#and he's quite stubborn with his purchases

[simpingforcys]

During King Candy's introduction, Disney+ subtitles have him say: "Hello, my royal subjects!"

While in other captions and DVDs (and what is mostly heard) he says: "Hello, my loyal subjects!"

One flaunts his status, one flaunts his ego. Either way, to him, it's just about the same.

[joonsytip]

Withering for You || Seungcheol - Epilogue

Pairings: Seungcheol x Fem!Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut, CEO! Seungcheol au, Husband! Seungcheol au, Wife! Reader au, Music Teacher! Reader au, Arranged Marriage au, College Sweetheart au, Exes to Lovers au

Synopsis: When you are arranged married to the man, whose heart you had broken years ago, even dreaming about mending things seems next to impossible when he has been holding grudge for all these only to return it to you tenfold.

Warnings (specific to this part): tears, profanities, everyone is hurt and sad, mention of alcohol consumption, lovesickness, healing, friendly threats, suggestive

Word Count: 5.7k

Banner credits to my baby @hoeforhao <3

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

Teaser | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue

You're enjoying the peace and calmness that moving to a different country has brought within. It has been half a year since your divorce with Seungcheol had been settled, been four months of you making a decision seemingly best for you by moving out.

Both you and Seungkwan had wanted to open several branches of your academy all around the world because you both believed that music transcends barriers and connects souls.

Though your motive while shifting was a break from everything but it also resoluted to build another branch rooted to Melodease.

You are busy nowadays, given you've to overlook the purchase and legal matters, start taking care of the design, contract and staffing. Seungkwan has offered to come over and share the workload but you're always the one to brush it off. Because keeping yourself busy is the only way to not overthink about that one person whom you wanted to spend the rest of life but apparently it was too much of an ask.

The divorce, you had tried everything to withdraw it but you should have known, it was Seungcheol who wanted for it to happen at any cost. So eventually you succumbed to his stubbornness. He wasn't even willing to face you, making it impossible for you to reach out to him so you couldn't quite recollect when was the last time you saw him. All you could remember is he never again made an eye contact with you, since he left your house that fateful night.

A rift has been created between you and your friends. You were so mad at all of them for making Seungcheol aware of the bitter past that you've been hiding. They got earfuls from you whenever they breathed in your direction. You had stopped humouring them, even going as far as to inform them about your departure just two days before. A huge fuss was caused by Mingyu and Eunsoo while Seungkwan and Wonwoo blamed themselves quietly.

When Wonwoo had arrived at your doorstep the night before your departure to apologise and ask you to reconsider your decision, you in turn had assigned him a task which you couldn't do yourself.

Your parents visit you from time to time and it's your brother who crashes at your place the most because though everyone hesitates, he's the only one who doesn't lend an ear to your protests.

"It's been half a year, don't you think you should let loose and forgive those four.", Chan voices out distressed as he once again sees the string of texts and voice messages he received in the group chat he was suddenly added to one day just so your friends could get updates of you.

"You don't understand Chan. It was not their decision to make. You don't think I could have told Seungcheol if I wanted to?", you sit down frowning, "We did end up getting divorced after all. And even though I'd have dealt with my career, I don't know how he is doing on his own because now he would neither even confide in his family and nor he has many friends. It has become a fight against his family, against the people he cherished the most."

Chan understands your friends but most importantly he understands you, he nods and sighs, "There's something I haven't told you."

"Did Seungcheol come and apologize to you, mom and dad after I left?", you say giving a small smile.

Chan is flabbergasted, "How did you know?"

"I just guessed. I knew he'd come someday, it's only after I left. Wish I could have just gotten a glimpse of him before coming here. Why do I miss him?", you say suddenly fanning your face and look up trying to blink away the tears. Chan observes you silently.

Your heart still beats for Seungcheol.

Seungcheol rubs the wedding band which sits on his finger, lost in thoughts he then proceeds to caress the other wedding band the one he wears in a chain, which is also yours.

In the last few months, he solely focused on destroying Jiah. He went on to dig her past and accumulate every malicious deed, hurtful comments or poor gestures done by her throughout her life including all her flings. If it would have been earlier he would have had a hard time believing it all but not anymore. After gathering every possible bit, he made his PR team to work overtime to destroy her image. Each day new articles would resurface by random journalists on several platforms.

"I'm sorry, Cheol", Jiah cries at his feet, hands clasped, begging, "Please please just stop, I'm ruined."

Seungcheol laughs completely apathetic, "This has just begun. I'll bring you on the streets. I make you cry tears of blood."

Jiah looks him at horrified, "I'm begging you, we are best friends Cheol--"

Seungcheol burns at her words, "Since you showed me how best of a friend you are, it's my turn to show how great I can be. I won't stop until you dread hearing my name, until you regret what you've done. Hell, you've just heard of it, I'll make you live in it."

"I'll do anything you want, I'll apologise to Y/N please spare me.", Jiah continues to beg.

"Don't you dare utter her name with your filthy mouth. For the tears you made her cry, I'll make you cry tenfold. If you think there's gonna be an end to it, no, you'd suffer till your consciousness stays with you."

Then he makes the security drag her out of the building, onto the road.

Using her now completely ruined image, he pulled all cards to ruin off her father's company. Though he felt bad for her parents but they should have raised their daughter well and since they didn't it fell on their plate as well. That's what he had said to her father when he had the business go bankrupt.

Seungcheol doesn't stop here, he's still finding ways to put Jiah behind the bars, and if concrete proof doesn't knock on his door, he has his mind set on creating a whole new room of miseries for his said best friend.

But nothing he does gives him a sense of fulfillment. He's empty, heartbroken and a looser in love. Every time he remembers the way he had treated you, the schemes he had plotted against you, the venomous words he had said to you and the hatred he harboured towards you, they make him wanna disappear from the face of earth.

His parents don't get to see him, there's no monthly family dinner at the Choi's anymore.

Seungcheol who wanted to have you as his in all of the lifetimes, doesn't dare to make such a wish anymore. He has failed you, so he accepts the fact that you deserve the best. Someone who's not him. Someone who gives you all the smiles and none of the tears.

The wedding gown which you left untouched in his closet when you had moved out, Seungcheol walks in every night just to hold the garment. He imagines you in it and hugs it to his chest pouring his heart out. Each night  the empty house echoes his cries. The composition you had gifted him on his birthday, he plays it everyday while reminiscing the times he has got to spend with you.

His heart only beats for you.

"You are in love with your ex husband who's in love with you as well? I still don't get why you both are divorced."

You roll your eyes and walk past Jihoon who doesn't bother to follow behind because you'd be able to hear him anyways.

"Make it make sense, from what I heard...", his brows quirk up and nods at himself, "The bigshot Choi Seungcheol is being unnecessarily dramatic when you both can now live happily ever after."

You throw him a glare, "Don't you dare call him dramatic. He's in a rough spot and going through hell. But since he's stubborn and won't listen to anyone, we'll both keep wallowing in pity."

Jihoon gives you a look, "At least you're sensible. Anyways, you'd always see a DND board on my cabin's door. So please don't hesitate to get lost and not show your face to me."

You're neither surprised nor disappointed.

Lee Jihoon is a prodigal producer who's renowned around the world for his compositions. He can play every instrument in and out (claimed by people) specialising in Violin. You and Seungkwan had been eyeing him since long for managing your academy and it took you a lot of effort and determination to be able to rope him in. The man is always snappy and unfiltered. He knows he ain't people pleaser thus, he likes his space and doesn't allow interference. You just have to trust and leave the rest up to him and it'll be all taken care of.

Surprisingly, he knew you as well and though he would never admit, you're guessing the only reason he agreed to manage the new branch because as an artist he felt violated with your supposed plagiarism case. That he empathizes with you.

You don't usually go around sharing your personal life with everyone but with Jihoon it came in candid. Gradually, he came to know about you and you about him. The man is a feline who can differentiate good from bad. So after pulling many late nights and over many drinks, you both have become comfortable with each other. So comfortable that he treats you as his errand woman and every time you dare to protest he threatens to breach the contract because as he brags he has money. That annoying mf--

Jihoon knows he shouldn't be nosy but also he couldn't turn a blind eye to how you cry every time you get wasted. How whenever you bring up your husband there's an abyss of longing in your eyes. Though you're diligent and pushing yourself hard, your mind always reels back to him.

"It's your birthday next week, what do you want?", Jihoon asks and tuts instantly, "Except for Seungcheol, I can't give you him."

"Nothing.", you state blatantly, "Just stay with the academy."

"Nevermind, trying to give you Seungcheol sounds easier.", Jihoon jokes and the cushion he receives on his face isn't uncalled for.

Nobody is as distressed as Mingyu. He hasn't seen you in months, you don't talk to him like before. He feels guilty. He shouldn't have involved himself in your matters when he knew why you tried so hard to cover the truth. He regrets urging Eunsoo to confess to Wonwoo because even though she presses that she's fine and masters at hiding her feelings whenever in the same room as Wonwoo, he knows she isn't exactly doing well. It's been quite a time and neither you nor Eunsoo are doing well. Not like Wonwoo or Seungcheol are doing any better.

So he thinks it's only the doable, he needs to take the matters into his hands, if not alone atleast with Chan and Seungkwan. It might try to fix things one last time, with no expectations, no agendas of his own.

When Chan asked Mingyu to accompany him somewhere, he found it odd but agreed nonetheless.

His face changes when he finds himself infront of Seungcheol's house.

"If you see any tendencies of violence in my speech or body language just hold me back. I don't wanna beat Seungcheol but actually I do wanna beat him.", Chan says as they enter the house.

Mingyu is already breaking in cold sweat and the only accountable relief is Wonwoo's presence. When they see Seungcheol, both Chan and Mingyu are shocked at his state. He looks sick and tired.

"Are you okay?", Mingyu asks and Seungcheol nods. That's when his eyes falls behind and he sees the large wedding picture frame hung on the wall. His eyes linger further and he sees how on every wall there are pictures of you, or you and him.

Chan witnesses that Seungcheol's doing as bad as you, maybe worse. Seungcheol has not been able to meet his eyes since he knew about the past like now, his eyes are down in shame.

"Look at me", Chan says calmly, "You don't have to be ashamed of something you have never taken part in."

"But my father did.", Seungcheol whispers, "I can't forgive myself about how I treated you all and her when all you did was protect me."

"You are not doing fine neither she is.", Mingyu adds, "What's the point of seperation when you both love each other?"

"She cries everyday because of you. Regrets wanting to be selfish and marry you because you're suffering. She blames herself for everything to the point that she isolated herself from her family, friends and her academy. She's alone off to a faraway place where if an emergency occurs the fastest we can get to her would be after a 10 hour journey.", Chan doesn't usually breaks but his voice cracks, "It's so hard to see her being hard on herself. The breakup in the past must have been hard on you, but for her it was worst. I shouldn't be disclosing this but it took her a lot of therapy sessions to get out of depression. It was arduous for all of us because as you know she's the life of our family, the academy and her friends circle."

Seungcheol listens to your brother wide, teary eyed. He feels as if he's in a whirlwind.

"When I don't have any grudge against you, Y/N wants to be with you the why are you making all of our lives miserable?", Chan speaks with frustration, "You still have chamce to make things right. Don't choose to be a victim to the circumstances once again and let the love of your life go. You both have defied the odds and been together so why complicate things when there could be happily ever after waiting for you both."

"Do I deserve--"

Seungcheol haults in track, scared when he sees Mingyu seething and fisting his hands.

"Stop being a crybaby and own up. You caused a lot of damage to Y/N and you should make it up to her.", Mingyu says through his gritted teeth, "Stop trying to run away. That woman has been suffering for years just because of your family and you. She's a saint for being so understanding and patient, always putting everyone above herself. Though she'd never admit, we all know that she went away just not to be a bother for anyone, specially you. I'll beat you to a pulp if you suck up one more time. Fucking coward!"

Tables turned, now it's Chan and Wonwoo who are holding Mingyu back because Mingyu himself has the patience of Saint so when he gets worked up, things get out of control.

In the midst of all this, Mingyu throws a glare at Wonwoo as well and that's when the later unhands him and steps back.

"Do you lack common sense? What's the point of hanging her pictures and playing her compositions when after all this, she's waiting with her hands open but you won't go.", Mingyu keeps on scolding, "Why do we have to come and speak sense into your mind when you're an adult with much developed brain, developed enough to plot things to ruin someone's career?"

Six pairs of wide eyes falls on Mingyu. Seungcheol thinks hell has come in form of the buff guy infront of him. Chan thinks it's so cool of the same buff guy. Wonwoo thinks in near future he'll be facing the same fate as Seungcheol's facing today.

When Chan and Mingyu leave, Wonwoo stays behind. He quietly places a box on the table.

Before Seungcheol could enquire, he answers, "Y/N had requested me to give you this box on her birthday. Though I don't know what it contains but I do have a feeling that there won't be any more appropriate time to hand this over. I should have given it to you earlier."

After Wonwoo leaves, Seungcheol exhales sharply as his hands gently caress the box and carefully opens it.

There's a letter that sits atop. He opens the thread tied around it and starts reading.

Hey Cherry,

I couldn't help but call you that, sorry if it made you uncomfortable. If you're reading this, then it's probably my birthday today. I'll make my birthday wishes later but here's a return gift for you. This box is an ode to you, to commemorate your love because enough we didn't get our happy ending, I could live the rest of my life reminiscing the moments we spent, the love we shared together.

Now let me show you what our love meant through my eyes. There should be a sweater inside the box, take that out.

Seungcheol immediately takes out the red crochet sweater and traces over the garment and the wordings on it. He then goes back reading the letter.

Remember when we were dating, I had grown an interest on crocheting and took classes. I had woven this sweater for you. It says "Mon Amour", which means my love in French another outcome of the music lessons I was taking from the French teacher. Never got a chance to give you this and now that you've grown big muscles, it won't fit you. You can give it or throw it.

Now you'd see a pile of vinyls. Since you've always encouraged me to pursue my passion, you became the source of my inspiration. There are 26 vinyls and each of those compositions were inspired by you. Some were composed when we were dating, some after our breakup, throughout the span of seven years and some while we were still married. I thought of returning these to their owner in true sense. These came straight out of my vault. You can keep them or burn all of them.

Seungcheol takes out the vinyls and rearranges all of them in the order of the dates written on them. He notices each Vinyl cover had a colour of it's own and each one was addressed to his name in your handwriting.

You've always loved Tulips. Remember each time I bought you those, how you'd end up getting sad because they'd wilt? So I gathered every colour I could and preserved it for you. There's a flap in which I've kept the Tulips. Don't get sad anymore, they'll stay with you now.

The rest are random things I had brought on whim either because I thought you'd like them or it reminded me of you and they may not make any sense to you.

Seungcheol notices the spilled ink in many places, blurring the words, as the letter reaches it's end because of the tears those fell down while you wrote the letter.

Nostalgic isn't it? So now that we're closing in, I'd like to say a few things to you. I don't blame you for happened in the past, nor does my family. As things turned out, we didn't end up together. But I don't want you to become a stranger whose laugh I could recognize anywhere. Let's not be that (only if you're comfortable enough to acknowledge me if we ever cross paths again).

As I said, even though it's my birthday I'll make a wish for you, make sure to fulfil it. Not request but it's a demand from your ex-wife. I wish you would move on from all the sufferings and pain. You should move on from me, from us. I wish for you to fall in love again with someone who'd keep you happy and bring back the liveliness in you. I admit it would hurt me, a lot but it'd mean nothing if you'd be well.

Never hesitate to come and find me, even if it's just for a brief moment. I'm always available for you. Also, just to remind you, don't you feel lonely, remember my friends are yours as well. Do disturb them at your will, most they'll do is throw tantrums but they're nice I promise. I love you, will always do. But you, move on okay? So that's all I guess. Sorry took too much of your time. Take care of yourself.

From,

Your Cherry (for one last time, promise)

Seungcheol is bawling his eyes out, screaming in pain as he reads your letter again and again, occasionally holding it close to his chest.

There's only one question that reels in his mind. How could you love him so selflessly?

You didn't expect much on your birthday but with all your friends and family travelling hours long, jamming up your place just to celebrate your day, it feels nice.

"Jihoon arranged the cake, but since Y/N wanted the party to be held in here he cancelled the venue.", Seungkwan states as a matter of fact, "Thank God, he's here otherwise my lifeline would have receded to half worrying about her."

All of your friends look at you happily chatting with your parents.

"Thanks Jihoon.", Eunsoo expresses her sincere gratitude, "I'm so relieved that she has you. She still hasn't forgiven us and knowing how private she tends to be, it's nice that she at least has you."

"We all feel the same.", Wonwoo assures and Eunsoo side eyes him as she shifts further away from him, changing seats.

Jihoon smiles genuinely, "Y/N is a great person to have around you so gradually you'd be willing to reciprocate the efforts."

"Good things, happen to good people but why is she suffering?", Mingyu sighs, chugging the can of bear, "She says she's mad at me, but she bought me my favourite limited edition watch when I was still recovering from the ligament injury."

"Yeah same, she checks on me throughout the day and night whenever I am going through a rough patch.", Eunsoo adds, "Even asked me to come and stay with her to take my mind off", she looks at Wonwoo, "things."

"Yeah, we may not always talk like we did before but she still cares the same.", Seungkwan says, "It's her nature, she can't do anything about it."

"Something good should happen to her soon.", Jihoon implies as he twirls the can in his hands.

The night goes on with you spending time with your dearest ones and catching up with everyone.

"Thanks for coming everyone.", you say making a toast, "I haven't felt this good lately. Y'all made my day really special."

At some point it's a mess, you're chasing Mingyu, who's screaming for his life because he smashed a big chunk of cake on your face. Eunsoo is eating off Jihoon's ears because she wants to hear him play Violin. Wonwoo doesn't like it a bit but there's nothing he can do apart from glaring at Jihoon. Seungkwan and Chan are debating over something useless, everyone is sure that next they're gonna fight each other to impose their point. Your parents look at all of you with a fond smile on their faces.

It's an hour till midnight when everyone decides to leave for the hotel they've been staying in. Though your friends and brother offer you help but you send them all away knowing they're still tired from such long journey.

You clean up the place and check the time before jogging down to throw the Dustin bags. All you could think of was if Seungcheol had read your letter. Doesn't matter if not today, as long as he reads it, any day is fine.

It's chilly outside as the full moon shines brightly. You stand outside not entering the gate and close your eyes to feel the breeze. It's calming, you think.

When you open your eyes after staying out for good amount of time, you think you had drunk a little too much.

"I shouldn't have drunk so much, now I'm seeing you.", you shake your head, slap your cheeks and look ahead again, "Why are you still here? Just vanish.', then you turn back to go inside the house.

"Y/N..."

You halt and say, "Now I'm hearing things also, great."

Suddenly you're being back hugged, "You're not hallucinating.", that's when you freeze, realisation gnawing on you.

Seungcheol has really come, he's physically present.

"W-What are you doing here?", you asked in your choked voice.

"I think we should have this conversation inside, only if you'll allow me to.", Seungcheol says and loosens his grip.

"Y-Yeah sure.", you don't look back, at him and walk straight into the house with him following you.

As Seungcheol takes a seat, you kick away the balloons, "Sorry, it's a mess right now.", and you flee to the kitchen to bring some slices of cake, "Have them, it's your favourite flavour."

"Happy Birthday, Y/N", he wishes you, taking the plate and you smile at him fondly.

"Have you eaten dinner?", you ask him and he shakes his head, "Came here straight from the airport."

While he eats the cake, you serve him all the dishes saying, "You should have told me that you'd come. I would have waited and we could have had the dinner together."

Seungcheol looks at you, wordless. So do you, observe him, the black hair that falls on his forehead, thick eyebrows, his brown orbs, dimpled cheeks, the small nose and stubbled chin, all of it. There's a soothing silence and you don't wanna break it.

"Y/N, there's a reason to why I came today."

You are calm, willing to listen to anything he has to offer because nothing worse can happen than what has already happened.

"I am not well without you.", he gives a small smile not meeting your gaze, "People are saying I look like a ghost nowadays, you can see it as well.", there's a pause before he looks at you and continues, "Your friends and brother have been trying hard to speak some senses into my mind. And I received the box you left for me, last week."

"But you were supposed to receive it today", you say calmly, "If my friends and family are pestering you, I'm sorry. I'd tell them to stop."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. He grabs both of your hands, "The problem isn't about me being unwell without you. The problem lies with you being more heartbroken and pained without me. You have suffered enough, you shouldn't be suffering anymore."

His hands trail gently upto your face, "And I'm here today to solve that."

You habitually lean into his touch, "Don't say something that would break my heart again, on my birthday."

"I know even without trying or repenting if I ask you to take me back, you'd do it in a heartbeat.", tears prick at his eyes as he speaks, "And now that there're no more secrets, though it's selfish of me but I want us to be together again, to live and to love forever. I want to love you right, treat you like you deserve to be treated."

You break down in tears, hiding your face in your palms, sobbing as you say, "This feels unreal. What if I'm dreaming and you'd be gone when I wake up?"

Seungcheol sniffles as he hugs you tightly, "I'm here, love. I won't go anywhere, I promise."

You snuggle closer to him, he embraces you tighter.

There are few taps on your back and you pull back only to Seungcheol making you stand up. You eyes questions him as he pecks your forehead quickly and kneels on his left knee.

Your eyes go wide as saucers as you watch him unfasten his chain and take out the ring, which you recognise is yours. He holds the ring saying, "I want to spend all of my tomorrows with you because you taught me the real meaning of love. Would you please with cherries on top, marry me?"

Not trusting your voice and with a frantic nod of head, you extend your hand towards him, onto which Seungcheol slides in the ring. You put the other ring on his finger and pull him into a fervent kiss.

Before he could take you to the bed and have you, you're pushing him away, "You haven't eaten, dinner first."

Seungcheol groans, his lips finding it's way back on your neck as he whispers, "I wanna eat you out. You're my meal, you're my dessert to devour."

You give up knowing, he's not going to listen because he's stripping you down to nothing, kissing and sucking everywhere.

"I love you, love you so much.", he keeps on murmuring, "You're mine, only mine."

Carrying you inside, he slams the bedroom door shut. All you could remember is his name and the way he worked on your whole body diligently through the night, till the morning.

"I wanna meet Lee Jihoon.", Seungcheol says during lunch, because that's when you both finally left the bed after long long sessions of love making.

But he makes you sit on his lap, "Because along with the plane ticket that I found on my office table, he had sent a card with the instructions to give it to you."

He takes out the card from his coat which was hung on the chair and gives it to you.

'Here's your birthday gift, Y/N. Told ya, giving you Seungcheol would be much easier.'

You are grinning ear to ear, "Definitely, he seems snappy but is actually quite a nice guy."

Seungcheol gulps when he remembers the other note which contained nothing but the pure threat of kidnapping, smuggling and dumping him to your house if he doesn't come here voluntarily, "Y-Yeah sure, he must be a nice guy..."

The nation is in uproar because it was such a sight to see Choi Seungcheol carrying his ex-wife in bridal style, smooching her throughout, in front of the media, till they're seen out of the airport.

Another shock comes from the musical prodigy, Lee Jihoon who returns to his roots posing as a bodyguard to the couple.

The media doesn't get to rest when a month later, both the Choi's and Lee's publish articles about your wedding to Seungcheol along with some glamourous shots from the private wedding that took place with limited guests consisting mostly closed friends and family.

Some are confused, some are shocked but more or less everyone is curious. No matter how hard the paparazzi are trying they're unable to pull tabs on what actually happened. You both are the trending topic and though all tabloids are based on pure speculations, it also shows the upper hand The Choi's have on protecting their matters.

"I have the sent the data as an anonymous to the police.", Wonwoo informs, "I'm sure it'll be concrete enough to put Jiah behind the bars."

"Great.", Seungcheol smiles, "Keep on digging, make sure once she's in, she never gets out of the prison."

Wonwoo gives a nod and leaves.

"Are you sure he like Eunsoo back?", Seungcheol turns to ask you.

"You should notice how stone cold poker faced Wonwoo starts to show emotions whenever he sees Eunsoo with Jihoon. I have caught him stealing glances at our Soo as well.", you sigh, "I know it must be hard for him, but I wish he could just be honest with his feelings."

"I'll talk to him", Seungcheol assures and as if a switch flips he pouts saying, "Why'd you have to go? We just got married."

"I'll have to look over the academy until it's fully functional.", you tell him, "Jihoon can take over after that but till then I'll have keep going back and forth. But hey, I'll be here for a month before I go, let's utilize it to the fullest."

"Of course, baby. Don't worry I'll manage my schedule so that I can be there with you for most of the time.", he pecks your lips, "I'm so proud of you. I love you."

"Love you too, Cherry.", you smile looking at him.

"Let's plan for our honeymoon--"

"Cheol, I was thinking that...", your lips purse into a line, "instead of touring, can we spend some time alone without work, just the two of us, somewhere cozy. Only if you're okay with it, I know you're busy and to take time completely off--"

You're cut off by his lips on yours. He kisses you for a good amount of time and says, "If you want it then I'll manage. Anything for you baby."

You smile pushing him away, "You're down bad.", ypj tease, "I'll have to drop by the academy, Seungkwan is waiting."

"I'll take you.", Seungcheol gets up grabbing the car keys, "I'm sure everyone is there specially Jihoon, I'm a fan."

You roll your eyes, "Yeah everyone is saying so but he's a plain pain in ass to me. Let's take Wonwoo with us.", grabbing your clutch, "I'm planning to visit Wonseok, let's go together this weekend. Also, I've informed Ms. Oh that we'd be eating out tonight."

As Seungcheol drives, your mind reels back to everything that happened over the month. Your husband proposing to you, you coming back and accepting things with his parents as they offer their earnest apologies. Though Seungcheol is still not on talking terms with them and you're yet to entirely let go of what they've done, you think time will mend the relationships.

Getting married again but this time just out of pure love. Discussions about having family, bearing his children in future comes often and you don't miss the gleam in your husband's eyes when you both talk over it casually nowadays, him always assuring that he's ready whenever you're ready. Your friends now becoming more of Seungcheol's group as they pick each other's habit and throw unfiltered banter, Jihoon included.

If years of suffering have led you to witness these days then you're content because it's all worth it.

Even though Seungcheol is engaged in a conversation with the group, he sweeps a quick glance at you, smiling fondly and mouthing a 'I Love you' before diving back just to sulk at something Mingyu claimed.

You say those words right back to him in your heart, a thousand times more as you make a wish you have him as yours in all lifetimes.

To be fully seen by somebody and be loved anyhow is a human offering that can border on miraculous. Having withered for each other and falling back in love, lucky you both to be spending the rest of your lives together.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Taking care of his girls (part 1)

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader (y/n)

Warnings: none

a/n: another girl dad Carlos because I just can't get enough

Y/N's pov

The newborn stage is extremely challenging. Sleep deprivation caused by countless sleepless nights, lack of energy, baby crying even though she ate half an hour ago, trying to figure out the cause of her crying, colic, baby not latching, painful feedings or lack of milk production - all that and much more comes when you step into motherhood. Trust me, it is exhausting both physically and mentally and anyone who says otherwise is lying!

However, not much is talked about how demanding and tiring and difficult it is when you are burning with a fever and can barely stand on your feet, and you have a two-year-old daughter who also has a flu and who, in addition to all of that, is a very stubborn daddy's little girl and doesn't really like to listen to anyone except her dad. That two-year-old is our little girl Bea. Bea is a very stubborn and smart girl who is very attached to her dad and loves spending time with him. She is completely enchanted by him and whenever Carlos returns home from the race, she does not separate from him.

We've only recently started taking her to the races, but since she tends to run around the paddock and starts screaming when it's time for Carlos to get in the car, we've decided that we won't be able to follow Carlos everywhere he goes.

This time we could not attend the Grand Prix in Italy for another reason, and that reason was because I caught a flu, which almost knocked me off my feet, and two days later Bea was burning with a fever as well.

Being alone with her while I was sick, doing all the housework, cooking and taking care of her was very difficult and exhausting. I was very worried about her because she had a high temperature, she was very weak, she didn't want to eat much, she was crying all the time and she just wanted me to hold her in my arms and cuddle her.

Carlos returned from Italy to our home in Madrid yesterday and we both couldn't wait to see him. When he came back I could finally breathe a little, sit down and rest because he decided to take care of both of us.

It was the same today, even though I felt a little better, Bea was still coughing a lot and her nose was blocked, so I decided to go to the pharmacy to get a children's inhaler. Carlos decided to stay with her and fulfill all her wishes, and today the wish was cuddling and watching cartoons in the living room.

It took me quite a long time to get to the pharmacy, make the purchase and get back home, so I only returned after 45 minutes. The sight that greeted me when I entered the living room brought tears to my eyes, but happy tears full of gratitude.

Bea was lying curled up on Carlos' chest, his arms wrapped around her as his head fell back against the back of the couch his lips slightly parted as both of them were fast asleep while Dora the explorer begged for help in the background. Carlos tied her hair into a small ponytail on top of her head while her baby hairs were messily sticking out. For a moment I just stood next to the couch and watched them smiling and thinking how did I get so lucky?

"Babe" I approach Carlos from the back of the couch and whisper into his ear. "Babe, wake up." It took him a minute to realize they had fallen asleep and to wake up.

"Ay dios mío.." You could also hear the tiredness in his voice because he didn't sleep at all last night. He demanded that I rest and that he would look after Bea overnight.

"Let's take her to bed okay?" I say quietly trying not to wake her up.

"What time is it?" He asks.

"It's only 7 p.m. I'll take care of her tonight, you get some sleep okay?" I say caressing his cheek.

"No, no I'll do it You still haven't fully recovered amor and I want you to." He says leaving a kiss on my thumb. Just as Carlos slowly straightened up from a semi-lying position on the couch, Bea startled and started crying.

"Shh cariño, no llores." (shh darling don't cry) Carlos immediately began gently shushing her and rubbing her back as I sat next to them.

"Do you want to go sleep in mommy and daddy's bed baby?" I asked her placing a kiss on her hand. She doesn't usually sleep with us, but when she is sick we always let her.

"No" She rubbed her eyes nervously, still crying and burrying her head into the crook of Carlos neck. "Papa, mama" She whined extending her little hand towards me, but not wanting to leave Carlos' embrace.

"Está bien mi amor, mamá y papá están aquí, no te preocupes." Carlos said tightening his grip around her with one arm and with the other pulling me closer to them.

We quickly gave up on trying to talk her into going to bed because we realized it would only upset her even more so we both decided to curl up to Carlos.

"Mis princesas." I leaned my head against his shoulder wrapping my arm around our little bean as Carlos kissed both of our foreheads.

Part 2 here

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 2

previous part

tw: talk of past trauma/abuse, implied past s/a (not with ghost), alcohol, mentions of suicide

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

You were trying. You really, really were. For the first few days of this sudden deal you had made with a hitman you had just met yet somehow felt compelled to prove wrong, you were doing good.

You cleaned the entirety of your apartment, tossing out the old liquor bottles that littered your cabinets. You stocked your refrigerator that had been near empty for months apart from the old takeout boxes that had been slowly decaying away. You even went to work with a damn smile.

You were doing everything you could to prove to Ghost that maybe you didn’t want to die after all, that it was a fluke in your system convincing you it was what you desired.

You hated being a weakling. You hated that Ghost was right. You wanted to prove to him you could make it to two weeks and that you didn’t need him to kill you after all. You wanted him to be proud, though you didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he knew you, nor you him.

He was a stranger, but he was the first one to ever give you an ounce of care and attentiveness, even if it ended up being a facade on his part.

It took all but four days for your resolve to crumble, and you found yourself back at square one, entering your shitty apartment with bags of alcohol that you impulsively bought on the way home from work.

Like you said. You tried.

Stepping inside with a grim expression adorning your face, you shucked your shoes off of your feet, dropping your purse to the ground without an ounce of care for it.

Everything felt heavy as you slid further into the apartment. Your mind was running a marathon that went all sorts of different directions. It felt like the weight of the world laid on your entire body, and you wasted no time in heading straight towards your bedroom.

With the bags of alcohol still in your hand, you stepped into your bedroom, feeling a slight breeze that was never normally there. It sent a chill down your spine and caused goosebumps to rise on your skin beneath your sweater.

Eyes preyed on the state of you, and when you finally gathered the courage to look at the sliding door to your bedroom balcony, a familiar masked man stood there, lazily leaning his arms against the railing, nursing a cigarette.

The sight reminded you of the night the two of you stood out there, where he coerced you into making the damn deal in the first place, one you were too stubborn to deny at the time.

It was the first time you had somebody in your apartment since the last man in your life, and you swore you’d never allow it to happen again. Yet here he was for the second time, standing there like he lived in the apartment with you.

You felt like a complete idiot when he took in the alcohol bottles and the sunken eye bags on your face. Four days into the deal, and your facade already broke.

“That doesn’t look like figurin’ it out,” Ghost said in a dry tone, yet it didn’t hold judgment like you expected. If anything, he sounded a bit disappointed, maybe even pitiful.

You stood like a child caught with their hand in a cookie jar, bags dangling loosely by your sides, eyes boring into his. Guilt gnawed at you for purchasing the alcohol and already failing at your end of the deal.

The smoke that slipped from his lips did nothing to fog over his piercing stare, and you could feel yourself becoming weak under it.

That’s what you were. Weak. A weak, stupid girl.

You don’t know how long you stood there in a daze, but it must’ve been quite some time because he turned his whole body towards you, leaning his back against the railings. Now you were definitely trapped under his stare with him fully facing you despite the slight distance between you in the doorway and him on the balcony.

“Still got about ten days left of our deal. You goin’ to back out so soon?”

Your hands balled the plastic handles of the bags tighter, and a feeling of shame came over you.

What were you doing? Did you really fail yourself after four days? Did you really buy more liquor to ease the pain?

“Don’t know why you’re so concerned about the deal anyway. You’re missing out on money by not killing me like I want,” you retorted with a frown, dropping the bags on the bed carelessly. The bottles clinked loudly, rattling in your ears like a cruel reminder of how pathetic you were.

He snorted, taking a puff of his cigarette that was slowly burning between the press of two fingers. It curled around him like an embrace, filling the night air with spouts of gray and nicotine.

“‘M not that concerned about the money, sweetheart. More concerned ‘bout the stupid girl who’s tryin’ to commit suicide through a hitman.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. It made you look defensive, which is absolutely how you felt. The day hadn’t treated you well, and now Ghost was here to taunt you about the silly deal you made in the spur of the moment.

You didn’t understand why he was concerned. The two of you met once — twice, technically, but all in the same day. Nobody ever worried for you, nor did you have anybody in your life to worry about you.

Why on earth did a man meant to kill you care about you?

It felt like a trick. Maybe it was all apart of his plan, maybe he was one of those sick, cold-blooded killers that posed themselves as hitmen. That must’ve been why he wore a mask, and why he pretended to care.

Your mind was eating you from the inside and out, spiking your anxiety and causing it to feel like little knives digging into you more and more. It sliced at your insides, tearing your chest and stomach with nerves and shame that made you want to pop open one of the bottles and drown yourself in a buzz of alcohol. At least liquor wouldn’t interrogate you.

“You goin’ to stop lookin’ at me like a dead fish?”

When you came back to your senses, he had a small smirk on his lips where the mask was lifted for you to see. It wasn’t a genuine smirk, and it was far from a smile — it was sarcastic and teasing, like he knew he was making you feel stupid and deranged, and was enjoying it.

“Can you just murder me and get on with it? Deal’s off,” you snapped, and he huffed out a laugh, flicking his cigarette to the ground of your balcony and lightly crushing it beneath his boot.

“‘M not a murderer,” he argued, and you gave him a bitter laugh.

“You’re a hitman.”

“Exactly,” he agreed with a shrug of his shoulder. “A hitman. Not a murderer. The real murderers are the ones who hire me to kill people. I just do the dirty work, sweetheart.”

Ghost had a twisted way of defending his work, but you supposed he had a point. After all, you were the one practically begging him to end your life.

“You— whatever,” you muttered, letting out a long sigh. You sat on the edge of your bed, burying your face in your hands and attempting to rub away the obvious exhaustion in your eyes.

There was no point in arguing with him in the first place. He was clearly playing you like a fiddle, and for why, you weren’t sure, nor did you have the energy to care.

Your entire body felt heavy with emotions from what transpired in your day, and Ghost was making no signs of leaving you alone to drink your sorrows away and hopefully succumb to alcohol poisoning — an easy way out.

“So,” Ghost began, breaking the tense silence. He took a step inside of your room, shutting the sliding door behind him and allowing the night chill to remain locked outside. “How ‘bout you tell me what’s goin’ on in that pretty head, and we make it to day five of our deal, hm?”

You lifted your head from your hands to see him standing in front of you with his hands shoved in his pockets, mask tugged back down over his face to hide his mouth, head tilted down at you in a way that made you realize just how much of a behemoth of a man he was.

“‘M waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t get it,” you defended with a scowl.

“Mm. Try me.”

“Fucking Christ,” you hissed. The emotions that had been brewing inside of you were threatening to spill out like a damn geyser, and it was becoming near impossible to hold them back.

You sat for a moment while he patiently (or impatiently, you didn’t care either way) waited for you to collect yourself. Truly, despite how annoying he was being tonight, what was the harm in telling him? After all, he was offering, and he didn’t know you. Plus, hopefully by the end of this stupid deal, he’d kill you and learn to forget about what you were about to say.

“I saw somebody at work,” you grumbled quietly, turning your eyes away from him as if ashamed. “Somebody I didn’t want to see. Brought back bad memories and now here I am, spiraling to the point of no return, all because I let that fucking idiot get to me.”

Ghost hummed in acknowledgment, one of his gloved hands coming out of his pocket to rub at the fabric covering his chin.

“Hm. An ex, then?” he asked, and you nodded your head.

“Guess so, yeah. He… he was a bad person, y’know? Really fucked me up, in the relationship and after. Can’t seem to get away from the fucker.”

“Makes sense.” Ghost shrugged a shoulder, letting his hand fall back in his pocket. “You really goin’ to let some arse have control like that? Thought we had a deal, sweetheart. Four days in and you’re already droppin’ like a fly ‘cause of one brute.”

You scowled to yourself, feeling a mix of embarrassment and shame settle in your bones. God, how weak were you?

“He was an abusive asshole who took everything away from me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Go on. Tell me more.”

So you did. You don’t know why, but his words were the green light for you to spill out every bit of misery you’d been holding in for so long, you couldn’t even recall when it began.

He listened, putting in his own input at times, or giving you the occasional nod to show he was listening.

You told him everything — the abuse, the mistreatment, the torture. How you lived a life full of black and blue, skin so tattered it was permanently damaged from the pain your ex would cause you. How he wouldn’t ever let you say no, and would manipulate you into giving in, no matter where, no matter when.

You had permanent scars on both your mind and heart from how much of yourself had been torn down. Even now, you can remember the screams that caused your throat to become raw and you begged, pleaded for him to stop. You wanted all of it to end, and you remembered how much you wished your ex would just kill you so you wouldn’t have to suffer a life like that anymore.

Old habits die hard, you suppose. Things don’t change, even with time.

It was pitiful how long you had put up with such abuse, but you did, and there was no rotating the clock so you could go back and redo your entire life again. If you could, you wouldn’t be here, trauma dumping on your own hitman.

You weren’t sure how long you spent pouring your heart and soul to Ghost, but by the time you were finished, your face was red, your breath was heavy, but your shoulders were more relaxed than before, as if the weight had been carefully lifted and placed elsewhere.

Ghost stood silent for a long pause in time. He stared at you, eyes taking in every movement of your chest, every twitch of your fingers. You didn’t stare back, for your glare was locked on to the ground as you took that time to recollect yourself and not appear like the broken, battered girl you knew you were.

“Well,” Ghost finally spoke, and when you looked up at him, his eyes were on his phone. You don’t remember him ever pulling it out, too focused on your own self destruction. “Would you look at that. Made it to day five.”

He turned the phone to face you, screen lit up to display his lockscreen. It was the default wallpaper, no sign of life or personality evident. When you took a closer look, you saw the time, and realized he was right.

It was 12:01. Just past midnight.

“Let’s make it to day six, yeah?”

Ghost shoved his phone in his pocket, giving you a nod in farewell before he took steps forward towards your bedroom door.

You sat there in stunned silence, eyes blinking dumbly. When you realized he was leaving, you whipped your head in his direction.

“What—“

“I'll be back soon, sweetheart.”

He didn’t let you finish your question, giving you a small wave of his hand. You noticed his eyes crinkled where they were exposed from under the mask, and you realized he was smiling at you, even if you couldn’t see it.

You couldn’t help but give him a relieved smile back.

[cal-flakes]

okay but imagine reader posting new swimsuit on her story but rafe makes her take it down 🤑🤑

╰┈➤ “delete it”

warnings: mean!rafe, toxic relationship, swearing.

summary: y/n knows exactly how to get rafe’s attention.

she sighed, scrolling mindlessly through her phone as she lay on her stomach, legs crossed behind her. it had been an hour, and she hasn’t heard from him yet, and that wasn’t like him, what was he doing?

swiping out of instagram, she checked her messages once again. delivered, the small text said below her last message. so he’s definitely got it, but he hasn’t opened it. petty, she thought.

rolling her eyes, she diverted her attention to the numerous shopping bags scattered around her bedroom floor, quickly jumping up with an idea. if he’s too stubborn to reply, this’ll surely get his attention.

pushing yesterdays argument with rafe out of her mind, she grabbed the smallest shopping bag, reaching in to retrieve one of the many bikini sets she’d purchased earlier that day.

she unraveled the white strings delicately, laying it out in her bed with a smirk on her face. oh, how he’ll hate this.

she hummed along to the quiet music sounding around her room as she tied the bikini strap around her neck, huffing as she positioned herself awkwardly to do so.

once all the strings were tied and adjusted to compliment her curves perfectly, she played around with the light dimmer before grabbing her phone.

opening instagram, her thumb pressed down on add to story, and situated herself seductively in front of the large expensive mirror. snapping a quick photo, and adjusting the contrast, she sighed in delete as she typed in a basic caption and posted it to her story. now we wait, she thought.

thirty minutes- or so, passed while she lounged around her room, having replaced the bikini with a comfortable pair of shorts, and one of his oversized graphic tee’s. by this time, she’d forgotten all about the post, focusing on her skincare routine as she pinned her hair back in preparation.

a quite shriek escaped her lips as the first hard bang landed on the door of her apartment, her frame jolting in fright.

gathering herself, she smirked slightly as she tip-toed to the door, listening for the usual torrent of abuse to fall from his mouth.

“open the fucking door y/n, i know you’re home!” his stern voice called, full of anger. she rested her back against the wall near the door, sure to keep her footsteps quiet. she knew what she was doing, and she knew it was wrong, but she missed him- and if this was her only way to see him, then so be it.

“i swear to god y/n i’ll put this fucking door through if you don’t let me in, now!” he yelled again, followed by three more loud raps, which echoed through her small home.

giving in, she pushed back off the wall, deciding she’d had her fun. “okay-okay! chill the fuck out dude!” she shouted, hastily padding over to the door and unlocking it.

she smiled sweetly at him as he stalked through the doorway, almost squaring up. “dude?- did you just call me dude?” he seethed, nostrils flaring as he towered above her.

“yeah? what’s the big deal?” she chuckled, nonchalant closing the door behind him before making her way past, launching herself onto the couch.

following suit, his heavy footsteps taunted hee as he rounded the couch, stopping between her legs to look down on her. “delete it” he spat, fists balled up either side of him. “delete what?” she cooed, twirling her hair as she looked up at him through her lashes. “you know what y/n, don’t play fucking dumb, it won’t work this time” he snapped.

“ugh, you’re no fun” she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she picked up her phone to unlock it. “no fun? you think being a little whore for the world to see is fun?”

gasping, she feigned offence as she held a hand up to her chest, mouth agape. “woah- that was rude, very uncalled for rafe..” she teased, smirking as she felt his eyes watching her while her fingers tapped away at the screen.

“see? all gone? you happy?” she laughed, tossing her phone back to its original spot on the couch. “oh, so you just do this shit to piss me off huh?” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“well- see, i missed you, and you were being all stubborn and rafe-like because of yesterday, so what else was i supposed to do..” she muttered, delicately taking ahold of his hands to pull him onto the couch.

deflating, he allowed himself to fall into the spot next to her, his hands moving to her waist instinctively as she straddled him. “you drive me fucking insane y/n, i don’t even want to know what other stupid shit goes on in that little head of yours..” he groaned, throwing his head back as she cuddled into him.

“yeah, but you love me” she stated confidently, pressing soft kisses to his exposed neck. “mhm..” he hummed, pushing some stray hairs behind her ear.

[untolduttering]

Hunger

Summary: The Sunny finds itself delayed in it's journey to the next island, causing Sanji's supply of blood to dwindle. He refuses to feed off of any of the crew, but you're determined to do something about that.

Tags: vampire!Sanji, gender neutral reader, established relationship, self-harm, blood, blood consumption, self-inflicted starvation

Word Count: 2.8k

The crew was supposed to have reached the next island a week ago. By Nami’s direction, the next island was a week away from the one we had been on. It had meant that we could be frugal with our purchases, that our stocks weren’t as hearty as they could be. But a storm in the first week halted our progress for repairs, and now the ship was stuck in the doldrums. It was becoming a miserable time.

The ship did have its usual emergency stocks, something that Sanji made sure to keep fresh and hidden for this exact emergency. Everyone would be just fine, save for one. The food would last for at least another two weeks without a problem, and by Franky’s design, all the water from the sea could be made drinkable. Blood, however, was an entirely different case. It could only store so well for so long. For a vampire, drinking expired blood would have as dire consequences as transfusing to a human expired blood. He had to keep to a strict schedule when it came to its consumption, and there wasn’t too much wiggle room for rationing. There was also limited storage—there were so many things that a happy existence required—and with Sanji’s self-sacrificing tendencies, he opted for less blood so that the kitchen and Chopper’s office would have more room for more “important things”. It was a decision that irked you constantly, but it was his life source, therefore his rules, and Sanji was a stubborn man, one that was no stranger to hunger.

His supply had run out three days ago, and it was making a miserable time into an agonizing one. He refused to be anywhere near you, for he feared that he wouldn't have the strength to stop himself from drinking your blood. It was his number one rule, in bold and italics, that he would not drink from any of the crew. It was his affliction that only he would deal with, and he would not put any of his nakama into such a compromising situation. And your own scent was strongest to him, the sweetest and most tantalizing. It was something he could usually enjoy on a full belly, but as the hunger started to claw, it became his most wild desire. And that scared him more than anything. A loss of control, an indulgence taken too far, a slip in his morals, could mean the end of your life.

Sometimes you thought he was taking it too far, being his dramatic self when it came to his love for you, but you took his concerns seriously nonetheless. Well, you typically did. But this current self-inflicted flagellation and punishment was driving you up a wall. You hadn’t shared a bed in four days, and hadn’t even shared the same space in two. If you walked into a room, a guilty look crossed his face as he dashed out. He was impossible to corner, too, both because of his speed and his ability to come up with some task he just needed to do now, and so he had to leave you right now, he was sorry but he loved you so deeply. 

And you knew you should be giving him space. That he had set boundaries and that you should quit pushing them. But as you had assured him previously, again and again, him feeding off of you wouldn’t be a problem. It was something you wanted, actually. He knew better than anyone how gratifying it was to help someone, to serve them. You wanted to be a source of relief for him, in every aspect. He could take all he wanted from you and more, and you’d happily give it. Sanji was always doing everything you asked and everything you didn’t, and you just wanted to do the same. If he wanted to lavish you in his worship, you also wanted to be able to sit at his altar and serve him the same way. So, you had been pushing it a little. 

It wasn’t often that Sanji was low on blood, but on the off chance that it happened, or that his urges were stronger than usual, he’d ask you to cover up. Not that he was trying to control you, he assured. Nor that he disliked the way you dressed, he actually would prefer that you wore less. He rambled on for a bit, when he told you this, complimenting and apologizing, but any exposed skin was just too tempting for him to sink his teeth into, and it was best to take precautions. And so you did, because you would do anything he asked of you. 

But. 

He needed encouragement. Sanji shouldn’t have to suffer like this, and so you continued to dress in a way that elongated your neck and exposed your wrists and thighs. You had started this early on, knowing exactly how this time in the doldrums was going to go. And it was causing equal parts satisfaction and pain for Sanji. You relished the way eyes ravished you, but that enjoyment paled in comparison to the suffering it caused him. You could see the pain clear on his face, the way he had to constantly restrain himself, and it made you hate yourself a little. It was in an effort to make him break, to take what he needed from you. But he was just so strong, it was one of those things you deeply admired about him, and his restraint was as tough as steel. 

And it was on the morning of his second day of no blood that you had really crossed the line. 

You were sitting at the little counter that looked into the kitchen, and watched him as he cooked breakfast. He wasn’t looking all too bad, but he did seem strained, and kept glancing at all of your purposely exposed skin. You’d blown him a kiss, causing him to laugh and swoon and send one right back. 

“You’re beautiful,” you said. 

Per usual, he was quick to make it about you again. “Oh, mon cœur, it’s nothing compared to yours.” 

You smiled, soft and sweet, and he continued his cooking. It was peaceful, the kitchen empty except for you two. The quiet was interrupted by the sizzling from the pans on the stove and the chopping of vegetables. You watched his pretty hands cutting away, admiring the speed and skill of his knife work. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off his forearms. A towel was draped over his shoulder, a cigarette dangled from his lips, and his bangs covered his face as he leaned over his work. It was one of your favorite sights, one you conjured up often, and it made your heart ache and fill with need. You hopped down, deftly swerved around the counter, and stopped right before him. He looked up, a question on his face and awaiting  your request. You brought your hands to his face and brushed back his bangs so you could see all of his face. You stared, your gaze getting lost in his features. You’d suggested before that he wear a headband, less for the practicality and more for your own pleasures, but he refused. It just wasn’t fair of him to hide such a pretty face.

You leaned in, pressing a kiss to each swirl in his brows, and stopped on his mouth, letting it linger on and on. Sanji kissed right back, pressing a hand to your hip and bringing you closer. You darted your tongue into his mouth and dragged it across his teeth, making sure to lick his fangs and feel their points as you went. He pulled back, his eyes half lidded, and you realized his other hand had been gripping yours, rubbing his thumb into your palm. He brought it to his face and pressed his nose to your inner wrist, taking a deep inhale. He let out a shaky breath, and inhaled again. Sanji then kissed it, feather light, again and again. He pressed his lips harder and harder as he went, until it became open mouthed kisses. Small sounds were escaping his mouth, and when his tongue came out and dragged along your skin, clearly without his permission, he whined. Your mouth had fallen open, and you watched all starry eyed as he made out with your wrist. For a moment you felt a sharp point dig into your skin, and all of a sudden Sanji was on the other side of the kitchen, his face horror stricken. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry. I don't know what… I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” 

“No, no,” you said, shushing him. “It’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” You started toward him, hands outstretched and desperate to hold him, comfort him. “I think you should, Sanji. You need to feed.” 

“Absolutely not.” He’d hardened his voice, the best he could when it came to you. 

You were in front of him again, hands rubbing his shoulders. “Sanji, I’m serious. You can’t be doing this to yourself.” You moved your hands to cradle his face, but he snapped his head away, clearly afraid to let himself anywhere near your wrists. Quickly, he grabbed your hips and turned you around, ushering you out. 

“I’m sorry, my love, and I do love you, so, so deeply. But I cannot trust myself around you, not until I’ve eaten,” he said.

“No, I know. I understand. But it’s okay, Sanji. I forgive you,” you replied, utterly crestfallen. 

As soon as you crossed the doorway, he said, “Breakfast will be ready soon. Make sure you come in with the rest, and not alone.” He kissed you once more on the mouth, unable to resist the urge but keeping it chaste, and then disappeared back into the kitchen. 

And that was that. Sanji had kept his promise, and was never alone with you, nor too near you at all. He was so clearly miserable because of his decisions. When you did see him, you saw the bags weighing heavy under his eyes, and the way the misery took the light out of his eyes. Your own chest constantly ached, and sleep wasn’t coming easy without his body in your arms. You’d be damned if you weren’t going to do something about it.

So now you stood in the kitchen, a wine glass under your dripping arm. You’d sliced a clean line in your wrist and were draining it so that Sanji could drink it. He’d be upset, but the blood was already out, and it’d be a waste not to drink it. Plus, putting it into a glass like this would limit his intake. He couldn’t overstep like he feared. You felt like this move to be a pretty perfect solution. Except it was taking forever. You squeezed the wound, trying to encourage the blood to come pouring out. It was a messy affair, and you felt guilt at each drop that missed and hit the counter. You knew that from wherever Sanji was, he could smell your blood, and was writhing from the need of it but refused to come for it. It was to your benefit that he wouldn’t come to stop you, but the longer it took, the worse you felt. You were prolonging his torture. You grabbed the knife you use—one of your own, as you’d never sully one of Sanji’s precious knives like that—and opened your wound farther. You hissed at the pain, but remembering that you were doing this for Sanji made it easier and all the more worth it. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for him. 

When the wine glass was half full, you stopped and wrapped your arm, hoping that it was a reasonable and satisfying amount. You snatched up the blood and rushed to give it to Sanji, determined. You swung the kitchen door open and scanned the ship. Zoro caught your eye first, and you made your way over to him. 

“Where’s Sanji?” you asked once you reached him. 

He gestured to the men’s quarters with a nod of his head, and a grunt from his mouth. At the sight in your hand, though, he paused. “Is that… blood?”

“Yes. Thank you, Zoro.” You beelined to the room. 

The door smacked the opposite wall as you slammed it open. It was just Sanji in the room, and he jumped from his curled position from the far corner. The gauntness of his face horrified you. His eyes were huge, immediately knowing what was in the wine glass. He knew it was yours, too, even without looking at your wrapped arm, because it was overwhelmingly your scent. 

“Y/n,” he said, voice deep and pained. 

You held it out farther for him to grab. “Drink.”

Sanji’s voice rose in pitch, almost near to tears, “I can’t–”

“Drink.” There was no room for his nonsense. 

He couldn’t fight it any longer, and the glass was snatched from your hand, faster than you could blink. Sanji downed the glass, moaning both in ecstasy and disappointment once it was empty. His pupils were blown wide, taking over almost all of the blue of his eyes. He dropped to his knees and crawled to you, gripping your arm once he was there and pressed the wound to his cheek. He was shaking his head as he did it, but he moaned out your name again. His need for you and his need to keep to his moral code were warring with each other, and it was clearly killing him. 

You dropped down to your knees as well, heart aching at the sight of him, and tugged the wrapping off. You pressed the wound closer to his mouth and cupped his other cheek. “It’s okay, baby. Go ahead.”Sanji’s eyebrows furrowed and his nose wrinkled. His fangs bit down into his red stained bottom lip and he whimpered. He shook his head once. You brought it closer to his mouth, letting a little of the blood smear onto his lips. “I trust you, Sanji. Please, I can’t stand to see you like this. Please.”

His resolve crumbled and his mouth latched on. He whined and whimpered, and a few tears escaped his tight shut eyes. You brushed your fingers across his face and ran them through his hair, trying to soothe him. “There you go, my baby,” you cooed. “Isn’t that nice? You’re always such a good boy, and you deserve such a good gift.” 

He moaned into your arm, and it slowly turned back into a whine. You could feel the guilt and shame rolling off of him. You kissed all over what you could access of his face, continuing to tell him all the ways he was a good boy and why he deserved to have a treat. His own thoughts were vile. The taste of your blood was almost sending him into a frenzy, he couldn’t believe that someone could taste so good. But of course you did. You were the brightness on his darkest days. The kindness you bestowed upon him by just letting yourself be near him was pure sweetness, so of course you tasted this divine. He couldn’t believe you were letting  a disgusting, wretched man such as himself take this nectar from you. But, oh, he could not stop. He did not deserve such a gift, but he was a selfish and starved man, and he’d take whatever you would willingly give, no matter how little, and cherish it deeply.

It was when you started to feel a little light headed that you encouraged him to stop. He pulled away, clearly wanting to keep going, but he had always been a strong man, and with a full stomach, was able to keep control.

“See?” you said. “That went well. You did so good, and don’t you feel so much better?”

He nodded his head and pressed it further into your hand that was still holding his cheek. He looked so sad, like a kicked puppy. Even his bottom lip was jutting out just a little in a pout. You couldn’t resist, and kissed him, not caring for the blood that was smeared all across his lower face. He kissed back, unable to not give you anything you wanted, and was grateful that you still wanted to kiss him after such a disgusting display. But all it did was make your heart grow all the fonder for him. After, he ducked his head and tucked it into the crook of your neck, and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You’re more than I could ever deserve, and I’m sorry–” 

“Ah,” you cut him off. “No apologies. There is nothing you should be apologizing for.” 

“But–”

“Nothing. I love you, and I was happy to do it. And I’m happy to do it again whenever you need.”

Sanji wasn’t all that convinced, but he nodded anyway, warmth filling him from your words. 

“Now,” you said, words soft again. “Will you hold me tonight?”

You felt his smile spread across your skin. “Of course, my love.” He kissed your neck. “Of course.” 

[imrllytootiredforthis]

Pent up~Teaser

pairing: changbin x sexshop employee worker

summary: changbin goes to a sexshop looking for a little something to fill up his lonely nights but gets more than he initially bargained for-not that he's upset about it~

warnings: in teaser-dom reader, sub changbin, obvious praise kink, mentions of masturbation, mentions of sex toys and bdsm, needy changbin. in full fic (of what i know so far): pegging, masturbation, cumplay, exhibitionism, teasing, size kink, etc

a/n: teaser bc i feel like it-and @arlojulien-nightchild-of-hades requested no.10 in my drafts, so here it is-also for binnie's birthday!

Changbin had never been embarrassed about masturbating. 

He knew that he felt pent up from time to time from stress and work and life in general-from what little life he did have. From having to deal with Han and Chan, because while he did love them, putting up with them wasn't the easiest feat, though he'd never tell them that.

His life was busy and things were frustrating, so much so he’d have to restrain himself from doing things he’d actually regret.

Like smashing Chan’s laptop when he stopped listening to all reason, locking himself in his room for days on end without getting any sleep, food or water. His self-destructive tendencies doing shit for the group and even worse for his own mental state.

Or like shouting at Han when he was acting like a brat, stuck in his own ways, which would result in him crying every time. He'd grown a lot in the past few years but he was still stubborn as shit and too sensitive for his own good.

And as Changbin had realized, was that doing any of those things rarely ever helped the situation but only aided in getting his own frustrations out.

So he'd found that the natural way to get rid of those frustrations while also not doing something that he’d regret later on was to blow off steam in other ways. Take things into his own hands in other words. After all, a busy person such as himself wasn't about to go out and look for a good lay every so often.

Masturbating and self-pleasure wasn't unhealthy by any means, he knew that and he’d never really understood why it was such a stigmatized topic, but that was a whole conversation for another time.

The point was, he'd never felt ashamed to the fact that he needed some alone time every once in a while. 

Not until now. 

Standing in his local sex shop in front of a very large selection on the shelf, trying to decide between two sizes of dildos. He could get the bigger one or the smaller one. Money was no problem and he could buy both if he really wanted, but he'd really rather not have to figure out how to hide not one but two fake dicks in the dorms in which any of his snooping roommates could find at any time plus it felt a little excessive to have two dildos.

But it really wasn't this part that he was ashamed of. He was just dandy with the fact that he was standing here browsing the shelves of dildos, looking for one that he was going to use on himself later tonight. 

Changbin knew exactly what he was signing up for when he walked in here and he wasn't embarrassed about it at all. This wasn't his first time in a sex shop and he could honestly say that they were pretty chill for the most part.

It was his first time in this one though. He'd wanted to switch it up a little-he'd wanted to finally go to the one near his place, accepting the fact that he could potentially run into someone he knew here.

Good thing: There was no one that he knew here.

Bad thing: He couldn't help the pang in his chest, the flicker of something he wasn't quite ready to face inside him realizing that he seemed to be the only customer in the shop who was single. 

Everyone else wandering through here was with a partner. Linked arms while quietly discussing which items they wanted to purchase, stolen glances and small smiles.

Sexual tension was thick in the air in this store today. A lingering look and quick meaningful touches between everyone except for him.

The sting of jealousy he had for that guy currently standing next to him was bitter. Someone who was looking at the same collection Changbin was but he had a partner with him; who teased him, nudging at his side as she tauntingly asked which one he wanted.

He couldn’t help but feel just a bit envious that the guy blushed and his partner coo'd about how cute he looked, brushing a finger down his face before whispering something too quiet for Changbin to hear into his ear.

The fact that he was in a store full of couples looking at things to take care of each other with, while looking for things to use on himself.

Deep down, even though he tried to ignore it...it made him feel, oh what was the word? Lonely? Unwanted? Maybe just the tiniest bit pathetic-and not in the kind of way that he likes.

"If you pick one by the count of three, I'll use it on you in the car~"

He tried not to look at either of them as he grabbed the bigger of the two toys off the shelf, pushing past them and quickly making his way past them to the counter.

Fuck this place.

He dropped it on the counter without looking up.

He was going to go back to the dorms, where thankfully, for once in a blue moon all of his roommates were out. For the whole week actually, they wanted to go on a camping trip but Changbin was too busy for that. He had work, and going to the gym, and…well that was it, but it consumed a lot of time. Time he didn’t have to sleep on the hard ground on top of rocks and sticks and bugs in the forest. 

He normally liked camping and he felt bad to turn them down but he knew he needed this. A bit of alone time. There was no way he was going to give up the chance at being alone for a whole week while Chan, Hyunjin and Han were gone.

He was honestly just surprised that Hyunjin agreed to go with them.

Tonight he was going to forget all about this. About the want to be pounded by someone. A person. And not just his own hand and a toy. He was going to forget about the want to be teased and touched and loved by someone else. He was going to forget about all of that, throw on some porn and try out his new toy with the handy bottle of lube hidden in his nightstand.

"Cash or card?"

He rifles through his wallet for a few bills, "uh, cash please." he mutters, putting them in the counter as he counts, making sure he he’d taken out the right amount.

This would all be but a distant haze later tonight in his sex-addled brain. Nothing but a dream when he'd make himself cum over and over again to ensure he'd forget this.

“Don’t be rude. Look at me when you say that."

Changbin’s whole body froze, unmoving. He didn't even need look up to feel eyes burning into his skin.

"Don't make me repeat myself." He didn't know why he listened. It was just something. Something about the voice, firm in a way that he craved. Something coaxing and calming, rather than screaming at him to obey instead guiding him to it, making him want to listen.

Finally, his eyes managed to flick upward to the face the person talking to him. 

You smile pleasantly, so familiar yet unlike to the way you'd just spoken to him, in a way that makes him feel warm. You raise an eyebrow, gesturing for him to go on, the expression making his face heat up for some reason. "Good boy. And your payment?"

Wha-

What did you just say?

Did you just-?

He tries to recollect himself. Hopefully fix his jumbled thoughts before he embarrasses himself further, tries to find his voice, "I, uh..." all while you sit there, looking nothing but amused at this entire very un-amusing situation.

You hold back a laugh, eyes alight with mirth. "You paying with cash pretty boy?"

His mouth opens, then closes before he works himself up to a nod and manages to push the money across the counter to you.

What the hell was going on with him?

This time, you do laugh, throwing your head back like he had said something legitimately funny and not stumbled over his words like an idiot. 

"Sorry-sorry, I don't mean to laugh!" you don't sound very sorry, with the way that small giggles make way through the words. He can't help the way butterflies erupt in his stomach. 

You calm down and take the cash, putting it in the till, "Bag?" he still can't seem to bring himself to speak so he only nods. You notice but take effort not to start up again, putting the item into an inconspicuous bag and giving him his change. 

He pockets it, and that's it. 

He'll turn around and walk out of the store and never show his face in this place again, too mortified to see the very attractive sex shop employee that turned him on by just telling him to look at them. 

Too lonely to come to this weirdly couple-populated sex shop too.

God, he really needed to get laid. 

Maybe it was really time to give in and download one of those dating apps that Han kept suggesting. 

He wouldn't start anything serious. He didn't have time for that as mentioned before. He'd do it for nothing more than to meet a one night stand that would fuck his brains out and leave the very next morning. He was sure that wasn’t what Han intended when he’d suggested it, but it really wasn’t any of Han's business either way.

Changbin picked up the bag.

"What's your name pretty boy?"

You rest your chin in your palm, slouching against the counter and looking at him. You're taller than him normally but you’re the slightest bit shorter than him now and it makes him feel both nervous and excited.

"...Changbin."

"Hello Changbin, I'm Y/N." You reach a hand out to shake but he ignores it, preferring for you not to know exactly how sweaty his hands are at this very moment.

He doesn't know what to say next. Doesn't know what you were trying to do by asking for his name and introducing yourself. 

But he doesn't have to wait before you're glancing back down toward the bag that burns in his hand. "Ever used one before?"

Are you even allowed to ask that? Probably not. But he doesn't care.

"N-no...I, uh, figured that I'd try something new today. My roommates are out for the week.”

Okay and maybe it wasn't the best idea to inform you that he was going to be home alone and using a 9 inch dildo to masturbate tonight but he can't seem to hold his tongue back.

You take your sweet time to reply, letting him sweat for a good few seconds that he counts in his head as a slow smirk crawls across your face. "Adventurous." You now point at it. "and I'm, uh, guessing that you're using it on yourself, right?"

What were you suggesting right now?

“Uh-“

“I mean like, you’re not dating anyone right? Single?”

This must violate some kind of code of conduct about you working here. You should not be able to ask your customers this.

"Yeah." his voice sounds hollow, feels breathless. "Yeah I am."

Why is he even replying?

Meaningfully you scan him, watching him grow twitchy with nervousness. You then pull out a piece of paper from under the counter. Changbin stares at it as you messily scrawl some numbers onto it. When he looks back at you, you're already staring at him. "Listen pretty boy-"

"-Changbin."

Your face contorts into something unrecognizable that makes his stomach churn, in a good or bad way he can't tell, "Changbin. I’ve been working all day and I really don’t have the patience so I'm just gonna come out and say it.” You pause for emphasis, “I'm more than open to using that on you," you linger on the word, even though you don't really have to, you just like seeing the blush grow on his face. "If you don't want to, that's fine, don't feel pressured at all, but you seem to be wanting…someone in your life.” You glance back over to the couple, still looking at the dildos he had been.

Were you watching him? 

His heart pounds in his chest so loud he's afraid that you can hear it. His cheeks are flushed in mortification that he had been that transparent. That a stranger at a sex shop can see how desperately he needs to have his back blown out.

"So what do you say?"

Is it a good idea?...Yeah...probably not. 

“You don’t have to answer me now. Just,” you slide the paper across the counter and despite his best efforts to be in control of his body, Changbin grabs it, pocketing it all while you look smug. “give me a call if you would like to take me up on the offer.”

You glance at something over his shoulder and his eyes follow yours to the clock on the wall. He looks back right as you’re slinking to the back, through a rainbow wall of beaded curtains. “Hank!” You shout. “I’m going on my break, you’re on checkout!”

You glance backward one time, winking at him before disappearing into the back.

a/n: just lmk if you wanna be tagged in the final product, it is going to be the next fic i (hopefully) come out with so yeah

[anon-sect]

Picture source: internet

Tom loved watching the old tv show Once Upon a Time. He had a celebrity crush on the actor Josh Dallas who played Prince Charming or David Nolan on the show. He had since then watched other shows that the actor stared in. It was one of his fantasies to meet the handsome actor in person one day.

Tom then got a bold idea of a way to be close to the actor in person. It was a risky plan, but he definitely wanted to attempt it. He had purchased a TF Ray phone that was quite expensive. He asked his friend Jonathan to help fulfill his fantasy.

"What, you really want me to do that?" Jonathan asked confused and curious at the same time.

"Yes, I want you to turn me into a pair of shoes. Put me in a box along with the TF Ray phone and mail me to Josh Dallas with this note." Tom explained one more time, holding a handwritten note signed by him.

Jonathan didn't know if his best friend was insane or just went plain mad. "Why would you want to do that? You don't know if the guy would wear you or even release you. You could end up as the actor's property forever. You sure you want to do this?"

Tom pondered Jonathan's questions. It really was a risk, but he had a huge crush on the actor. He really wanted to do this despite all the risk that his best friend mentioned. "I know what risk are involved before I even considered doing this. And I want to do. So, will you help me or not?" He responded, showing his stubborn resolve for a reckless course of action. It was scary not knowing what fate would happen to him, but it also excited him at the same time.

Jonathan saw that no amount of questioning would change his mind. Tom was dead set on going through with it. He decided that he would help him achieve his fantasy even if he was totally against the idea. He hit the flash option on the screen of the TF Ray phone. Tom was instantly reduced to a pair of shoes. He picked him up and wrapped him in wrapping paper. He placed the shoes in a box, along with the TF Ray phone, special written note and the instructions how to use the phone. After the box was sealed. He went to the post office to mail the box off. He felt bad for helping his friend achieve his fantasy, not knowing if he would even see him again. But this was what he wanted.

Tom stayed in darkness for what seemed like forever. He could hear voice as he was being shipped out to his favorite actor. He hoped he would reach him soon.

Josh was handed a sealed box when it was delivered to his house by FedEx. There was no return address on the box. When he opened it, he saw a handwritten note on top. He read it: "Mr. Dallas, I loved watching you in Once Upon a Time and your other shows. You are my favorite actor, and I have wanted to meet you in person one day. But I came up with a better idea. What if I could spend a day with you. So, I had myself changed into a pair of shoes for you to wear using the TF Ray phone provided in the box. Wear me, please. One day on your feet will be what I want. sign Tom."

Josh didn't know if it was a practical joke or actually real. He found the TF Ray phone along with instructions on how to use it. He was shocked it was actually the real deal. He unwrapped the shoes in the box. If the phone was real, then perhaps the shoes he was holding is a former human being begging to be on his. He first thought of the moral implications of actually wearing the shoes. But then he would be the only one to know what his shoes really are. Besides just one day would be fine to fulfill this fan's fantasy, what harm could it do.

Tom was so happy to see Josh Dallas holding him. He hoped the actor would at least speak to him, but he didn't. Instead, the actor did what you would normally do with free shoes. He was put on the actor's feet without a single acknowledgement of his human existence.

Josh thought should he talk to the shoes, but that would look very strange talking to a pair of shoes like they were a person. He just hope this one day on his feet would make the fan happy. Yet, he thought the fan was crazy to want to be worn on his feet.

Once Tom was secured with string arms tied up, he saw that maybe it wasn't the brightest idea to consider. The actor's feet crushed his insole face with force as he walked around his house. It was a constant crushing over and over. The pain was beyond his imagination. Even when the actor was just sitting down, the pressure of his feet pressed against his insole face was bad enough. The wiggling of his toes showed that Josh Dallas's feet owned him completely. As the day went on, the actor had a few errands to run. That meant more walking on him. Being shoes for the actor now didn't seem as much fun as he originally imagined. He started to beg for his humanity back. It was just only over an couple of hours and he was ready to not be shoes anymore.

Josh loved the way the shoes comfort his feet. He had never felt shoes that were this good. Even when doing some errands, each step felt so well cushioned. He pondered the thought of keeping the shoes despite knowing what they are. He decided, that maybe one more day of the shoes would be enough.

The next day, the actor went for his morning run, wearing his new shoes. It was so great running in them. It was like he was running on clouds. His feet didn't feel the stress of normal shoes. He would make a decision after his run when he got back to his house.

Tom was in agony as Josh was enjoying his morning run. The sweaty sock began to saturate his insides. A strong foot odor began to develop. His insole face was being molded by the actor's feet. After the previous day, he already developed a strong foot odor of ownership. It was on supposed to be just a day. He began to wonder if the actor would ever release him. He remembered that Jonathan warned him that placing his fate in the actor's hands might not go as planned.

Once Josh got back home, he took the TF Ray phone. He found the revert to normal setting for his new shoes. He honestly loved his new shoes and saw no reason to lose them. He deleted the revert back to normal setting, making his new shoes permanent. Only he would know that his special shoes are a living person. Everyone else would only see normal shoes, even his family would think so. He took the handwritten note that he had hidden and tore it to tiny pieces before throwing it in the trash. With that all done, he could treat the poor fan as nothing but shoes since he volunteered to be the actor's shoes in the first place.

[atrueneutral]

"It's nothing" for the two word prompts for Tav x Raphael, please? Perhaps Raphael notices and injury on them that she tries to brush off but he is not having it. Or maybe it's the other way around. Idk. I just really enjoy your writing.

“It’s nothing,” Tav said, brushing off the scrunched nose assessment Raphael gave her as she limped across the room and collapsed in the nearest chair from the door of the Den - an unwise action that left her hissing and wincing.

“‘Nothing’, you say?” he asked, tone flat and skeptical.

It was fair to say it wasn’t entirely ‘nothing’; pain flared from the injury on her thigh - a deep gouge from the tusk of a giant boar sustained in a surprise attack in the forest. Seven swine had ambushed the camp as she and another were settling down for the night, and at the end of the slaughter-fest, a majority of her (expensive) healing potions were used to keep her novice-of-an-adventuring-partner alive. A Potion of Healing was all that remained for her own consumption, and, thankfully, the single tincture had been enough to finish the job tasked to them.

Two days of travel later, here she was at the Devil’s Den with a festering wound that had barely mended.

“It’s fine,” Tav said (still wincing) with a wave of her hand. “I’ll grab a Superior Potion of Healing on my way home. Thought I’d first personally deliver the news that everything went smoothly - mostly.”

It would have been more accurate to have said she’d ‘purchase a Superior Potion of Healing on the way home if she could’. The empty, cavernous state of her coin-purse meant she would be limping home and limping into bed with no relief.

As for why her coin-purse was spent, she’d recently (and covertly) upgraded her leather boots and gloves to go with her upgraded (and quite stylish) leather breastplate.

Hindsight lamented that these newer, costly additions to her ensemble did not include thigh armor.

Raphael judged her disapprovingly from where he stood.

Snap!

A chalice filled to the brim with what she knew to be a Superior Potion of Healing materialized in his hand.

Tav’s cheeks became heated. “Oh, thank you, but like I said, I’ll get one on my way home.”

His eyes narrowed, and Raphael began to move towards her with resolve plain on his face; the potion he held would not be declined; he would force it down her throat if need be.

“Really, Raphael, this is unnecessary. I’ll go right now,” Tav said, pushing herself into the back of the chair in a superfluous attempt to inch away from the fiendish man who came to loom over her after four great strides.

“You are being more stubborn than usual - either you will drink this potion, by my hand or yours, or I will steal you away to the boudoir and dump you in the bath.”

“Is there a third option?” Tav meekly asked, cowering in his shadow.

“I sever your leg from your body.”

A morbid joke, but one that saw her glower and grab the encrusted-chalice from his hand.

“Bastard,” she muttered before bringing the rim of the cup to her lips and tilting the contents back. Swallowing every drop, Tav shoved the chalice into Raphael’s chest, and his hand snatched her wrist.

“My stubborn little mouse,” he rumbled. “Here I was favoring the second option...”

“Oh, not the third?” Tav retorted wryly. She sighed and relinquished the chalice to him as she pulled her hand away and sagged in her seat. “I feel like I’m relying on you too much. Not that I don’t appreciate everything you do for me, but I’m used to fending for myself… You always have what I need when I need it, or provide me with what I want - which is in your job description, I know.” She stared at her thigh and could feel a tingling sensation taking over her wound. “It’s probably past experience that’s telling me it’s all going to blow up in my face one of these days.”

“I have told you before that what I provide for you is given freely.”

She peered up at him. “You’re not secretly logging every donation? To foot me with a bill for thousands-upon-thousands of gold when I’m crawling to you on death’s door needing you the most?”

“No,” came his reply. “And let it be said that death would not take you even as you clamber on his doorstep - your maddening obstinance would not allow it.”

The corners of her lips twitched, and Tav heaved herself to her feet (without wincing in the process) to come face to face with Raphael. Her hand raised, cupping his cheek, and she caressed stubbled skin with a swipe of her thumb.

“Thank you for the potion,” she said, planting a kiss on her cambion’s lips.

“It’s my pleasure, my dear.” 

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER SIXTEEN: CHAMPAGNE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, Daddy kink, suicidal ideation

Read after the cut

-

“Hannibal’s hosting a soirée tonight,” you say to Will as you stand lining your eyes with a black pencil before your bedroom mirror. “Did you know about it?”

Will sits in a nearby chair, looking at you from behind his glasses. Having come fresh from a lecture he has not quite shaken off the mask with which he conducts public business, working through a measure of whiskey clutched in one restless hand with an eagerness to cut through to comfort again.

You think of method actors unable to ease out of an accent learned and feel a tail of ice switch your shoulder blades.

This man you'd once thought a victim struck down and made wary of society. Now you see in this slow adjustment of self that while this is not entirely untrue, Will dresses himself in shying gestures so as to keep the world at a purposeful length from him.

You wonder if his spectacles are fitted with prescription lenses, or if they’re formed of ordinary glass. Perhaps his Virginian hermitage is equally constructed, as much to discourage him from seeking dangerous connections as to ward unexpected company from his doorstep.

This man suspires for touch, for love; through each exchange you sense the pull of it, and the ground-heel stubbornness of his restraint.

“Hannibal’s been organising some kind of event for weeks,” Will says, abruptly. “He does this, now and then.”

“Aren’t you coming?” you ask, pausing in your work to glance at his reflection.

Will laughs shortly, the sound scoured rough with scorn.

“It’s not really my scene. Champagne and social climbers— I’d rather stay home with my dogs.”

You envision Will in a sea of wriggling animals, the iron fortification of his false self come down in open laughter, and you see something in this obscure pretender to like beyond superficial things.

“I wish you were coming,” you say, and again Will laughs aloud.

“Don’t kiss my ass.”

“I’m serious. I need you. Hannibal says he wants me to go downstairs for a couple of hours tonight.”

“And what did you say?” asks Will, watching you finish the adornment of cosmetics with the interest of having never before witnessed the process in motion.

“I said, ‘no thanks, Dad,'" you admit. "But here I am, getting ready to go anyway. I figured I’ve pissed Hannibal off too much lately to turn him down. Did he tell you what I did?”

"He didn’t go into the details. All he said was that you stepped out of line, and that he had to do something about it.”

He sets his whiskey glass on the floor, an act that would likely have your older jailer cringing in pernickety affront.

“You insist on butting heads with Hannibal,” Will continues, “even when you don’t like where you end up. Or maybe you do.”

You whirl round, brandishing an indignant hand in his direction.

“I do not!”

Will takes off his glasses, his gaze beneath both cynical and toying. You recall his fingers investigating your arousal post-spanking and look away again, itching beneath three tiers of lavender and ebony lace.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you,” says Will. “I’m trying to figure you out.”

“Yeah, well,” you retort. “I’ll bet you’ve done that already. If you can get inside the Lover’s head then mine shouldn’t be a problem.”

Moth like, Will’s eyelids flutter towards the window’s fading light.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. “Still haven’t cracked the case?”

“Not yet. The investigation into the factories and the vendors using them is going way too slowly to be viable. Jack thinks the dolls were purchased years ago, likely under a false name. We can’t rely on that to find the killer. He planned this more than a decade in advance.

“At this point he’s either waiting for the perfect chance to abduct his true target or he’s lingering to enjoy the thought of her being afraid. It could be both. He’s a cruel lover.”

Will blinks, and his brows close together in a frown.

“You’re changing the subject, Little One.”

You jolt to hear the moniker in full, and now with an accusatory edge.

Twitching, you say, “Yeah, I am. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”

“Hannibal doesn’t think so.”

Shoving your makeup bag aside you round on Will again, unimpressed. There is something of his old jealousy under the amusement, the stirring of a sleeping and cantankerous god. His attraction to you still does not change that he seethes to think of you and Hannibal alone together, of the nights he and his friend had once committed only to the other.

Will ultimately relishes that you were degraded, a consolation in his displeasure.

He brings his chair towards you, eager to chase the conversation further with his proximity.

“Hannibal knows it’s embarrassing,” you say. “That’s kind of the point. You’re both so smug about this.”

Will reaches out to pull you gently into his lap.

“Maybe just a little," he says, and you squirm against him, suppressing the silt of disgust in learning to win him this way, for wanting the affirmation of his desire upright against you.

Will adjusts you to straddle his thigh instead, a knowing participant in your game.

You turn on his knee, putting your arms about his neck to look into his face, close enough to see your silhouette in the rock pools of blown pupils.

“Will,” you say. “Do you think Hannibal loves me?”

Will starts, all the humour absenting itself from him at once.

“Do you want him to?” he asks, quite incredulous.

You dither over your answer, which is no longer as distinct as it once was. Hannibal’s adoration is a statement of lasting security, yet to be the darling of a man willing to orchestrate a killing in the name of therapy is a thought like venom in the blood; should you concede you too will die in all but physical form.

Aloud, you only say, “I could ask you the same thing, Daddy. What if Hannibal felt that way about you? Would you like it?”

Before Will can confirm, deny, or deflect with some pithy comment your bedroom door opens, and the moment is knocked through like a stoned pane of glass.

“Sorry to be abrupt,” says Hannibal, mildly. “Staff will be arriving soon to help prepare for my guests. If you’re not staying, Will, then you may wish to make yourself scarce.”

The younger man rises from his seat with a haste that surely does not go unnoticed by the other.

“Sure,” says Will. “I’ve got papers to grade, anyway. I’ll try and make the time to visit tomorrow.”

Your captors exchange glances, Hannibal with his usual, unshielded ardour, Will with a curiosity that, in other circumstances, might amuse you. Somehow, in all of this, he had not consciously entertained a belief in Hannibal’s attraction to him.

Now, through your question, he considers it, but says nothing, taking leave of you both with his opinion on the matter an enigma.

*

Like an enchantress at her oriel you observe as the workforce arrives, shaking rain off their umbrellas at the front door. Some hours later the vision is repeated with the expensive and largely beautiful attendees of Hannibal’s party, some glancing up at the house and nudging one another as they notice you above.

You feel a lurch of anxiety to think that you are expected to go among them, to smile with saccharine manners and pretend to them that you’re no more than a patient to the venerated Dr Lecter.

All this, surrounded by canapés and flowing drinks that will tease and taunt with scents and flavour— your stomach bellows in anticipation of it, for though you’ve eaten it is, as ever, not enough.

It seems a fickle thing to find yourself so oppressed while living with a man that has offered to help you maim and slaughter another, and yet between the horrors of illness and this it is satiation that you fear the most.

Still, you fear Hannibal also, this creature in his costume of human flesh and pleasantries.

That he has not spoken of Leland or Amy in two days only underpins the intelligence of his evil, a thing that he can fold away into himself just as he likes. You’ve continued your act as daughter-wife only in that to display your horror of him openly will mark you as not of his ilk but as prey, a delicacy procured from the forest.

Thus, with effort you brush the pounding of your heart and the agony of the cane under the rug of memory and watch the glittering people under a marquee of rain clouds until they’ve all entered, leaving the night empty again.

You listen with one cheek to the floorboards to the clink of glasses and droning conversation below, the instruments of hired musicians at their haunting work.

Surely you will not meld easily with such company as seethes beneath, even gowned as you are in grey silk and lace from a fashion house few can afford. Your mouth will open, and you will reveal yourself clumsy-tongued and unsuited to their guild.

The terror of it has quite gnawed you through by the time Hannibal ascends from the soirée to collect you.

“Are you ready to meet my guests, Little One?” he asks, taking your clammy hand with its nails bitten down to their ends.

“Not really,” you mumble. “Not sure I’m one of them.”

Hannibal lifts your arm to kiss your inner wrist where a vein strums with lurching adrenaline.

“You’re beginning to resemble Will in your attitudes,” he says, his voice a vibration on your skin. “But I disagree. My friends and acquaintances will find you as charming as I do.”

There is an implicit and unworded warning not to embarrass him in the compliment, a flash in the peat dark of his eyes. Gulping thickly, you fasten yourself to Hannibal’s side as you take the stairs, poised to wince under the observation of the many gathered below.

Hannibal’s house is made a palace by their decoration, men in crisp suits and women in forests of jewellery stepping from room to room, their chatter like another kind of music. Servers go about with trays of extravagant food and champagne, and in one corner a band plays a rendition of some famous classical piece whose name you don’t recall.

Overwhelmed, you glance back up the stairwell, ushered on by Hannibal’s hand upon your arm.

“I understand your reservations,” he murmurs. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been in the presence of so many people at once.”

Yet is not the quantity that perturbs you, but the agony of inevitable comparison. You feel like some vast and bloated airship amidst the slenderness of so many of Hannibal’s peers. Placing a hand across your stomach you attempt an awkward smile as you’re introduced to each guest the doctor approaches, thinking of the front door—surely locked, now, or guarded—through which you’d take flight, had you the chance.

A familiar voice anchors you amidst your desperate thoughts.

“Well, now, look who it is.”

Turning, you gasp with delight.

“It’s nice to see you again, Jack,” you say, going eagerly forth to shake his outstretched hand. “I like your suit.”

Jack grins, holding out the arms of his jacket in a playful gesture.

“Why, thank you. I’ll have to tell Bella you said so. She bought it for me a few years back.”

Hannibal subtly brings you closer to his side, keen to intercept in case, as before, you attempt to communicate your struggle to Agent Crawford.

“Bella has excellent taste,” he says. “In suits, and in her companions.”

“You know she does, Doctor,” says Jack, and turns to peer into the crowd. “Hold on a moment. I’ve just seen Chilton over there. I’ll be back.”

As he wades through the throng you gaze after him, yearning to give chase. He, of all men present, you trust entirely with your safety, myopic though he is to the evil around him.

Steering you in the other direction, Hannibal says, “Perhaps you’d like to introduce yourself to my guests independently. It’s important for you to develop confidence in your social abilities.”

You start violently at the suggestion. To be left alone at this event is a risk that shrieks of Hannibal's deiform arrogance; they know, these guests, of your madness, the sympathetic injury that may well twist you against your caregiver.

The staff, too, are likely prepared, told you’ll lie to them or feign hysterics so as to be led away from this place by any that would believe in your performance.

Should you betray your attacker you would find yourself amongst enemies, yet it does not cross your mind even to attempt it.

For the first time you find Hannibal an ally: he has always regarded your weight with a neutral disinterest that even your disorder cannot twist into derision. The women that eye you up and down, however, reinforce that you are a failing thing to be judged, and so you read into even the most innocuous look a malice.

“Can’t I stay with you?” you ask tremulously. “I barely know anyone here.”

A little smile graces Hannibal’s lips, and he leans in to speak softly at your ear.

“We mustn’t provoke any more speculation about us through unorthodox proximity. Miss Lounds is likely no longer alone in thinking us lovers. For now we must suggest that we are not.”

“But—"

“Hush,” says Hannibal. “Be a good girl and do this for me.”

You think acutely of his mouth upon your cunt earlier that morning, taking you fresh from the shower against the bathroom wall as you’d bitten your fist against weak and hopeless cries. He had not hurt you, not threatened, merely knelt and pushed your leg over his shoulder, relying on your startled fear to keep you pliant.

He’d made you come with sensation like the taste of sparks, a sudden, pulling burst around him. You’d taken it like a morsel from his fingertips; a gift from him, making things up to you after your whipping, so that you can never think him only cruel.

This pressure now upon you to be grown: it is not mean for meanness’ sake. He desires evidence that you are capable of bearing his secrets without lapsing into betrayal, for only then will you be worthy of his love.

“Okay,” you say, at last, and Hannibal lets you go off in your silver dress like a piece of loose smoke whipped away by the wind.

You watch him through the crowd—sleekly handsome, and effortlessly entertaining—in defeat. He has worked to make you dependent on him, but you are ashamed of the success with which he’s so quickly achieved that very goal.

A woman attempts to speak to you, a gallery owner of the eccentric, elderly type; a young man, a scholar, comes at the other side of you with a question you don’t quite hear. Bewildered, you utter what vague answers you can summon at a whim and excuse yourself, cupping a hand at your eyes to blinker yourself against a passing tray of confections.

The lights, the noise, the bodies that press about you like a rising flock of pigeons disturbed on some night street— overcome by panic, you find yourself up against the stupid urge to weep.

Another server edges by you with a battalion of golden champagne glasses on a teetering plate. Thinking of the warmth of Will’s Irish coffees you take a glass in hand and look at it, paused only by the immediate calculation of figures wrapped about your brain like a band.

Seventy calories on top of the four hundred from this morning, then the three hundred of what you ate of dinner, the one hundred and eighty in fresh juice—

Guilty as a murderer you sip the champagne to its end, ducking out of Hannibal’s view as you take a second measure from another member of his staff. The day is already ruined beyond salvaging, you reason; whatever calories you drink no longer count.

As with the whiskey you feel yourself warm, adrift from the cutting mouth of your perpetual nerves. The vast rooms soften, taking on the glazed appearance of a gala in a dream. By the time you sneak your fourth glass it is almost easy to return a hundred curious smiles, to answer shallow questions with equal shallowness.

“Yes, it’s a beautiful house. Yes, I’m doing much better now that I’m here. Yes, Dr Lecter is awfully kind. Oh, Will’s really a great guy once you get to know him.”

Gradually you see the guests accept you as they might a quaint exotic pet, certainly not their equal, but pleasant enough to understand their host’s affection for. That he, the saint they fawn over, has forced his mouth upon your soaking cunt that very morning makes you laugh now that you’re drunk enough.

Such idiots this man pulls about him, art curators, literary critics, the blood of old money, all equally duped as you never were, not once. These friends of his know only a character he plays, fanatics following a myth.

In this, at least, you are superior, the child Antichrist groomed by devilish fathers for a coronation in evil.

Caught between this grim lucidity and a certain gloating you stumble into a red-headed woman in a Verdigris gown like copper made lovely by deep water. Muttering an embarrassed apology you turn away, stayed only by her small hand at your elbow.

“Well, hi,” she says. “I didn’t think Hannibal would let you out for this. I heard he keeps you under lock and key. I’m Freddie Lounds, by the way.”

Stupid with drink, you attempt to gather yourself in the face of this revelation.

“I know you!” you cry. “I’ve read your stuff. Some of it, anyway. And yeah, I was surprised he let me come, too.”

Your eyes meet Freddie’s, searching for the same thing she hopes of yours: an understanding between you. The union of a shared opinion.

“I take it you’re not thrilled to be under his care,” she says in a lowered voice. “I have my own professional opinions about Hannibal and Will Graham, and I’m not the only one. That’s partly the reason I came. I had a hunch I’d find some answers here.”

In bilious regret of the champagne you list against a nearby wall for support.

“Answers? What do you mean?”

Freddie leans in conspiratorially, blocking you from Hannibal’s sight should he glance in your direction.

“Not long ago I received an anonymous email from someone claiming to know you,” says Freddie. “They were hoping to secure an interview to set the record straight regarding a recent article published on the Tattle Crime website. I never turn down potential information, so I said I’d do it, but they never responded.”

She pauses, alert to the change in your expression.

“Last night a young woman was abducted in the same way all of the Lover’s victims were taken. My research seems to point to her being an old school friend of yours. I was wondering if you’d heard anything about her disappearance.”

Horror bowls you down as though from the uppermost step of a spiral staircase.

“What... what happened?” you stammer. “Please, I need to know.”

Freddie's eyes—the clever blue of a Collie bitch—cup your face in their keen hold.

“The victim was abducted from her home after opening her door to someone at around 11pm,” she says. “There was a struggle— furniture was overturned, and police say it’s likely the kidnapper sustained some kind of injury, although no blood was found at the scene. I imagine Will Graham performed one of his infamous recreations to figure that out.”

The room seems to rotate around you like hell’s carousel, sickening, searing.

“The victim,” you say. “What was her name?”

You know before Freddie speaks her answer, have known it from the moment you’d placed your hand upon Hannibal’s telephone, as though fate itself by psychic puppetry had directed your hand.

“It’s Amy Glass,” says Freddie, and she makes a hunting gesture, as though searching for an invisible notepad. “So can you confirm that she’s a friend of yours?”

Shaking your head, you jerk away from the wall, swerving out from under Freddie’s arm as she reaches out to you, her face almost soft with concern. She calls you back to her, but you are already striding across the room to the beast in his mortal attire, deaf to all but him.

“Hannibal!” you shrill above the music. “Hannibal, I need to talk to you!”

People turn, startled and intrigued, anticipating a spectacle, the lunatic girl in full bloom.

Hannibal glances about, rapidly assessing the danger you threaten. An emotional scene could sully his reputation, an indelible stain on his house.

Addressing you by name, he says, “What’s wrong? Has someone upset you?”

“Yes,” you say, through gritted teeth. “You.”

Hannibal’s eyes shift, finally interpreting the length of rage and terrified abjection unreeling within you.

“Come with me, then,” he says, quickly. “Let’s discuss this upstairs.”

Your mouth opens, and you imagine instigating a scandal, screaming of the abuse and other foulness invoked upon you.

Then you think again of flesh and killing and nod your head coldly, allowing Hannibal to guide you to your bedroom with a murmured excuse to his guests.

Once alone, he sits you down on the bed, his tight jaw easing as he feels the violence with which you shake at his light touch.

“Tell me what happened,” he says. “Tell me everything.”

Your fists squeeze as one in your lap.

“Amy is missing. Freddie Lounds told me. What did you do to my friend? Where did you take her?”

Hannibal’s visage changes subtly, the humanity in it retreating to reveal that other self, the stag of putrid dreams.

“I didn’t take Amy,” he says, flatly. “I assume Freddie informed you of the details of her abduction. Amy injured her attacker, and I don’t bear the mark. You saw nothing upon me this morning.”

Indeed you had not; his nude body, knelt between your legs, had been as fresh parchment, white and clear, but still he is no innocent.

“You must have told the Lover about her,” you insist. “Left some sign for him somewhere. You did this. I know you did. You did this to punish me, or to see how I’d react. Well, congrats, Dad. This is it. I hate you.”

Your breath rips in and out of your lungs like the proboscis of some terrible drill, and as you lean into Hannibal’s face you see your own spittle jump the air in the force of your emotion.

“If you let her die I’ll starve myself,” you say. “I’ll go on hunger strike. You can do anything you want to me, I don’t care. I’ll do it. I’ll kill myself.”

“I won’t let you,” says Hannibal, calmly.

“I’ll find a way. I’ll make you regret what you did.”

He shifts back from you a fraction, and you comprehend in that subtle motion that he believes it.

“You care so strongly for this old friend, then,” he says, simply.

“Yes. You feel the same way about Will. If Amy gets hurt or dies because of me— I couldn’t handle it. I can’t. I can’t. You know what the Lover does to people. How could you send her there? How could you do this?”

Your voice wavers, threatening sobs, and you curse yourself for your fragility, the little girl you cannot help but be. Hannibal finds a handkerchief and touches it to your face, his previous compassion returning, and with dismay you accept that while your anger will not move him entreating him as your father will.

“If you ever want me to trust you and your way of living then bring her back, Daddy,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy. Please. Please.”

Hannibal's head turns aside, examining you with a renewed interest.

“You believe me to be such a God as to be capable of this.”

“Yes. You can do anything you want to. You can help her. I know you can. If you don’t you’ll ruin everything you want with me and Will. This is all I’ll think about when I see your face.”

Your jailer doesn’t answer, only reaches out to take your sweat-damp dress down from your shoulders. On a repulsed and foolish instinct you slap his hands from you.

“I can do it myself.”

Hannibal snatches hold of your wrists, and for a moment you see him consider violence, his eyes blackly wild, like Will’s, as though absorbing his lover’s approach.

“I’m sure you can,” he says, at last, and he lets your hands fall, unharmed, into your lap. “Please stay in your room until my guests leave tonight. I wouldn’t like you to upset them or yourself any further.”

“What about Amy?” you ask. “Are you going to find her?”

Without answering Hannibal turns to re-join the party, pausing in the doorway to impart his final direction.

“Please don’t mention what has transpired to Will. He doesn’t know that you and Amy are still so closely connected, and so it should remain. Obey me and you’ll receive no punishment for disturbing the festivities. The fault lies with me for allowing you to encounter Freddie Lounds while unattended, after all.”

You want to scream after him, tear at his carefully ironed shirt collar and rend from him an answer to your request. But he only leaves you alone behind your locked door with thoughts of Amy cut apart to fit the body of a doll. Defiled, as you've frequently been.

[welcomingdisaster]

(ao3) Let it not be said that the Lord of Himring is cruel, or unjust. Odd in his manner? Certainly. Temperamental and biting as the wind? Undeniably, and quite as cold. Trying, at times, and demanding in both his bearing and his expectations? Assuredly so; none at Himring castle would speak otherwise. Still is there is no cruelty in him towards his servants, and in that way he unlike Curufin the Crafty, unlike those wild, fey twins that have gone eastwards, unlike most of all Celegorm, whose courts at once are merry and bitter, whose favored is a fickle, many-toothed thing. They say Celegorm is dangerous as a hound that has been beat for growling, for lunging; he gives no warning before he bites. 

In that case—though let this not be spoken by the maidservants of Himring, who are not only punctual but endlessly proper and respectful in their manner, naturally—the Long of Himring might be a mastiff-bitch that whines and grunts and growls pacing the perimeter of the house, that stops now and then to sneak restless sleep by the fire, snorting and snoring, that scratches at the door first to be let outside and then immediately back in. 

During the day, given one purpose or another, he does well enough. Certainly he pokes into the work of his men quite a bit more than is welcome; wishes to know for what purpose they have purchased this or that, what the final destination is for one package or another, who among them possesses what skill. But for the most part he is tolerable, and at times even kind. It is not unusual that he should lend his hand to something or other in the stables, or take over the management of some household task; he hates to sit idle, and will make work for himself when there is none to come by naturally. 

The trouble comes mostly when retires to his chambers. He sleeps, at most, some two or three hours nightly, and in those two or three hours none in the castle know rest. The sound of bell by his bed they have all come to know well, and curse, for it rings unceasing and gives them no rest. 

Water, he asks for. Brandy. Smoke. To be told their thoughts of the weather tomorrow. To come and see that the moths have eaten his blanket. Another pipe. More brandy. To speculate upon whether his dream—here one begins to wonder how he had time to dream at all—is a only a dream or some vision of foresight, stoke his fire or to put it out, to help him search again and see if a little mouse has not made its way into his bed (a mouse has not, even once, made its way into his bed. Mice are largely disinterested in the beds of elven-lords, preferring instead to nest near grain stores and kitchens. Himring’s housekeeper is happy to point this out for the eighty-ninth time, if she is asked). 

When he falls asleep it is around dawn, for short snatches at a time, and then the bell begins to ring again. By that time there is often no reason—dreams, he will say, and refuse to elaborate, and bother the servants with idle conversation for some time before letting them free again. 

That state of affairs can, now and again, be remedied, though rarely to the satisfaction of all involved. Once one of the maidservants had been quite tardy in cleaning the chambers, and worse yet, spills her bucket, sending dirty water all over the floor, just as the lord of the castle enters. She is horrified—she offers to make him a different bed, to hurry in her task as much as she might. He, however, is not upset; he tells her to keep at her work, and not mind him, goes to bed with wet socks, and sleeps quite soundly, never once ringing the damned bell, while she works. Likewise he is better if for some reason his doors and windows are left open, and someone might find some occasion or other to make noise outside. 

The housekeeper of Himring is quite as stubborn as her lord, and, it is said, more exacting, and in her own ways more clever. She has a niece—an orphaned child, some two decades short of her coming-of-age, a sullen, withdrawn girl who is equally passionate about embroidery and awful at it. Keeping in the tradition of Queen Míriel, she refuses to wear a thimble, but has no dexterity for it. The housekeeper brings her up to the tallest tower of Himring, where the Lord makes his chambers, and begs his forgiveness, asking if her dear fosterling might sit in his windowsills to sew by the moonlight. There is no other good light in this castle, she says, knowing her words flimsy, and it is too cold to sit outside. She will be quiet as a mouse, the Housekeeper promises. 

Certainly he must see through her—whatever else might said about the lord of Himring, he is not stupid—but he acquiesces, gesturing for them to enter. The housekeeper’s niece clambers up into his windowsill and sits, embroidery balanced on her knees. Now and then she drives the needle into her fingers, and hisses out a curse. Does not have the sense to leave it there; each time she curses she apologizes, and is unable to decide if she means for those words to be whispered or spoken, so they fall awkward into the quiet of the room. 

The lord of Himring lies still, waking now and then from uneasy sleep, and does not ring the bell. 

[lovelyhan]

HI LOVEEEER

I have a blurb for inflection point 👀👀 SOMETHINT MORE HOLY BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE EVERYONE HAD A SHITTY ASS WEEK!!

Jeonghanio and Seungcheol are just chattin away on their couch and reader comes home hella annoyed bc of work even tho jeonghans like "🤨" and then its just comforting bc reader just drops mega f bombs everywhere to a point where both men are terrified.

ANAGWAYS U DONT HAVE TO RESPOND I JUST HAD A IDEA 🫶🏼🫶🏼 LOVE UEYEYEYE

⟣ when you're having a bad day ⟢ wc: 1.8k words tags: fluff, sooo much fluff, cuddling

All you could think about after this shitshow of a workday is your wonderful cloud couch at home.

Not only does it provide maximum comfort during your...more risqué activities with either or both of your boyfriends, but on days much like this one, you can just sink into the plush cushions and let them swallow you whole. Almost like you're floating on a fluffy cloud—hence, the namesake.

You were mortified when Jeonghan finally spilled just how much money Seungcheol invested into that sofa. It was probably three—no, four times more expensive than the king-sized mattress he'd gotten for the three of you a year ago. Then and there, you realized that your first love has developed quite the eye for home furniture, and decided to make good on his paychecks by purchasing only the best of the best.

But the net worth of your cloud couch isn't the issue here.

When you shut the door behind you, the idle background noise from that sitcom Jeonghan has taken a fancy to these days flits to your ears—somehow easing the tension in your shoulders. He had to stay home because of a fever that's been running since yesterday evening. While that resulted to you having to cover for your boss' responsibilities for the day, you were glad to know he's been resting up just like you insisted all morning.

Jeonghan was particularly stubborn about using up a sick leave because one of the company's more insufferable clients scheduled a meeting with him today—one that apparently can't be pushed back a day since he's flying out of the country tonight.

So, like the outstanding employee and girlfriend you are, you reassured your boss-turned-lover to just relax, and that you and his secretary, Joshua have got it covered.

Besides, you've been in this business with Jeonghan for years. How bad could he possibly be?

"Whoa," Seungcheol pipes up from where he's buried under a fluffy comforter with Jeonghan on the couch. "You look like shit, babe. What happened?"

"Seungcheol," Jeonghan kicks his leg, and you don't miss the nasal quality to his voice. Your lover's miffed expression then morphs into something more hospitable. when he turns to you with a smile. "Hey, sweetheart. How was work? Not too difficult without me?"

You answer their questions by collapsing on the vacant spot right next to Jeonghan, a whine caught in the back of your throat as you buried your face his sweatshirt. He smells like laundry detergent and Salonpas—a far cry from his usual expensive colognes, but it fills you with a sense of quiet satisfaction, knowing you get to see him this vulnerable.

And Jeonghan can also see how vulnerable you are right now.

"He's so..." you trail off for a moment, the words lost on you because of how pissed off you are. "Why are we even considering doing business with such a fucking creep?"

Seungcheol tenses from the other side, rising a little to furrow his brows. "I know I don't usually ask about the specifics, but is this about that new client of yours? Did he do something weird to you? Am I going to have to beat someone up?"

Jeonghan sighs, easing a palm across Seungcheol's thigh over the comforter. "Cheol, calm down. If Mr. Seo has a type, it's definitely not our princess over here."

"What does that even mean?"

You huff before tucking your legs to your chest and shifting your weight into Jeonghan. You know you probably shouldn't be putting too much strain on someone who's sick but you can't help it!

"That weirdo wouldn't stop eye-fucking Joshua during the entire meeting! I bet he was even happy that Hannie wasn't with us today 'cause there was no one else that could tell him off. Joshua isn't exactly the confrontational type either, so..."

Jeonghan presses his lips together before making you rest your head on his shoulder, stroking your hair to placate you somehow. "But you're the confrontational type, right? Why didn't you show that asshole his place, hm? You've seen me do it dozens of times."

"In case you're forgetting, I'm just a regular employee, Hannie." You roll your eyes. "If I talk back to him, he might just have me fired."

"Who gets to hire and fire people in the office again?"

"...You."

"And do you seriously think I would fire my favorite employee?" Jeonghan teases, leaning down to plant a kiss on your nose. "You give the best head underneath my desk, love. What makes you think I'll let you go so easily?"

Your reaction is immediate, and Jeonghan lets out a soft chuckle when you peel yourself away from his embrace to relocate on Seungcheol's side—glaring at your boss as you grab tightly onto the football star's arm.

"Look what you did," Seungcheol laughs before nuzzling your hair affectionately. "As much as I want to know what that feels like, there's a time and place for everything, Han. Don't her feathers look ruffled enough?"

You let out a petulant noise, making a show of tilting your chin up with indignance. "Yeah, Hannie, haven't I gotten enough shit today?"

"Aside from the not-so-discreet Mr. Seo," he starts before getting up to pad over to your side so that you're sandwiched between your two lovers, "what else has gotten our baby so pissed off today?"

You puff out your cheeks, face souring at the mere thought of recalling everything that happened since you walked out of the door to your house today.

Since Jeonghan was sick, you convinced Seungcheol to stay at home to take care of him, despite the latter insisting that he drive you to work. You promised that you could manage, and that you sort of missed commuting to the office anyways.

That's your first mistake because you had no clue that the trains were down today, and you had to stand in a long line at the taxi bay, since none of the city buses pass by any areas near your workplace. You were already running a bit late as is, so you couldn't afford to walk either.

Today, you were an hour late for work when you've never been tardy your entire life (except for that one time your boyfriends tag-teamed you too intensely on a Monday morning, damn these men). In your attempt at apologizing profusely to Joshua—bowing a full ninety degrees and everything—you ended up knocking over his iced americano in the process.

The drink splashed all over an important document Jeonghan's secretary had been going over before your arrival, and that was honestly the first time you saw Joshua look like he wanted to strangle someone in the years you've worked alongside him.

It certainly did not help that you were supposed to meet that creep, Mr. Seo immediately after that altercation. Even if you managed to strike an acceptable deal with him after a few compromises, you could practically hear Joshua silently pleading for god to just kill him with lightning right then and there.

He must've been having just as bad a day as you are.

Your domino effect of misfortune carried over until lunch time when the nearby taco joint got your order mixed up. That happens pretty often though, and on a regular day, you wouldn't have minded, but with how terrible things have gone today, you ended up breaking down in a public bathroom.

As you animatedly recount the day's events, your two boyfriends listen intently. You're completely oblivious to how they slowly and quietly eased you into a more comfortable position on the couch—your back resting against Seungcheol's chest while Jeonghan props your legs on his lap.

"It was just a shitty fucking day," you complain, tears stinging the back of your eyes. You're not sad. You just tear up very easily whenever you're too stressed for your own good. "I hated that Hannie wasn't there. I hated the commute. I hated ruining Joshua's day. And I hate Mr. Seo even if he's bringing us a ridiculous amount of profit in the next few months."

Your rant makes you sound like a kid who got denied the toy she wants at the department store, and you hold your tongue at the realization. Seungcheol shakes his head before grasping your chin with his hand, turning your head so that your eyes would meet.

"Baby, I'm sorry we weren't there for you." He wipes the moisture from your eyes before pressing a long kiss on your lips—one that you immediately melt into. When Seungcheol pulls away, you even find yourself pouting.

"Trust me, I would've filled in Jeonghan's shoes for the day if I knew his absence would take this much of a toll on you," he reassures.

Jeonghan shakes his head at your lover's admission before nuzzling the crook of your neck. "Mmm... I don't know about that, Cheol. You might make the company go under within five minutes of talking to any of our clients."

Seungcheol scowls at him, and you stifle a quiet laugh. Can't argue with that. You and Jeonghan know very well that the way Seungcheol deals with problems is a bit too...aggressive for a corporate setting. He's better off channeling all that frustration in the field.

You jolt a little when Jeonghan circles his arms around your waist, peppering your neck, jaw, and cheeks with kisses that have you laughing at his ridiculousness. He only stops when his face is directly in front of yours, and you can't help the way your heart flutters when his lips curve into a handsome smile.

"Thank you for covering for me today, princess," he breathes, nuzzling your nose with his. "I can't kiss you on the lips 'cause you might get sick, too, but I hope you know how much I love you."

"I don't mind getting your cooties," you tease before leaning closer to kiss the corner of his mouth. "I love you, too, Hannie. But god, I can't imagine how you deal with our clients firsthand. It's one thing to watch you talk to them, but it's another to be the one making the important decisions on the spot."

"And you wonder why I make so much money," he chuckles.

Behind you, Seungcheol taps your thigh to call your attention, and you glance back at him with curious eyes.

"Jeonghan said he wanted to watch a bunch of Land Before Time movies when you got home, but we haven't decided on where to have dinner delivered from yet," he explains, leaning forward to press his lips to your temple. "You got any ideas, beautiful?"

Just like that, the day's stress has gone up in smoke. Though your beloved cloud couch certainly adds a degree of comfort you direly needed, cuddling with your two boyfriends is what ultimately quells your less-than-stellar mood. Even if the stream is lagging a little, and Seungcheol is getting crumbs and grease all over the comforter...

You wouldn't have it any other way.

⟢ end notes: this ended up WAYYY longer than expected. i can't even call it a drabble anymore but bc i've been having a shitty week myself too, i had to channel that all into this lovely request that anon slid into my ask <3 i miss inflection point jeongcheol so much and writing smth fluffy abt them for a change is such a breath of fresh air HEHE i hope more of you send in prompts like this!! i enjoy cooking them up so much~

p.s. check the series masterlist here!

[palmofafreezinghand]

honesty

On ao3 here. CW: Brief reference to domestic abuse.

1923

Esme flopped onto the freshly made bed with a sigh, arms outstretched. 

Her husband watched the scene for a moment. Then delicately picked up one arm, lying down beside her, and letting her arm fall over his body. His shoes were kicked off with his toe —  falling unceremoniously on the floor with a thwack — before pulling his legs onto the mattress. 

When she had insisted the first piece of furniture they built in their new-to-them home was their entirely unnecessary bed he thought she was endearingly silly.  Yet, there was something to be said about the familiar comfort after a week of traveling across the continent. 

His eyes slipped closed, listening to her unnecessary breathing, calm, slow, and steady. She was hoping to finally be reintroduced to human society and was doing everything possible to make it a successful transition. He felt the mattress shift as she moved closer, her shoulder bumping into his as she threaded her fingers through his. 

He presumed he was as close to the sleep as he ever would be. Comfortable and somnolent. Warm from the sun shining through windows that did not yet have coverings. Birds chirping in the backyard. His wife by his side, the honeysuckle of her shampoo mixing with the fresh scent of the soap she used to wash their linens. 

“May I be honest with you?” She asked quietly. 

“I hope you are always honest with me, Esme,” he muttered. 

He heard her blow air out of her nose, and knew, even without peeling his eyes open, she was smiling fondly.

“I feel safer now.” He felt her lift their joined hands off the bed, holding them upright, tilting them slowly. No doubt watching the thousands of beams reflecting off their unnatural skin. 

“In this house?” 

The house was located further from civilization than the former hunting lodge, minutes away from a small logging town, they had occupied in Wisconsin. The structure itself was larger, the newlyweds and the perpetual teenager finding they needed far more space than the previous two bedrooms. Structurally he questioned its soundness, it needed quite a few renovations. But Esme’s smile when she caught a glimpse of the slightly dilapidated project in his countless brochures ensured he was purchasing the property. 

“In this country,” she said, letting their hands fall to the mattress with a quiet thunk. 

“Oh?” He opened his eyes, blinking slowly, lazily turning his head to look at her. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. 

She did not continue, although he knew she could. Vulnerability no longer came naturally to Esme. She had reached a point in life where almost every word she spoke was mulled over laboriously before it met the air. The only person who ever got a look at her bare thoughts was a telepath Carlisle pitied and envied. 

“Penny for your thought?” 

“I believe… I have known in the logical portion of my mind Char- he no longer posed a threat to my well-being. I know that. Yet, when I saw the map today, and realized how far from home I was, it felt as if I could finally breathe.” 

“Are you sure that’s not the mountain air?” He smiled. 

“It might be,” she laughed lightly, rolling her head to look at him. 

“I wish I had known you felt unsafe. We could have moved sooner. I presumed you might find it difficult to leave any earlier.” 

Indeed she had found it difficult to leave the place where her son was buried. “Worthless mother,” and “abandoning him” were the only words he could discern as she tearlessly sobbed into his shoulder two weeks earlier. 

“But that is precisely my point. I never felt unsafe, at least in the moment. Only in hindsight.” 

“Small mercies?” 

“Indeed,” she smiled. She let go of his hand, reaching up to brush a stubborn lock of hair off his forehead. 

They fell into what he had nicknamed ‘comfortable silence.’ There was little pressure to fill the void, the silence could sit, be peaceful even. It was one of the elements of marriage he found most surprising and gratifying. 

He watched as she closed her eyes and scooted closer, resting her head on his chest. His arm wrapped around her back. 

“You used the word home,” he said after fifteen minutes or so. 

“I misspoke, my home is here, with you,” she said quickly, correcting what she assumed was a transgression. 

“Es, I only wished to know where you were referring.” 

“I suppose Ohio,” she sighed. “It is humorous because it did not when I was there.” 

“Oh, I understand that sentiment entirely.” 

“You do?” 

“Yes, I would never step foot in London again, and yet if someone asks me where I am from my mind immediately goes to that grey dreary awful city.” 

“You would never go back?” She asked, looking up at him. He nodded causing a wrinkle between her brows. “That’s a pity. I have always dreamed of going one day, in the far, far future.” 

“Perhaps I could be convinced by an enchanting woman,” he conceded. 

“If only I knew where to find one,” she laughed, triggering his laughter. He caught her lips in a quick, familiar kiss. 

She broke the embrace with a contented sigh, lying her head back on his chest. 

“Did Ohio ever feel like your home?” He asked, threading his fingers through her hair. 

“You can not let a dead dog lie,” she sighed into his chest. 

“I’m curious about my wife. Is that a crime?” 

“You are too curious for your own good, Carlisle Cullen.” 

“A trait we share.” 

She took a deep breath, he could feel her body rise and fall against his. “I think it must have been the day I told my parents what he had done. I remember feeling entirely alone, clutching a cold rag to my eye to stop the swelling, while my mother went on a tirade about how difficult marriage was. I distinctly remember thinking there was very little left for me in life.” 

“You have never told me about that day.” 

“I told you they turned me away,” she refuted. 

“Yes, but never anything further.” 

“What would you like to know?” 

“Only what you care to share,” he said. Her breathing halted, her body tightening under his hands. He continued speaking, “You do not have to tell me a thing, Esme. But I know when you broach a subject first you have been thinking of the manner for quite some time.” 

She huffed, but he could feel her cheek move as she smiled. 

“Recently,” she said, shifting off his chest, moving to tuck into his side to look at him comfortably, “I have begun to doubt my father ever knew what Char-he ever did.” He knew she corrected herself on his account, and as her husband, he should feel guilty about this fact, but when it came to Charles Evenson his rage often trumped his desire to be a supportive husband. 

“I thought you said you told him.” 

“When I got home he was in the fields,” she sighed as if lifting a heavy object. 

For the first year after her transition, Esme had refused to discuss her past, unless entirely necessary. Only after much hurt and passive disagreements did she reveal this was due to the grief, and not lack of trust in her new companions. With clearer eyes the sorrow was evident, the slump of her shoulders, the spaces she left between words, the tone that made it feel as if every word was an exertion of energy. 

“I told my mother, everything. She had not said a word in response, besides offering me a rag. He came in for a glass of water. My back was to him. I can no longer remember his face the last time I saw him but I remember the joy in his voice. He kissed the top of my head and asked the reason for the visit. Before I could answer my mother told me to go wash up. When I came back she told me he was going to drive me home in the buggy. I would still have time to make dinner.” 

“And you suppose she did not tell him?” 

“I presumed she had for the longest time.” 

“What has caused you to doubt now?” 

“Edward.” 

“Edward?” 

“Knowing Edward. Make no mistake I would have done anything for my son, but he was a babe. There was a part of me that assumed I could not understand my father’s indifference because I did not know the struggles of raising an impertinent child. But becoming well acquainted with Edward and all his flaws. I know I know I am not his mother, and I do not wish to be, but I care for him. If he confessed a fraction of what I had that day, I believe I would be compelled to commit a massacre. I can no longer conceive how my father would have driven me home, would have held polite conversation with my husband, if he had any idea.” 

“Your mother knew, yet she arranged for him to take you back.” 

“My mother never cared for me,” she said plainly. 

“I am sure, she lov-” 

“No, she did not. She told me as much, countless times. She never wished for children. I have accepted this long ago. But my father adored me. He would take me everywhere with him, he would just beam as he introduced me. ‘This is my little girl, Esme Anne.’ That first year of marriage he came by our house. I was in no shape to receive company and Charles asked him to leave. A few months after Charles enlisted he left a meal on our doorstep. He did not knock or leave a note — he could not write. But I know the taste of Platt beef. I am convinced he must not have known.” 

“Perhaps he did not.” 

“I was cruel to him.” 

“Esme, I am sure he understood why you did not contact him. Even if he did not know precisely what you were experiencing.” 

“At my brother’s funeral, he approached me, and I made some wicked comment about both his children being dead and how happy he must be,” she laughed humorlessly, a sound that bordered a sob. “Knowing now the pain he was facing, I can never forgive myself. Even if he knew.” 

“You were hurt, you believed the one who was supposed to love you had thrown you into cruelty-” 

“Carlisle, I do not need justifications,” she said softly, yet firmly, palm pressing to his chest. 

“I understand,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.” 

A true sentiment, one not meant to comfort or justify. I love you and the cruelty you see when you face a mirror. I love you and the fishing weights tied to your ankles in the form of memories I will never fully understand.  I love you. 

She pulled herself away from their embrace, forcing herself to sit up with a quiet groan. Her knees went to her chest, her arms wrapping around her shins, her chin resting atop her knees. He followed suit, tucking one leg under himself and letting one fall to hang off the bed. 

“I apologize for being so morose,” she said quietly, her hair moving ever so slightly in the Summer breeze. 

“I would rather know your true heart than be told empty pleasantries.” 

She shook her head. “It is not your responsibility to carry my burdens.” 

He laughed, “I believe that is the definition of marriage, my love. You have certainly carried your share of mine.” 

She shrugged, tilting her head on her knees to see him better. 

“Is the move the only element that has brought up all of this?” He asked delicately. 

She nodded. “It feels as if Esme Platt, Evenson, Bauer is gone, finally. I knew she was before, of course. I knew I could never go back but being here, in an entirely new place feels as if Esme Platt is finally dead.” No sooner had she finished speaking was she laughing. “How dramatic.” 

“I for one, hope you are wrong.” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m quite charmed by Esme Platt… and her impertinence,” he smiled, bumping her shoulder with his. It earned him a small smile. “Can I tell you something?” She nodded. “I loathe moving.” 

“You do?” 

“Oh yes. It feels as if the second I am content, I must pack up an entire life and move somewhere else unfamiliar and drab. Another town with another set of people I have to reinvent myself for.” 

“So hundreds of ends?” 

“I suppose. But I don’t know if it ends, in a sense I could be hundreds of Carlisles, and Williams, and one John.” 

“You went by John?” 

“Once, for two weeks. I moved because I could not force myself to respond to the name,” he smiled. “But they’re all me.” 

“So this is a death and a birth? I like the sound of that.” 

“You are an artist, aren’t you?” He laughed. She ducked her head. The fight over her clearly God-given talent was a battle for a different time, they had uncorked enough for one day. “Thank you for being honest with me,” he said earnestly. In one move, she pressed a kiss to his cheek and was on the other side of the room beginning to unpack one of their trunks. It was a start. A birth of newfound trust, one would say. Now he sounded like the artist, but not a very good one. 

[antimatterz]

lucky day

luka x gn!reader

summary: you found the cutest plushie in a claw machine, but can't get a hold of it. fortunately, a handsome stranger shows up to help you out.

cw: modern au, first meeting, probably ooc luka ?

content under the cut | masterlist

today was not your lucky day.

for the nth time in such a short span of time, you popped yet another coin into the slot, once again purchasing three attempts to get that adorable plushie from the claw machine at the local fair. you lost track of how much you'd already spent, and maybe that was for the better. you were pretty sure it was getting out of hand, but you were this far in and you didn't want to walk away empty-handed after putting in so much time, money, and effort.

a small group of kids was looking at you curiously as your hand moved to the joystick, navigating the robotic claw to be precisely above the desired plush. they'd been staring at you for quite some time now, because it must've been obvious how desperate you were to win. for you, it was torture, but you guessed it was pretty entertaining for them.

as you deemed its position to be correct, you slammed the button with a little too much enthusiasm, and the claw began its descend. hope filled your being as it gnawed at the plush, dragging it upward a few inches. but then the weight came to be too much to carry, and the stuffed toy fell down again.

it went like that for a good twenty minutes at this point, and although you've been stubborn for the past fifteen minutes, you were about to give up. you were out of coins, and the utter frustration you felt wasn't aiding in the game. yeah, it was time to head out and go home and forget about this stupidly cute plushie. you'd just find it online and get it way cheaper.

with a huff, you turned around, ready to stomp away from the cursed machine. but you nearly collided with a body that stood there and stumbled back in surprise. afore you was a guy with vibrant red hair and a smile that was evenly radiant. striking blue eyes gazed at you, and you momentarily forgot about your previous endeavors.

that guy was handsome.

"i'm sorry, i didn't see you," you brought out. "excuse me."

before you could get caught staring, you ambled away, but his voice calling out stopped you from moving any further.

"you wanted that stuffed toy, right?" the guy asked, his index finger pointing at the plushie you so desired.

"mhm," you nodded. "i just suck at... this." you vaguely motioned towards the clawing machine, smiling awkwardly.

"gimme a moment," the red-haired spoke, reaching into the left front pocket of his jeans and whipping out a coin. he tossed it up, flipping it mid-air before catching it again and popping it into the slot in one swift motion. he offered you an easy smile before he turned his back towards you.

the machine came to life again, emitting beeping sounds and lights flickering enthusiastically. you watched in awe as he confidently moved the claw towards the right position, and you realized what was going on. this dashingly handsome but unfamiliar guy was trying to win you the plushie you wanted so badly? you blinked. things like this didn't happen in real life, did they? then, why was it happening to you right now?

"alright, let's go," the guy hummed, before the palm of his hand met with the button. a buzzing sound followed, and the claw dipped deeper and deeper until it grabbed the plush.

together, you held your breaths as you gazed at the plushie's journey. the machine dragged it up and up, and with each stutter and hiccub, you feared that it would fall down – like it did when you wasted countless attempts. but it didn't, and it moved to the left until the stuffed toy dangled right above the square deposit. the claws opened, dropping the toy right where you wanted it.

victorious music came from the machine, and the handsome stranger bent down to retrieve it. he got back up, and when he was about to hand it to you, he seemed to think of something and retreated his hand.

"as a thank you, i think you should name it after me, hm?" he smiled cheekily, and it was such a contagious smile that the corners of your lips also curled up.

"that's fair," you agreed. "then, what should i name it?"

"the name is luka," the red-haired guy, now known as luka, introduced himself. he finally handed you the plushie, and you were quick to hug it against your chest.

"thank you so much, luka," you grinned widely. "you have no idea how much i wanted this one."

"oh, believe me, it was kinda obvious," luka laughed. "that's why i was like, okay, alright, i see a cutie and– oops."

he quickly slammed a hand over his mouth, but you had heard him clearly. for the second time in such a short time, you gazed at him in awe, and he looked back awkwardly.

"t-thanks," you uttered.

"w-what's your name?" he asked. "i don't think i asked."

"i'm y/n," you told him. "thanks again for the plushie, i'm–" you didn't know what else to say, so in order to emphasize your words, you rubbed your cheeks against the soft fabric lovingly. "i think the name luka suits it really well."

"well, y/n," luka began, scratching the back of his head in a cute, awkward manner. "if you want, you can return the favor by meeting me here again tomorrow? maybe we can play some games here together and–"

your gaze lit up at his words, and the shift in your expression allowed relief to ghost over luka's face. your answer was clear before you had spoken, and the red-haired guy smiled brightly.

"great, meet me here at seven pm?" he asked, and you nodded happily. now, you were really looking forward to that.

not only was this guy strikingly handsome, but he also was a sweetheart, judging from the way he stepped in and won you the plushie you failed to obtain by yourself. and now he kind of asked you out? it made your heartbeat pick up in joy, and you couldn't help the massive smile that almost split your cheeks.

you thanked him another time, and again, and again, until he jokingly shut you up by putting his index finger against your lips. after that, you bid your goodbyes – or rather, you parted ways with a see you tomorrow. on your way home, you were afloat in dreamland, because aeons, that guy stole your heart instantly.

maybe it was your lucky day, after all.

[forever-rogue]

Joel getting hurt or even sick and ellie having to step up and take care of him like she did when he was impaled in the game :) ??

AN | In which we turn the tables and have Joel be the injured one for a change 😔

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language; Injury (non-descriptive)

Word Count | 2.4k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Joel?” you turned around, fully expecting to find him behind you. But when you turned around there was nothing but empty darkness. You whipped around and shined your light to see if he was among the shadows, “shit.”

You ran back down the dark alley, trying to keep as quiet as possible while you looked around for him. Fuck, you should have been paying more attention to him…you weren’t sure when he’d dropped off. You made your way back to the tunnels that you’d climbed through, heart beating wildly as ran through all the horrible things that could have been. 

“Joel!” you didn’t even care if anyone heard, you’d deal with any negative consequences as soon as you found him. He was all that mattered right now, “Joel!”

There was a muddy ditch next to the old sewer exit you’d climbed through to access the tunnels. It was from there that you heard a loud groan when you’d called out his name. 

A gasp escaped your lips as you ran over, sliding down in the mud yourself when your fast feet weren’t able to get purchase on anything solid. You tumbled down and landed on your butt with a small oof. 

Your own discomfort, including now sullied clothing, didn’t matter as soon as you stopped Joel. He was clutching at his arm and side and you could see a gash on his forehead. He caught your eye and gave you a grimace as you almost ran over to him. 

“Joel,” you crouched down so you could help sit up, “what happened? I…fuck, I didn’t hear you fall or anything.”

“‘m fine,” he tried to argue but it wasn’t fooling either of you, “bad footing.”

“You stubborn fool,” you wrapped an arm around his waist as best as you could to help him up, “I’m not even going to bother arguing with you right now because I know it’s pointless.”

He grumbled but accepted your help as you hoisted him to his feet. Instinctively he wrapped his good arm around your shoulders, “you really think we’re goin’ to make back, kid?”

“Hush,” you tutted as you did your best to climb out of the ditch and help your arms out to him. He was bigger, but right now you were stronger. The grumpy old man would do anything for you, and now it was your turn to give it all back; you would also do anything for him, without hesitation or question, “let me help and we’ll be back home before you know.”

“You could just leave me,” you looked at him in surprise, but you could tell that he wasn’t joking. He was giving you an out, “I could make it back.”

“If you think I would ever do that you don’t know me at all,” you rolled your eyes at the man. You looked away for a moment and missed the flicker of affection that crossed his features, “I am not leaving you behind. If you stay out here, I’m staying.”

“Listen-”

“No one gets left behind,” you told him firmly, leaving no room for discussion. His mouth pulled into a thin line but he gave you a nod, “now let’s go. And - and - when we get back I’m taking a look at that arm…and your head.”

“There’s no point in arguing with you, is there?” you didn’t bother to look back at him, a victorious little smile on your face. 

Maybe you were stubborn and dramatic, but so was he. That was just what you did when you loved someone.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” Joel heard the sound of your soft voice but couldn’t quite bring himself to fully open his eyes. Then came your soft giggle and damn, if he hadn’t been in love before, he was now. He felt the tender brush of your knuckles against his cheek, “I know you’re awake, sleepyhead.”

“‘m not,” he insisted, his plush lips pulling into a pout that you were tempted to kiss away. But that could be saved for later when he was, you know, fully conscious, “still sleepin’.”

“Didn’t know you were able to respond so knowingly while you were sleeping,” you teased and that earned you a quick peek, “well, my love, I’m going to make some dinner, okay? Just rest here and I’ll check in on you when it’s all ready.”

You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist before you could leave the room, gently tugging you back. You grinned and obliged as he pulled you back towards the bed, “don’t go.”

“I have to,” you really did, although you wanted nothing more than to get into bed and wrap your arms around him and take a nap, “someone’s gotta keep you fed and watered.”

“Hurry back?” this time you were met with a full glance of his big, brown eyes. You took his hand and brought it to your lips as you pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“Always,” you promised softly, “the sooner you let me go, the sooner I’ll be back.”

“Fine,” you could see the pretty flush of pink that colored his cheeks as you let go of his hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

He could practically feel the tender warmth and love radiating off you as you padded back to the kitchen, a little spring in your step, and a soft hum falling from your lips. 

Joel wasn’t a man that was often open in his affections, didn’t like to wear his heart on his sleeve if he could avoid it, but then there was you. You were his weakness, one of the brightest spots in his life and he would have sacrificed anything for you - you and Ellie. You were his family, and while he’d been reluctant to verbalize that at first, everyone knew it was true. 

He knew that if you knew the reason for his little accident was because he was keeping you safe from some unseen lurker, you probably wouldn’t have let him out of your sight again. Frankly, if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t have let you get more than a few feet away from him. 

Gone were the days when he believed it was best to remain stoic and quiet, and in were the days when he let himself be more gentle and human. 

If you would have heard him admit as much, you would have teased him. And yet, being teased by you didn’t sound like such a bad thing at all.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey my love,” the bed dipped under your weight as you sat down at the edge next to him. You gently stroked your hand along his back, trying to ease him awake rather than just startle him, “time to wake up, sleepyhead.”

“I feel like death,” he groaned, voice thick with sleep and dryness as he rolled onto his back to look at you. You huffed in amusement before brushing a few rogue looks of hair out of his face, “I’m sure I look it too.”

“You look handsome as ever,” you ghosted your fingertips along his features, admiring him before he took your hand and brought it to his lips, “Joel.”

“Baby.”

“Let me take a look at you,” you took his chin in your hand as you turned his face towards yours, studying the gash on the side of his head. It wasn’t too deep luckily, didn’t appear to show signs of infection. You’d cleaned it and initially bandaged when you’d first gotten back, despite Joel’s protests that it would be fine regardless. You weren’t willing to take the chance - not when it came to him. He watched you intensely, memorizing the way your lips parted and brow furrowed in concentration, “it’s healing nicely. You’ll just have to leave it alone.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” he teased gently and you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, “what would I ever do without you?”

“Suffer probably,” you touched his cheek before motioning for him to sit up. If anything, you’d probably be suffering without him, “now c’mon, let me take a look at your arm.”

“It’s fine,” he insisted, his little bit of drawl coloring his voice as he sat up and leaned against the headboard. You raised an unconvinced eyebrow as you gently reached for his arm. You worked to push up the sleeve of his button, trying your best not to touch him. You had to fight back the sigh of exasperation and worry as you noticed all the bruising on his upperman and elbow, radiating onto his forearm. That had to hurt. He sensed your worry with how quiet you’d gotten, “baby, it’s nothing.”

“Joel, this isn’t nothing,” you frowned deeply, “this looks extremely painful.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“It looks terrible.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked and you inhaled sharply. Joel quickly realized his gaff, “it’s a joke. You know the…old..saying.”

“You’re lying to me,” you sighed as you tenderly felt his arm, watching the pain contort his features. You were almost positive that nothing was broken - your medical knowledge from having been a nurse before the Outbreak often came in handy, “aren’t you?”

“I am," despite what people thought, he wasn't a good liar. And he most definitely would never lie to you, "how it happened doesn't matter, what matters is that it'll be okay."

"Joel," you sighed quietly, eye wide with worry as you tried to hold back your tears. The idea that something worse could have happened to him maybe you want to cry and hug him and never let him go. This time it was his turn to reach over and touch your face, brushing away the few tears that had pearled up and rolled down your cheeks, "I love you."

"I know," you laughed, throat thick with tears at the fact that he'd just made a horrible joke. He really was a big old nerd underneath it all, "I love you too, baby. That's not going to stop you from working, is it?"

"Never," you insisted, "are you going to let me take care of you?"

"Yes," his answer came without hesitation or underlying conditions as he settled against the pillows and relaxed. 

You shifted so you could move further onto the bed. With a huff you realized that it wasn't going to work so you delicately maneuvered yourself so you were straddling his lap. For a moment you were worried you might have hurt but he remained silent, watching you in reverence. 

Your deft fingers went to the buttons of his shirt and you undid them one by one until you reached the top. You pushed the fabric out of his shoulders and he leaned in so you could pull it off of him, taking care to be gentle on his arm. 

Your fingers instinctively trailed over some freckles, connecting them in affection, along with the scars etched into his golden skin, healed but a forever reminder. He didn't say anything but you could feel his heart beat under your touch.

You leaned in and pressed your lips along his collarbone before taking the hand of his injured arm in yours and lifting it gently. The small hiss of pain that passed his lips wasn’t lost on you, causing your eyes to shift to his until he motioned for you to continue. 

Feeling along the bones, you tried not to push down too much and cause more unnecessary pain. Luckily, it only appeared to be a deep sprain, and a lot of unfortunate bruising. He’d been fine, but he’d be sore for a while. You felt a pang of fear run through you as you noticed the fingerprints within the lavender haze on his skin. 

“It’s okay,” he offered, smart enough to know that you were putting two and two together. You blinked back a fresh wave of tears and shook your head; it wasn’t okay at all. But there wasn’t anything that you could do now except to take care of him. 

“I think you should ice it,” you sniffled, unflinching when he laced your fingers through his. You trailed your eyes down his body and saw the beginnings of bruising along his back and ribs as well. You inhaled sharply but decided not to push him right now. It would be okay, okay, okay. 

“Later,” his voice was gruff but help a tenderness reserved solely for you, “lie down with me.”

“You have to eat-”

“Later.”

“What about a shower-”

“Later,” he used his good hand and gently took your jaw and turned your face towards, “I know you mean well. You always do. But right now, all I want to do is lie down and sleep…with you. Everything else can wait until later.”

“Okay,” you agreed, however reluctant, “turn over then. If you’re going to be so stubborn, the least you can do is be the small spoon.”

He chuckled, that familiar warm sound going straight to start and helping ever so slightly to ease your worry. With a bit of reluctance he turned over and buried his face in the pillows that always seemed to hold onto your scent; it provided more comfort than he would ever admit to. 

You laid down behind him and wrapped your arm gingerly around his waist, making sure not to squeeze too gently. You settled in and pressed kisses to his bare shoulder before closing your eyes and yawning, despite your efforts to hold it in. 

You were more tired than you had imagined and quickly felt your eyes growing heavy and you let yourself become engulfed in his warmth. Eventually his breathing evened out and you relaxed knowing he was finally getting some much needed rest. Maybe a few hours would do both of you some good. 

“I love you, you stubborn fool,” you whispered into the quiet solace of your bedroom. 

“I love you too.”

[scarletwritesshit]

💮Gepard x Reader💮Arrangements

Looking at the fruits of his labor before him, Gepard realized that perhaps, he would’ve been far better off purchasing some flowers from a Belobog florist. Weeks, no, months of hard work had netted him plants that were only barely suitable as filler in a backyard arrangement. He couldn’t understand just how they did it. Gepard researched countless guides and followed the instructions on the seed packets as closely as possible, but they did not blossom nearly as beautifully as he hoped for them to.

In fact, they barely even blossomed at all. The few droopy buds of color could barely pass as flowers, with some buds never even opening up. The blossoms weren’t suitable as a gift for anyone for that matter, especially not a close friend whom he admired so greatly. The fawn lilies didn’t even bloom fully, and the crocuses were underwhelming, blooming far smaller than he expected.

Was it even possible for him to salvage this disaster? Perhaps he could cover his blunders with a variety of exotic grasses to hide his original intentions of constructing a flower bouquet. Unfortunately, the result would be more akin to a bundle of weeds than a bouquet of flowers. Buying flowers from a florist at this point was an option, but it didn’t quite convey the same meaning that a handmade, self-grown bouquet did. Regardless, Gepard wasn’t sure if he would be able to face them himself out of sheer embarrassment due to his lack of talent.

He was a Silvermane Guard captain. Gepard had gotten himself into far worse situations than this before.

Growing flowers was a tad bit different than combat, but regardless, he must adapt regardless of the problem at hand. He refused to throw away the countless weeks of work he spent on such a heartfelt gift.

Perhaps the solution was not to accent it with grasses, but rather, some leaves could salvage these scrapped plants and turn them into a beautiful work of art? Adding in a few twigs with leaves still on them could make for a luscious, tree-like appearance. Top it off with a few thick blades of grass to fill in any gaps remaining.

The end result was a rather full bunch of various plants arranged as precisely as his hands would allow him to. With a spare purple ribbon from Serval’s knick-knack collection, Gepard tied a bow around the bunch as tightly as he possibly could. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, resulting in the bow being rather small, but he viewed this as a rather positive result. A small bow wouldn’t overshadow his…masterpiece, if one could call it that.

Even with Gepard’s attempts at salvaging his mess, the entire arrangement was overall rather messy. Rather than a floral arrangement, it appeared to be more of a wrap of grass with twigs and the occasional large leaf sticking out in an ultimately pathetic attempt to hide the failures of Gepard’s gardening. He shifted the trimmings around as much as possible in an attempt to make his craftsmanship a bit less of an eyesore, but despite his best attempts, it could not compare to the professionally tended flowers that he could find at the florists.

He was far too stubborn to scrap his plan, especially after dedicating so much time to it. After staring at the completed “bouquet” before him, Gepard wondered if they would focus more on his failure to execute a simple task rather than his commitment to his hobby as a whole. He wanted to tweak it further to perhaps patch up a few remaining flaws, but he decided that any further attempts at salvaging his work would only hurt the final product further.

Now, all that was left was for him to face you in person. Arguably, he would much rather defend the entire city of Belobog solo than go through with this. The excitement of a battle made his blood rush in a good way, and more importantly, gave him an all too familiar rush of emotions. A supposedly simple and honest exchange of words was not one of his strengths. Just the thought of doing so made his heart race in an unexplainable way. His thoughts became scrambled against his attempts to retain his composure, and he felt himself becoming warm enough to be used as one of the city’s heaters.

All he had to do was hand you the bouquet of flowers and say what was on his mind…if he could even put what was on his mind into coherent words able to be spoken. With a strung together bundle of leaves and grass, he couldn’t help but feel as if the chance of embarrassing himself was far more likely than even a decent outcome. He kept thinking back to all of the struggles he had endured attempting to grow these plants only for such a lackluster outcome, but he took a deep breath and steadied himself. Gepard managed to calm himself and straighten out his thoughts, but your expected arrival immediately threw him off track. All of thinking and bracing for his confession? Absolutely for nothing, as he lost track of where to even begin with his words.

“Gepard? You said you wanted to talk to me about something,” you said.

“Ah, y-yes I do. There is an important matter that I must bring up with you,” he said.

Gepard seemed to have forgotten that a formal tongue is not necessarily appropriate in every situation. He held the hodgepodge arrangement behind his back.

“What is it, Geppie?” you asked. “You seem weirdly stressed.”

He cleared his throat, attempting to calm himself before speaking further. “It’s nothing detrimental, but it has been lingering on my mind for quite some time now.”

“And what would that be?”

Gepard stood awkwardly quiet for a moment as he debated his next course of action. He could give a heartfelt speech about everything he felt towards you, but to him, it felt as if it would drag on for too long, boring you for eternity. On the contrary, blurting out his feelings in a short and sweet manner seemed to be the more painfully rushed approach.

Gepard said absolutely nothing as he looked away and handed you the bouquet of flowers, or arrangement, to be more specific. He could neither bare to look at his mess nor the disgusted reaction he expected from you. Improper, it was, but Gepard felt as if his own emotions backed him into a corner.

There was no denying that his handcrafted arrangement was rather rough. What did survive his typical disastrous attempts at gardening were rather dull, and the leaves and grasses he accented the piece with could be found just about anywhere in a planter on the side of the street. Regardless, whether Gepard produced flowers fit for the royalty or the compost bin did not matter to you. He really went through time and energy to grow and arrange plants just for you, even when he could’ve given up and bought a premade arrangement from the florist.

All this time that he had to prepare and Gepard was still left without any words. He turned his head even further away in an attempt to hide his blush, but his entire face was turning red at this point. He quickly snuck a glance to see how you were reacting to the flowers, then immediately looked away, hoping you didn’t see him sneak a peek.

You took the thick arrangement out of his cold, metal-clad hand and gently brushed your fingers through the different leaves, observing every single leaf and blossom that had survived his wrath. The quality of the disheveled bundle was of none of your concern, as you could tell that Gepard clearly put his heart and soul into it. Gepard sighed as you observed it, as if he was awaiting cruel words of mockery.

“You made this, just for me?” you asked.

“Indeed, I grew these plants by myself, though I worry that the end result is not up to your standards.”

“Standards? Who do you take me for?”

With your free hand, you nudged Gepard’s face gently to face him towards you. A brief flash of fear filled his eyes, as he was still convinced that you were absolutely disgusted with his gift. However, that could be further from the truth, and rather than waste your words on a man clearly inexperienced with them, you instead showed him your appreciation for his kind gesture.

Catching him off guard, you stood on the tip of your toes to steal a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to bury his face into his metal gauntlets. That was one way to charm a Silvermane Guard, though perhaps you had a hold on his heart with far less than that. The flowers he spent ages growing for you was proof of this, and was more than enough to show you the amount of sincerity and dedication he harbored for you.