, big and small. We won't write anything that makes us uncomfortable, might post some small graphic edits, too. We're absolutely cool with LGBTQ+ stuff. This blog is a safe space for you, no matter your size, race, sexuality or identity and we promise to do our best to make you feel included, respected and comfortable. If anything we wrote or published makes you feel wrong, please do not hesitate to say so in the comments or to message Nosferatu about it.

If you do not specify that you want a oneshot/fic, we will most likely write your requests as headcanons since it's easier to read and write.

Our wonderful profile picture has been provided by the incredible @tasty-ribz. The beatiful Pride background was made by the amazing @mustluvecho.

CURRENT EVENTS:

Kinktober 2023 (it will be finished one day you just gotta believe.)

DNI AND GET TF OUT IF YOU ARE:

homophobic

transphobic

fatphobic

racist

a TERF

a pedophile

a zoophile

one of those disgusting anons who sent death threats to tasty-ribz

one of the anons bullying copias-girl

one of the assholes who spam Chris

one of the idiots invading Jutty and Liv's privacy

a Phantom/Aurora hater

As for minors: we are NOT your parents. It's your call if you read our content. We take no responsibility for it.

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 4 - Welcome Party

You get wasted and cause bodily harm.

WC: ~4k

The henchmen had already set up your furniture by the time you got back to the ship, and you stood in the doorway with Heat admiring it, before entirely fucking the room up with shopping bags on every surface. The two of you were exhausted so you both plopped down on the bed, already made courtesy of a cabin boy, laying horizontally across it with your legs hanging off the side, feet still on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

“Thanks for your help Heat,” you said, turning to your side and curling up against him, he was so damn warm, it was like cuddling a seven foot tall hot water bottle. “Fuck I hope I never have to do that again though”

Heat happily wrapped an arm around you, Mission: Girlfriend was thus far proving successful in his mind. “Any time doll,” he smiled, “we probably have time for a quick nap before dinner if you want, it'll probably be later than usual since Kid and Killer aren't back from their errands yet.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, rubbing your head against his chest to get comfy, so warm… “good idea”

“If you're gonna nap on me at least let me lay flat,” he laughed, making you grumble when he pushed you off so he could kick off his shoes and climb on to the bed properly. Given the opportunity to rearrange, you removed the seastone from your jacket pocket, before also kicking off your shoes and throwing your jacket on the pile of shopping bags. You removed your mask carefully, placing it on the side table, before climbing back on the bed to curl up against him again, totally comfortable and happy to nap with him. You found Heat easy to be around, and after spending the entire day together you weren't quite ready for him to leave yet, it was nice to have a friend after such a long time being alone. Hell, even just being near someone who wasn't actively trying to hurt or traumatize you was incredible. You draped a leg over his while he wrapped an arm under your head and around your shoulders, and you both quickly fell asleep, entirely spent from the shopping marathon. Your body was aching but the warmth from Heat soothed them, lulling you into a deeper sleep.

It was close to dinner time, the bonfire was stacked tall and ready to be lit, barrels of liquor had been purchased and arranged on the beach along with multiple felled logs for sitting on, but the guest of honor was nowhere to be seen. Kid was starting to get impatient, and turned to Killer, who was sitting on one of the logs, flicking through a new cookbook he'd just purchased. His observation haki was far better than Kid's, so instead of wasting his time searching the ship it would be easier to just ask. Killer was well aware of Kid's agitation by now and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out why he was annoyed, so he'd already gone to the trouble of using his haki to find you, and was just waiting for Kid to crack and ask.

Kid approached him, and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Killer, who didn't even look up from his book. “She's in her room,” he told Kid, “having a nap with Heat. I presume. Either that or they're fucking, they've been together in there for a few hours now”

“That dog,” Kid smiled knowlingly, “quick to jump on her, huh? Guess I'll go interrupt the lovebirds, I'm not waiting any longer to get the party going. Oi, you,” he pointed at henchman who was throwing more wood on to the stack near the makeshift fire pit, ready to replenish the fire later on, “get the fire going”

The henchman gave a quick “aye aye” and Kid stomped off to the ship, the gang plank bowing slightly under his massive weight. He made his way to your room, which used to be a storage closet, and opened the door without knocking - this was his ship, he could go wherever the fuck he wanted. And also because it would have been funny as hell to catch the two of you in the middle of fucking.

He was surprised (and a little disappointed) to find that you and Heat were in fact just sleeping, lying fully clothed on top of the bedding, your body wrapped around his, your faces squished together. He was also surprised to see you weren't wearing your mask, but did note your tightly closed fist on Heat's chest, coming to the assumption that you must have found a piece of seastone. Killer had of course passed along all the information he'd gotten from you, so he knew you couldn't be without either your mask or seastone without going insane. He paused for a moment to check out what you'd bought, quietly snooping through a few of the bags near him on the floor and smirking when he found one full of lacey panties. He could barely see the floor or furniture under the massive piles of shopping bags, but he could see the ornate purple-heart headboards of the bed and admired the craftsmanship for a moment.

It didn't take him long to grow bored though and he shuffled his way through the shopping bags to stand at the side of the bed, leaning as close to your and Heat's faces as he could without losing his balance and falling on top of you both.

“UP AND AT EM PUSSIES,” he yelled directly in your faces.

You both woke with a startle, and you went straight to fight or flight mode, letting go off the seastone and grabbing Kid's thick neck while your heart threatened to burst directly out of your chest with how fast it was beating. You weren't strong enough to squeeze it, and your hand was nowhere near big enough to wrap around it, so instinctively you sent pulses of electricity through the muscles to contract, making them act like he was having a severe allergic reaction and closing off his airway. Your eyes were cold, the spooky grey-pink looking up at him, unblinking, as you stared right into his amber eyes, not at all recognising him in your panic. He tried to punch you in the stomach to get you to stop, but you sensed the movement in the air and covered your abdomen in a thick protective layer of armament haki.

Heat, who was used to being woken like this, clawed at your back to pull you off of Kid, genuinely concerned that you were about to kill the captain in your blind panic. You barely registered him, entirely blacked out by your violent panic attack.

“Yin stop, it's just Kid,” he begged, yanking your arms, unable to pry you off, “you're safe, its okay, stop it Yin, he's not going to hurt you”

Kid was turning blue, unable to connect a punch, when you finally came back to reality and let him go. He wheezed and held his aching neck with his flesh hand as you scrambled backwards over Heat's legs, hiding behind him and burying your face in his back.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry-” you were pleading like you were about to be beaten for disobedience, even though you were no doubt the most powerful person in the room. It was a common response for you, beaten into you over almost two decades of abuse. It didn't matter how strong you were, in the face of authority you would always feel small. Even with your face pressed against Heat to block any light, the sounds were quickly becoming overwhelming and you started to twitch. Heat grabbed the seastone you'd abandoned on the blankets in your panic and pressed it against your bare arm, settling your devil fruit. You were already deep into a panic attack, hyperventilating as you pressed against Heat for support, clinging to his warmth like it was a lifeboat.

“Fuck you're strong,” Kid wheezed with a strained throat. He should have been mad, but it was kind of his own fault for spooking you, and he was more impressed right now that you'd almost killed a man as big as him with your bare hands. “I won't sneak up on you again, I just wanted to come get you for dinner, the bonfire is ready”

Heat forced the seastone into your hand and wrapped his arms around you, rocking you gently and rubbing soothing circles on your back to calm you. You blinked at him in confusion before you finally came back to the present and got your shit together, finally getting your erratic breathing under control. You were flush with embarrassment at your overreaction and confused that you weren't being punished.

“Ah, sorry,” you mumbled, prying Heat's arms off, “I'll be out soon”

“Take your time,” Kid replied, turning to leave, still rubbing his sore neck, “don't ever do that shit to me again though. This is your warning, next time I'll throw you overboard”

“Sorry Captain,” you mumbled as he left.

You let out a deep sigh as the door closed, sitting on the edge of the bed with your head in your hands. Heat was sitting up in the bed, and rubbed your back soothingly. “Don't beat yourself up about it,” he told you, “everyone here goes fight over flight, only pussies go flight mode, you'll get use to the rude wake up calls eventually”

“I almost killed him..” you whispered.

“Yeah well, you didn't,” he stated, “everyone here has at least taken a swing at the captain, he probably respects you more for it. Don't worry about it, just get dressed and we can go get drunk and forget about this”

“Yeah, okay..” you mumbled, starting to search through the bags for the outfit you'd picked out for tonight.

“It's your big night, just focus on having a good time,” he told you as he stood, giving you a reassuring slap on the back, “I'll see you out there”

You replied with a half-hearted hum and he left, closing the door behind him.

Half an hour later you finally emerged on the beach, it had taken longer than you thought it would to tame your hair, which had grown significantly since the last time you'd styled it. Your go to hairstyle was a pair of messy space buns, and you used a pair of old crappy medical scissors you'd found under the bathroom sink to hastily chop straight bangs. Nobody else would even see them under your mask but you liked having them cut like that anyway. You'd also slapped on a quick layer of a mauve lipstick with a gloss over the top, nothing crazy but it helped add volume to your small lips. Being that they were the only part of your face that was visible under the mask, it was nice to add a little pizzazz to them for the special occasion.

Most of the clothes the shop attendant had picked out for you were pastel hues, colours that worked well with your lavender hair, white headset, and the yellow and teal jacket you couldn't be separated from. You would stick out like a sore tooth among the Kid Pirates but you didn't give a shit - the bright, cheerful colours made you happy, and Heat had reassured you that as long as you were happy, everyone else could stick their opinions up their ass. You also took a quick shower before styling your hair, shaving your legs as quickly as you could and brushing your teeth like you were possessed by a dentist.

You'd chosen a baby pink bodycon dress for the party, which went down to your midthigh, over a set of matching magenta lingerie, sliding your jacket on top. To finish it off you wore a set of tall wedge heels with thick white straps. It took you a few minutes of fumbling in your room to get the hang of walking in them, but you were a quick learner, and could always vibrate the air around you a little to steady yourself if you had to. The outfit put your legs on full display, leading up to a plump ass assisted by the posture the heels gave you, a heaven send for your usually flat rear. Not much could be done for your chest though, even a push up bra wouldn't help you till you filled out a little.

You feigned confidence as you made your way down the gangplank and over to the crew, noting the way they all eyed you hungrily, which you supposed was what you intended when you decided on such a short dress. It was after all your night to shine, why not show off your assets and soak up being the center of attention? Kid made a low whistle as you approached.

“Damn, who would have thought there'd be a hot body under Killer's baggy ass shirts or that marine uniform?” he purred. He clicked his fingers towards a henchman, who immediately came running over with a beer for you. “Drink up scrawny bitch, it's not a proper welcome party unless you end the night puking in the bushes, so you better get started”

“Aye aye Captain!” You lifted the bottle to your mouth and immediately chugged the entire thing. The commanders around you all cheered and Heat handed you a glass of whiskey, taking your empty bottle from you.

“Before you get too drunk though,” Kid clicked his fingers and a cabin boy came running over with your old marine uniform, “if you're gonna be a pirate, you gotta uphold our traditions”

You happily handed your glass back to Heat so you could take hold of the old uniform. It stunk from year's worth of sweat and the navy pants were still stained with blood, ‘god, is that what I smelt like?’. You wore a bright smile as you took the clothes and thanked the scared looking cabin boy, before turning to the fire.

“Rest in shit, you stank ass uniform!” You yelled before throwing the clothes into the fire. The pirates cheered and Kid smacked you on the back encouragingly. Heat handed you back the glass of whiskey, and oh so smoothly wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You didn't protest, you were in such a good mood watching your old life burn and his arm was a reminder that you weren't alone anymore. You lent in to him, resting your head on his shoulder and sipping your drink as the old uniform disappeared in the flames.

A thought occurred to you though. You weren't entirely free yet, one thing still bound you to your past. You gently pushed Heat's arm away, and held out your glass for him to take. He took it with a raised eyebrow and watched you remove your jacket, leaving it carefully on a nearby log. You needed one more thing though, since you'd left both of your weapons on the ship.

“Hey Captain?” you asked sweetly, eyeing the strap that hung across his chest, holding his pistol and several daggers, “could I borrow a knife?”

He looked at you quizzically but unhooked a blade for you anyway, holding it out for you to take. You took the handle and walked to the fireside, kneeling next to it and holding the blade in the flames. The commanders watched you with amusement, entirely confused as to why you needed a heated knife. When the blade was red hot you removed it from the flames, inspecting it carefully as you stood to face the commanders.

“To freedom!” you shouted, before pressing the hot blade to the marines tattoo on your forearm. There was a small series of surprised gasps as you pressed the red-hot blade to your skin, and the smell of burning flesh as it sizzled. Killer and Heat both rushed for you as you groaned and your stance faulted, the knife and your whiskey glass falling to the sand as Heat caught you before you could entirely collapse from the shock of the pain. Your skin continued to make small sizzling sounds as the blade was pulled away, small blisters forming over the dark red wound.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Heat shouted. He dragged you away from the fire to sit in the sand, leaning your back against one of the logs. The smell of singed skin tickled his nose and Mohawk was quick to rush to your side, inspecting the wound carefully, doctor mode fully engaged. To be fair, it wouldn't be a Kid Pirate party without someone getting hurt.

“A little warning next time? Fucking hell,” he grumbled, pulling gently at the surrounding skin to inspect the wound closely, before looking over your face to check your condition. You were heavily lidded, and somewhat out of it, but wore a dazed smile regardless. He stood to address Kid, who was surprised but impressed by the display. “It'll heal fine if she keeps it clean, she's just in shock right now but she'll be fine in a bit when the adrenaline wears off. I'd give her painkillers but booze will work fine for tonight. It's gonna hurt like a bitch tomorrow though”

“Fucking hell Yin,” Heat mumbled, sitting behind you on the log and steadying your body between his legs, lifting your injured arm and resting it on his knee, “what happened to getting a tattoo?”

“Sorry,” you giggled, “didn't feel like waiting that long”

Kid collected his now cooled blade from the sand and slid it back into the holster. “That was hardcore,” he laughed, “you're a fucking laugh, woman”

“That was irresponsible,” Killer mumbled under his mask, returning to his previous spot sitting on a log.

“Ah don't be a vibe killer, Killer,” you smiled, sticking your tongue out at the massacre soldier, “don't act like that wasn't the coolest shit you've ever seen a chick do.” He rolled his eyes under the mask and openly ignored you, but to be fair, you weren't wrong.

Mohawk, who had disappeared to the ship, returned with a med bag and dressed the wound while Heat held your arm up for him. The burn was making you a little dizzy, so you leaned your head against Heat's other leg, practically nuzzling against it. He had to be careful to not sit too close to you, or you might feel the erection forming from your innocent rubbing against his thigh.

—

Once the dizziness passed, Mohawk gave you permission to start drinking again, and it didn't take long for you to get completely trashed. At some point you and Heat swapped places, with Heat now sitting on the sand between your legs while you braided his thick, blue hair.

“Your hair is so pretty, Heat, such a pretty colour for a pretty boy,” you giggled. Kid groaned, you'd been like this for hours. Apparently you were an affectionate drunk. “Aw Kiddie, are you jealous baby? Your hair is pretty too! So many pretty boys. Killer are you pretty too under there? I bet you're pretty. Everyone on this crew is pretty”

“Stop calling my men pretty!” Kid growled, “We're fearsome pirates, not dolls”

“Boo,” you pouted, “it's not my fault you're all pretty. Killer let me braid your hair next!”

“Absolutely not,” he deadpanned, inserting the straw of his drink through the holes of his mask to take another swig.

“But it's my party!” You whined, “you gotta be nice to me!”

“I'm already being nice by not dunking you in the water,” he grumbled, “you bring that touchy feely shit over here and I'm stuffing you in a potato sack, filling it with cannonballs and throwing you overboard”

“Yesh, mister grumpymask,” you flopped another finished braid over Heat's shoulder so it laid against his chest, “lighten up would you? Chill out Mr. Massacre”

“Killer has never been chill a day in his life,” Kid laughed, “oi Heat, speaking of chill, light one up would you?”

“Aye aye Captain,” Heat laughed, giving a mock salute, reaching into the pocket of his baggy pants and pulling out a small zipper pouch. From it he retrieved a lighter and a couple of pre-rolled joints, lighting one and handing it to Kid, before lighting his own. You wrinkled your nose at the unfamiliar smell.

“What is that?” You asked curiously. Heat and Kid laughed in response at your innocence. Heat shuffled around on the ground, turning so he was sitting perpendicular to you, his back against one of your legs. He held the joint up for you to see.

“You've never smoked weed?” He asked curiously.

“Oh, that's what that is?” You replied, “I heard a few people mention it at some marine parties but I've never actually seen it, or smelt it. The marines took drug screening pretty seriously”. You took the joint he was holding out for you and inspected it carefully.

“Deep inhale, hold it for a second then let it out. Do it soft or you'll choke on the smoke” Heat instructed. This certainly wasn't his first time introducing someone to his favourite plant.

You brought the joint to your mouth hesitantly and did as you were told, but you must have inhaled too harshly because you couldn't help but cough a few times. Your head spun from the hit and you giggled. “That feels weird,” you took another inhale, without coughing this time, and handed it back to Heat as you exhaled the stream of dank smoke.

“You don't know the half of it,” he laughed, “wait till it really hits”

“Fuck, if she's affectionate when she's drunk, what's you gonna be like high?” Kid roared, “Bet you a hundred berri she gets naked”

“I'm not sticking around for that,” Killer grumbled as he stood, “I'm going to bed”

“Awww, lame!” you moaned, “grandpa!”

“I'm going to drown you,” he said, pushing you off the log as he walked past. You stayed where you'd landed on your back, your legs draped over the log, giggling like a crazy woman.

“Killer! Your ass looks really good from this angle!” You called after him as he left.

“My ass always looks good,” he said under his breath. You were the only one who heard him, and laughed maniacally, almost kicking poor Heat in the process.

As it turned out, you were a sleepy stoner, and Heat ended up having to carry you to bed after you fell asleep leaning against him, a half finished braid still in your hand. The party continued long into the night till the beach was covered with drunk, sleeping pirates and the fire died out.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[britany1997]

Dancing King

It’s the way I was so mad at myself for accidentally posting this when I meant to save it as a draft😭

Ofc I can do this for you bestie!!!! Hope you have an amazing birthday! And I usually do make these pretty personal so it’ll be tailored to you:) (which means that while I usually write the TLB boys to be turned in their 20s, David and Star will have been turned at 17 for the purpose of this fic)

David x Webs & Star x Webs (he/they pronouns used) @gothamslostboy

You and your girlfriend were free spirits, the kind of people who could never sit still. Whenever a song came on, the two of you couldn’t help your feet from tapping and your bodies from swaying. You and Star could dance the entire night away.

The two of you frequented dance clubs, parties, beach bonfires, concerts, anywhere you could move your feet.

You always brought your boyfriend along too, there was just one problem.

David didn’t dance.

In all the time you’d been dating him, the most you’d get was a nod of his head or a small sway of his shoulders.

When you would grab Star’s hand and take the floor, David would give you a small wave from his place at the bar, watching, but never joining.

Your happy place may have been under a spotlight, his was on a barstool with a glass of whiskey.

You promised him it didn’t bother you, and for the most part that was true. You liked that David was a little different than you and Star, he grounded you.

But sometimes, you’d wonder what it would be like to see David let go and move to the music. You imagined taking his hand in yours, pressing your chest against his and swaying together.

But David didn’t dance so you were satisfied to keep that dream to yourself.

You stumbled towards the entrance to the cave excitedly, almost tripping over you own feet in your rush to see your partners.

Your friends had done an amazing job at making you feel special all day, but the night was for Star and David. They’d promised you they’d put together a surprise you’d “absolutely love.”

“Don’t be nervous, it’s gonna mean so much to him, he’ll love it,” you heard Star’s reassuring words as you shimmied down the ladder.

“I’ll love what?” you asked as you strolled into the cave’s main alcove.

“Baby!” Star exclaimed as she ran up to engulf you in a tight hug. You laughed as you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her in close.

“Happy birthday handsome,” David said with a smirk as he came up behind the two of you.

“My turn?” he asked Star.

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes but smiling as she pulled away, “I guesssss.”

You pulled David into your chest and kissed his cheek.

“Hey!” Your head snapped to see Star with her hands on her hips, though a joking smile played on her lips, “I didn’t get a kiss!”

Your lips turned up into a bright smile, “I’ve got kisses for everyone,” you promised as you pressed your lips to her cheek.

When the kissing, blushing and giggling died down, you put your hands up “ok, ok, what’s this surprise I’ve been hearing about?”

Star turned to David, “you wanna tell them?”

David smiled softly, “you go ahead,” he said as he pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her.

Star beamed before pulling three tickets out of the envelope. “Platinum ABBA is playing at the boardwalk tonight, and we’ve got tickets at the barricade!”

You gasped, Platinum ABBA was the best ABBA cover band. You were touched by their thoughtful gift, tears began to well in the corners of your eyes.

“Thank you both, I- I love it,” you gushed as you wrapped an arm around each of them and pulled them in for a hug.

“We knew you would,” Star smiled as she squeezed your side.

After awhile David pulled back, “alright alright, enough with the touchy feely stuff, we’ve gotta get going.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes as David ushered you both out of the cave. Your smile turned to a smirk when his hand slid into yours.

Though your spots at the front were a little tight, the venue was big enough and Platinum ABBA was niche enough that you still had ample dancing room.

As the band began to play Chiquitita, you and Star swayed to the beat, twirling and twisting around. David watched the two of you laugh and swing with admiration. Though dancing wasn’t really his thing, he loved to see you happy.

Each song was the same, you and Star totally lost in the music, and David observing nearby.

Until the last song of the night.

A smile stretched across your face as you heard the familiar intro to Dancing Queen. Before you could take Star’s hands in yours, David offered you his.

You gasped as you looked up to see his flushed face. “May I uh,” he cleared his throat, “may I have this dance.”

Your heart melted. “Of course,” you told him as you laced your fingers with his. The two of you swayed somewhat awkwardly through the first verse, while Star clapped to the beat in encouragement.

When the chorus hit, all three of you clasped hands and spun around together, singing along to the words of the song.

You are the dancing “KING,” Star and David yelled with you over the sound of the music.

Young and free only seventeen

Dancing “KING,”

Feel the beat from the tambourine…

You heart felt full as you shouted the lyrics and swayed until your voice had evaporated and your feet felt as if they could fall right off.

When the concert ended, the three of you walked back to David’s bike.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” you teased.

David chuckled, “for you? I’d do anything.”

You couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face.

“So,” Star began, as she rested her head on your shoulder, “what do you think? Good birthday?”

You smirked, “I’m having the time of my life.”

Birthday Request Taglist🎂:

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @ria-coolgirl @crustyboypix @flower-crowned-lady @bloodywickedvamp @anna1306

[calisources]

THE   CW'S   REIGN   SEASON   FOUR   QUOTES.   all   these   sentences   were   taken   from   season   four   of   the   historical   fictional   show,   reign.   change   pronouns,   locations   and   names   as   you   see   fit.   

I'm not looking for a man to love, I'm looking for a weapon to use against her and her throne.

Men forget that women have ears.

My child will be heir to her throne, to both nations. 

Mary, this is a course you cannot step back from. And if you take it, I fear I'm looking at a dead woman.

We all die, Gideon. The question is what we stood for while we lived.

Are you saying that we should marry?

Although I am curious. Have you already named our children? Or did you leave at least that part for me?

Where Knox has sown hatred, we will scatter seeds of hope.

Earn my respect then, as I earn the respect of my men. In combat!

 Duels only lead to dead men, not respect.

Oh really, Lord Darnley? I was unaware that your crushing defeat was an act of charity.

Now, you take your assassin and you get out of our country. Or we will drive you out.

I want you to tell me why you keep pushing me away. I'm going to be your husband!

I had a husband! And I loved him and he was murdered in cold blood before my eyes.

As King and Queen, our lives will always be in peril.

 We're going to be in danger no matter whether we're together or not. Because of who we are, Mary. Because of our blood.

You will be my husband in name only. And we will never be happy. And I will never forgive you.

It is my duty, my God-given birthright and my crown. And I will defend it from anyone who attempts to take it.

I had hoped that our marriage would be a partnership in every way. 

I will be a true King. And we will finally be equals.

We are married because I couldn't take England without you. What makes you think that you can take England without me?

He will hang. And I will enjoy watching him die. 

Men will never willingly bow to the weaker sex.

And they will suffer greatly for it.

The Prince of Spain came to France whole, and left with an enormous piece of wood sticking out of his skull.

A daughter joining her mother for an evening stroll is hardly a crime.

Why, Claude, how nice of you to take time away from your grief to criticize me.

You'll take what under advisement? What, you're just going to mouth kingly words?!

The only monster in this castle is gossip. And we must not feed it, or it will bring us to our knees.

I should have your entire family burned at the stake.

You think that political manipulation and poisoning are my only skill?

When one Valois is weakened, the entire line is threatened.

Tell your son to come to court. Or I will have him dragged here. On his knees.

I will not be remembered as the queen that drew first blood.

 She wasn't your friend, Elizabeth, she was your prisoner. What a grotesque curse of royalty that you cannot even tell the difference.

A royal marriage gives one political clout.

Mary, revenge is not meant to ease pain. It is meant to balance the scales.

I've missed you. Perhaps that's reason enough for you to stop being an ass and stay for the party.

What? I-I can't. You and I are married. Until death do us part.

I lost both the man I love and the man I could have loved.

 My family has royal blood in our veins. 

Trust is given, but loyalty is earned. And you, my queen, have not earned mine.

He does have his father's history to overcome. You knew that when you chose him.

I am married to the most powerful man in the world, and I will not be threatened by my damaged brother who is unfit to rule. 

I suppose there's nothing to be done... Except stay for the King's wedding.

Because being married to a woman who is in love with another isn't exactly the ideal union I dreamed of either.

[archivalofsins]

If you're wondering how I feel about the most recent Mikoto answers. Here's the short of it-

Love how people just jumped on the idea that Mikoto or another unknown alter could have jumped Mahiru. When-

A. Kotoko never expressly denied jumping Mahiru. In fact she just said sorry for failing to deliver punishment to Mikoto and Amane, by association showing she considers the state of Mahiru and Futa a successful delivery of punishment by not discussing them in depth. She did her job their so Es can't be angry about that.

B. Literally everyone says Kotoko did it despite how they personally feel about her doing it.

C. Kazui was late helping Mahiru when he lives right next door to her. We have a map of the prison that expressly shows us this and we're told the order of the attacks. Which go Mikoto, Mahiru, Futa and his excuse of being too late only works if Futa was actually the last attacked. He states in his second voice drama that if Mikoto and Kotoko team up that would be the end for him, alluding to the idea he saw Mikoto fight giving him the chance to gauge that if the two teamed up he'd be fucked. Something supported by Yuno commenting on Mikoto's strength in her second voice drama as well and Jackalope stating, Mikoto and Kotoko had an all-out dogfight lasting an indiscriminate amount of time. In the second trial commencement yet for some odd fucking reason I've barely seen anyone cast scrutiny on all those fucking discrepancies. Those just exist unquestioned to go oh he was late that happens.

D. Literally, Mikoto is more than likely just referring to Es another individual that uses boku that has been expressly blamed for and tied to the jumpings by the person who enacted them to Mikoto's fucking face-

22/12/15 (Kotoko’s Birthday)

Mikoto: Ah, Koto-chan. It’s been a while. Both of us have kinda split off from the group, but how’ve things been? A lot’s happened, but fr now let’s try to get along. I mean, it’s your birthday today, right? I got the feeling nobody else was going to do anything, so I came to celebrate.

Kotoko: ……how carefree. It doesn’t matter, a villain like you won’t be forgiven next time either. And when that time comes, it’ll be the end for you. I’ll make sure of it myself.

Mikoto: Ahh?? Just try and do it, you nutjob. I’ll crush anyone who hurts me…… You’re gonna be totally beaten at your own game……!

[TN: The word “me” here uses first person pronoun “boku”.]

Kotoko: Hm. The border between the two is getting a lot vaguer. Your entire existence is a crime. And I will see you’re punished for it. That is what Milgram, and Es, and I have chosen.

Like he's known since this birthday interaction that Kotoko's believes this is not only what she wants but Es as well. Someone who also uses boku and the prisoners are aware of the audience/voters at this point. It wouldn't be odd for Mikoto to separate Es as an individual from the audience like Kotoko seperates Es from the audience and refers to them as a prisoner as well. Mikoto could very well be doing the same thing by referring to Es directly in the way that Es has also referred to themselves instead of just calling them the guard.

F. It's reported to us multiple ways at the beginning of trial two from multiple prisoners that Mikoto has been antisocial and has kept away from the others. Making it difficult for any to feel comfortable approaching him. He blames this on lashing out in his sleep (which one could speculate is what happened with Mahiru, but we'll get to that). Yet it seems during the intermission he was more than likely behaving in a way similar to how Amane has behaved over the course of trial two. Telling people to keep away from him and being visibly agitated. Something that has led to no one other than Haruka wanting to approach him for his birthday.

E. There was this quick jump to that conclusion from this one vague answer despite us knowing Mikoto was preoccupied with Kotoko the longest as reported by multiple parties. So, the idea that he was attacked for the longest period of time, eventually causing Kotoko to fall back and leave him alone just to immediately go and attack Mahiru, is wild as hell. Not even mentioning one of my last points-

G. Even if one were to speculate, Mikoto could have lashed out more after his fight in order to let off steam before the second trial commencement (lashing out in his sleep as he refers to it). We have seen how he consistently lashes out since Milgram started. His lashing out has usually been contained to his own cell. Garnering multiple noise complaints from other prisoners to the point it is noted in his character description on the website that no one knows when he sleeps. Why would that suddenly change now?

Outside of that I'm glad people are picking up on the handwriting differences between Mikoto and Mikoto(i.e John as the prison refers to him) but that's clearly not what he goes by since he also puts his signature on Double and he definitely did not sign that John.