#he can never live up to her expectations. (his own expectations he projected onto her)

[thewulf]

Through the Years || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Aaron Hotchner x reader, It will be like 2 moments in different years... like the first time little Jack is comfortable enough around reader to call her mom... and the other one teen Jack not taking her grounding while Aaron is away and screamimg at her something like "You are not my mom"... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write. But overall very sweet. We love a good teenage melton.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader, Jack Hotchner x Stepmom Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

TW: Yelling, intentional hurt, Jack being mean lol

Year Six: Jack’s Question

The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the cozy living room as you and Jack sat together on the couch, surrounded by an array of colorful crafting supplies scattered across the coffee table. Glue sticks, markers, and construction paper formed a creative mess as the two of you worked on a project together, a rare moment of tranquility in the chaotic life of an FBI agent's family.

As you guided Jack through the steps of creating a handmade card for his grandmother's birthday, you couldn't help but notice the way he looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and affection. His small hands moved with determination, mirroring your own movements as you carefully cut out paper hearts and glued them onto the card letting him guide how he wanted the card to turn out.

"Y/N?" Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of conversation, tentative and uncertain. He shifted back and forth on the couch letting whatever was on his mind eat away at him for the time being.

As Jack's voice broke through the soft hum of the television on, you turned your attention back to him. He looked so nervous that you could only put the supplies down and focus solely on him. "Yeah, Jack?" you replied, your voice soft and encouraging.

Jack shifted nervously beside you, his brow furrowing as he wrestled with his words. You could see the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the weight of his question heavy on his young shoulders.

"Can I... can I call you Mom?" His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with hesitation and longing.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words, your heart soaring with joy and disbelief. It was a moment you had dreamed of, hoped for, but never dared to expect. Not so soon anyway. You and Aaron had been seeing each other for just over a year. And yet, here it was, unfolding before you in the most unexpected of moments.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you gazed at Jack, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion welling up inside you. You wanted to gather him into your arms, to hold him close and never let him go, to shower him with all the love and affection he deserved. But you also knew that this moment was about him, about his courage in voicing his feelings, his desire to forge a deeper connection with you. And so, you swallowed past the lump in your throat, your smile widening with genuine warmth and love.

"Of course, you can, sweetheart," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "I would be honored."

As the words left your lips, a weight seemed to lift from Jack's shoulders, his face breaking into a radiant smile that mirrored your own. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your crafting adventure, you felt a profound connection form between you, one that transcended blood ties and was forged by love and mutual respect.

Jack let out a sigh of relief, his smile widening as he leaned into your embrace. "Good, Daddy said I could," he explained, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and validation.

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words, grateful for Aaron's support and understanding. It meant the world to you that he had encouraged Jack to express his feelings, to embrace the bond that had grown between you. "Your daddy is a smart man," you replied, your voice tinged with affection as you ruffled Jack's hair affectionately. "And he's right. You can call me mom whenever you want. You can also call me Y/N. Whatever you want kiddo."

Jack beamed up at you, his eyes sparkling with happiness as he settled back into his seat, a sense of contentment settling over him like a comforting blanket. In that moment, it felt as though the world had shifted, the connection between you and Jack deepening with each passing second. And as you returned to your crafting project, your hearts overflowing with love and gratitude, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Year Fifteen: Teenage Turmoil

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated Aaron Hotchner's cluttered desk as he typed away on his laptop, the faint clicking of keys the only sound in the otherwise quiet house. It was Friday night, the end of a long week, but for Aaron, the work was far from over. His eyes flickered to the clock, noting the late hour. Jack should have been home by now, safely tucked into bed. Anxiety gnawed at him as he tried Jack's number once more, only to be met with the unwelcome sound of voicemail. He would give it until 12:30 then he was going to be calling Penelope to locate his young son. He didn’t want to be overbearing but he couldn’t help it. Not with what he’s seen, what he’s had to deal with.

In the living room, you paced back and forth, your heart pounding with worry. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. With every unanswered call, your concern grew tenfold. The clock on the wall mocked you, its hands moving relentlessly towards midnight. You too knew how dangerous it was out there. But you couldn’t lock the kid in. He’d resent the both of you for the rest of his days if you did that.

Finally, the creak of the front door announced Jack's return. Relief flooded through you, quickly replaced by a surge of frustration as you caught sight of his nonchalant expression. "Jack, do you have any idea what time it is?" you exclaimed, unable to keep the edge from your voice.

Jack's eyes flickered to you, irritation flashing in their depths before he masked it with a careless shrug. "Relax, I lost track of time," he retorted, tossing his jacket aside without any regard for how stressed both you and his father were.

Your temper flared. "You were supposed to be home over an hour ago! Do you have any idea how worried we were?" As Aaron remained in his office, you and Jack were left to confront each other alone, the tension between you palpable.

He shrugged again before attempting to make a break for his room.

"Jack, please," you implored, your voice trembling with concern. "We need to talk about what happened tonight. It's not just about breaking curfew; it's about communication and respect."

Jack's eyes narrowed, his arms crossing defensively over his chest. "I don't need a lecture, Y/N. I'm not a kid anymore."

Your heart sank at his dismissive tone, but you refused to back down. "I know you're growing up, but that doesn't mean you can disregard the rules we've set. They're there for a reason, Jack. We worry about you when you're out late, especially when we can't reach you."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You worry too much. I can take care of myself."

Your frustration bubbled to the surface. Your voice tinged with emotion. "It's not just about taking care of yourself, Jack. There are awful people out there and…”

Jack's demeanor shifted, his expression hardening with defiance. "You're not my mom, Y/N. You don't get to tell me what to do."

His words cut deep, a pang of hurt flashing across your features. "I know I'm not your biological mother, but I love you like you're my own," you admitted, your voice wavering with emotion certainly not expecting the conversation to take such a turn so quickly.

Jack's jaw clenched, his anger simmering beneath the surface. "Yeah, right. You're just trying to control me like everyone else. Well, news flash, it's not gonna work."

Your heart shattered at his harsh words, the weight of his rejection crushing you. "I'm not trying to control you, Jack. I just want what's best for you," you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts to push them away.

But Jack's frustration boiled over, his voice rising with each word. "Stop pretending like you know what's best for me! You're not my freaking mom! You can't tell me what to do!"

As Jack's explosive words hung in the air, a heavy silence descended upon the room, filling the space with tension and uncertainty. Your heart felt as though it had been squeezed tight in your chest, the sting of Jack's rejection still raw.

A gasp came from your mouth as you tried to form any sort of coherent sentence. "Oh, I'm... I..." you began, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words. But your mind was a whirlwind of emotions, and you found yourself at a loss.

Jack's eyes widened, a flicker of realization crossing his features as he took in the impact of his own words. For a moment, he seemed unsure, caught between his anger and the weight of what he had just said. And then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, Aaron appeared in the doorway. His expression a mix of concern and disappointment. His presence seemed to ground the room, his steady gaze sweeping over you and Jack.

"What's going on here?" Aaron's voice was calm but firm, his eyes never leaving yours. He saw the watery tears that threatened to spill over at any second. He heard the tail end of the conversation and knew exactly why you were so devastated. You saw Jack as your own child and for him to say something so deeply hurtful left you reeling.

You struggled to compose yourself, the turmoil of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. "Jack... he... I don’t… I need to go," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, you turned and fled towards the kitchen, unable to even look at your stepson or Aaron in that moment. You felt utterly embarrassed. Like you hadn’t been loving that child for the last ten years of his life. Did he really feel like that or was he just lashing out?

In the living room, Aaron's expression darkened, his jaw clenched with restrained anger as he watched you leave. The weight of Jack's hurtful words hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow over their father-son relationship.

Jack shifted uncomfortably; his eyes fixed on the ground as guilt gnawed at him. "Dad, I didn't mean..."

But Aaron's patience had worn thin with his moody son. "Not now, Jack," he interrupted, his tone stern. "Right now, I need you to think about what you said and why it was completely unacceptable."

Jack swallowed hard, the gravity of his actions sinking in as he met his father's unwavering gaze. "I know, Dad. I messed up," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse.

Aaron's frustration boiled over, his voice taking on the commanding tone he used when interrogating suspects. "You think you can just say whatever you want and there won't be consequences? You hurt her, Jack. You hurt someone who cares about you deeply, and I won't stand for it."

Jack's eyes widened, the full weight of his actions crashing down on him as he met his father's intense gaze. "I-I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to..."

But Aaron cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Apologies won't cut it this time, Jack. You need to understand the gravity of your words and the impact they have on people." As Aaron continued to reprimand his son, he couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He knew he had to find you, to make sure you were alright. With a final stern look at Jack, he turned on his heel and headed towards the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with concern.

As he entered the kitchen, his heart sank at the sight before him. There you were, hunched over on the floor, your shoulders shaking with sobs. Without hesitation, Aaron crossed the room and knelt beside you, gathering you into his arms.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a soothing balm against the storm raging within you. "You're alright, I've got you." Aaron felt a pang of anguish as he held you, his heart breaking at the depth of your pain. Gently, he lifted your chin, guiding your tear-filled eyes to meet his own.

"Honey," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "Listen to me. You may not be Jack's biological mother, but you are his mom in every sense of the word."

You shook your head weakly, unable to comprehend his words through the haze of your despair. "But I-I..."

"No buts," Aaron interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. "Every day, in every action, every moment of love and care you've shown him, you've proven yourself to be his mother. You've been there for him, supported him, loved him unconditionally. That's what a mom does. That’s what you are, sweetheart.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words washed over you, a glimmer of hope piercing through the darkness of your despair. "But Jack said..."

Aaron's expression softened, his thumb gently wiping away your tears. "Jack was angry and confused. He didn't mean what he said. And even if he did, it doesn't change the truth. You are his mother, my love, in every way that matters."

As his words sank in, a sense of warmth enveloped you, the weight of your anguish easing with each beat of your heart. In Aaron's arms, you found solace, reassurance, and a renewed sense of purpose. You leaned against Aaron's chest, letting the last of your tears fall, a sense of peace washed over you. His comforting presence wrapped you up in his warm embrace, grounding you in the certainty that together you’d be just fine. “Thank you.” You whispered as he held you in his embrace.

Aaron held you close, his hold on you a silent promise of unwavering support and love. "Anytime, honey," he murmured, his voice a soothing melody in the midst of chaos. "We'll get through this together."

Just then, the sound of footsteps echoed in the kitchen, and you looked up to see Jack standing in the doorway, tears glistening in his eyes. His expression was wrought with guilt and remorse as he hesitated, unsure of how to approach you.

"Y/N," he began, his voice choked with emotion. "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I just wanted to hurt you, but I didn't mean it. I didn’t mean it at all, I promise. I need you! You are my mom! Please don't leave me." His words came out quickly as he wiped away his own tears.

Your heart shattered at Jack's raw confession, the depth of his pain washing over you like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, you opened your arms, inviting him into the embrace. Aaron backed off letting the situation between the two most important people in his life play out.

Jack rushed over and threw his larger frame right into your arms You wrapped him up tightly as he let his own cries out. The weight of his own words crashing down on him in the instant he saw how much he had hurt you. He was just a kid, of course you could forgive him. "It's okay, Jack," you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion. "I know you didn't mean it. I love you so much. I'm not going anywhere."

“I can’t lose you too.” He let out a whimpered cry breaking your heart even further.

Tears streamed down your own cheeks as you held Jack close, the weight of his words settling over you. "You’ll never lose me, Jackie," you reassured him, using his old nickname, a sign of the deep love you two shared for each other.  "I'm here for you, always. Always and forever kiddo."

Jack's sobs began to subside as he clung to you, finding exactly what he needed in your embrace. "I love you. I’m so sorry." he whispered again. His voice filled with sincerity.

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gently pulled away to look into his eyes. "I love you too, Jack. It’s okay. I forgive you." You said again, reassuring him.

He nodded, relief flooding his features as he buried his face in your arms once more, the weight of guilt slowly lifting from his shoulders. "You are one of the best things that's ever happened to me," you continued, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "Other than your father," you added with a playful grin, feeling Jack's chuckle rumble against your side. He gave you one more squeeze before pulling away. The remorse still heavy on his face. Carefully, you brushed the stray tears away from his face showing him the love that the both of you needed.

As Aaron joined you both in the kitchen, his presence a reassuring anchor, you shared a smile, knowing that no matter what life threw your way, you would be okay. For truly these two were the best things that had ever happened to you.

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[galactic-magick]

A Proper Date: Viktor x Reader

Summary: Viktor wants to take you out on a proper date. Sequel to my fic "The Handsome Assistant."

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: mostly just fluff, some mentions of suggestive stuff towards the end

Author's Notes: Reworked my Arcane masterlist to reflect the reading order for my Vik fics that are in the same continuity, and future fics will now be added to it in the correct order. Thank you guys for all the love it really means the world to me!

-

Life is sweet ever since Viktor’s been in it—and even more so now that you get to kiss him every day.

In all honestly, your routine hasn’t drastically changed. You still distract each other at work way too much, and he still keeps you in conversation long past when you should go home. But now you also stop by each other’s apartments, cook for each other, and spend late nights together in the Academy library and labs working on projects.

Your roommates love him, letting him in even if you’re out doing errands at the moment. Today is one of those days, a bright smile stretching across your face when you see him upon arriving home.

“Viktor!” you drop your things and skip into his arms. You look down and see he’s dressed up a bit more than usual, and your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. “What’s the occasion?”

“I’ve been wanting to take you on a proper date,” he says. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

“Vik, you know I don’t need fancy dates—“

“Hush.” he presses a finger to your lips. “Go put on something nice, alright?”

You nod, rushing back to your room to change. You meant what you said, you really haven’t minded never having a “proper” date. Neither of you make a ton of money, really just enough to live on and maybe a tiny bit leftover, so you’ve never expected to be taken out to restaurants or really any sort of activity you have to pay for. Most times your dates are making dinner for each other after work, Viktor making you the delicious recipes of his ancestors, mainly. Other times you just people-watch out in the city, chatting about anything and everything. You honestly would do anything with him no matter what it was.

Viktor’s eyes soften at the sight of you when you return to him, taking your hand to leave.

When you approach where you’re going, your grip on his hand tightens and your jaw drops.

“Viktor, you didn’t…”

Your gaze falls onto one of the fanciest restaurants in Piltover, complete with live music and an open ceiling with a perfect view of the stars, both things he knows you love.

“Viktor, this is too much,” you whisper, still flabbergasted. “I would never ask you to pay for a place like this.”

“What makes you think you would have to ask?” he chuckles, pulling you inside. “I’ve been saving up to take you somewhere nice.”

The inside is truly gorgeous, no doubt full of decorative items that are worth twice everything you own. The live band’s sound fills the entire room, setting a soft mood for a night under the sky. You feel entirely out of place, looking at everyone around you, but your eyes always return to Viktor, who’s looking at you like you’re the only thing of value in sight.

He insists that you order anything you want, of course, despite your protests. He wants to treat you, and eventually you have to accept that.

When you finish eating and the restaurant winds down to close, he asks the waitress something that you don’t quite catch while you’re listening to the last song. Viktor hands her quite a decent tip, then motions for you to follow her.

She leads you both to the back of the restaurant, passing multiple signs that say “Staff Only,” then finally gesturing to a tall flight of stairs.

“Up there,” she says. “Don’t stay too long though, I could get in big trouble if you’re caught.”

Viktor thanks her and she leaves the two of you alone.

“I...may have convinced her to let us go to the roof.” he smirks.

You glance back at the stairs, “Vik, you really don’t have to do this for me.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he assures you. “Just...go slow.”

The amount of stairs is ludicrous, but it’s not too long before you reach the top and open the door to the beautiful starry night.

You go as close to the edge as you can without falling, craning your neck to look at the miraculous view. Viktor is close behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back.

“Careful, darling,” he mumbles into your shoulder, kissing it before looking up for himself.

You stare in silence for several minutes, Viktor still holding you close.

“Can we live up here?”

He chuckles, “That might be too high a request, I’m afraid,” he nuzzles his nose into your hair. “But I assure you, someday I will give you a place with a view like this.”

You turn around, surprised by the unwavering authenticity in his features. You’ve only been together for a few months now, was he really already thinking about a future with you?

“Viktor—“

His expression quickly changes into one of panic, “My apologies, I didn’t mean to be so forward—“

“No, Viktor,” you wrap your arms around his neck, your faces inches apart. “I’d like that someday too.”

-

Sneaking back out goes smoother than you expected, and Viktor insists on walking you home as usual. There’s a warmth to your heartbeat, a welcome contrast to the chill outside. You can’t believe he went through all the trouble to arrange this night for you, genuinely wanting to surprise you with something extravagant.

When you arrive to your apartment, Viktor walks in with you when you’re met with quite the sight on the couch. Your roommate, Eli, is snuggled up with Sevika, and your snickering quickly wakes them up.

“If I had known you were having a date night too, I would’ve stayed out with Vik longer,” you laugh.

“Well we were going to go to my room, but someone fell asleep on the couch,” Eli nudges Sevika.

“Hmmph,” Sevika grunts, too groggy to properly retaliate.

“We’ll leave you be, then,” you giggle all the way back to your room, pulling Viktor behind you.

“Those two are certainly...something,” Viktor says as you close the door.

“I’m just glad they’re happy,” you shrug. “Anyway—sorry—I didn’t even ask you if you wanted to stay. You can go home if you’d like. Just maybe close your eyes walking back through the living room…”

“No, no. I’d like to stay.” he nods.

“Okay.” you sigh, slowly coming to the realization that this will be the first night you’ve spent together. It’s a bit terrifying, if you’re honest, no matter how much you love him.

You continue, avoiding his gaze, “But just so you know, I’m not ready yet to—um…”

Viktor takes your face in his hands as you drift off, “You don’t have to explain yourself, love. I would be more than happy to simply sleep next to you tonight.”

You nod, most of your anxieties subsiding.

You borrow some pajamas from your roommates that would fit him, then get changed yourself. Your bed certainly isn’t meant for two people, but you both snuggle in well enough to be comfortable. You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Viktor rubs your arms and back, pressing kisses to your head. Holding you long after you’ve fallen asleep and his own arms have gone a bit numb.

He smiles at your stirs and snores, your fists gripping him closer the further you drift. He may never be able to go back to sleeping alone after experiencing this.

“Someday...I’ll give you everything you could ever want.” he whispers, closing his eyes.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Barcelona

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your first day at Barcelona

Your first day at Barcelona starts a week after Momma and Morsa give you Prins. He's an absolute sweetheart and you coo softly at him after getting back from your morning run.

You're trying to get yourself into a routine so a morning run was what you settled on - even though you weren't really a morning person.

Prins' tail wags happily as you unclip his leash and he runs off to lap at his water bowl.

You check your phone as you go to grab your training bag.

There's a few texts from Tia Tana and Alexia, both wishing you good luck on your first day that you shoot off thank yous to before you crouch down to run a hand through Prins' fur.

"I'll be home soon," You promise him," Don't tear apart my stuff."

He yips at you and you take that as agreement, slipping out the front door.

You live close to the training ground and take a deep breath. You've already signed your contract and done the media commitments so this is your first day actually training with the team.

You stand outside the changing room and take a deep breath to calm your nerves, clenching your fist to steel yourself as you head inside.

There's blur in front of you and suddenly you feel like you're being crushed. You recognise this feeling though and hug back, resting your head in her neck.

"I've missed you," Natalia says, pulling back to cup your face.

You feel your cheeks go red and hope she doesn't notice. "I missed you too," Is what you say back.

She pulls you in for another hug, kisses raining down on your head inbetween a desperate slur of English and Spanish.

Natalia keeps chattering away to you as you change. You think her eyes linger a little bit when you've got your top off but you don't want to give yourself hope so you try to ignore it.

Natalia's just a touchy person. Whatever feelings you have for her shouldn't be projected onto what she may feel for you.

Her hand grips yours as she pulls you out onto the pitch, making brief introductions to everyone for you.

"I don't know how you expect me to get to know everyone if you keep dragging me away," You laugh.

"I want to keep you all to myself for a little bit longer," She says, her eyes boring into yours like there's something else she wants to say," Is that so wrong?"

You shake your head, lacing your fingers with hers. "No. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Good." Natalia steps further into your space until you're close enough to feel her breath on your lips.

It takes you back to your first kiss with her, when the Spain team had made the journey all the way over to Denmark again and you took her to a little café after the match. You had a nice afternoon snack and then walked with her to the park where you confessed you had never kissed someone before. She had pressed her lips to yours in that instant.

Because she was a good friend and good friends helped their friends when they're feeling nervous.

Your heart had sped up in that moment just like it was speeding up now.

"I'm selfish," Natalia continues," I like having you all to myself. The others can have you next week. This week you're mine."

You smile at her shyly as her own grin widens and she tugs you over to where the manager is gathering everyone around.

Barcelona training is a bit more intense than Arsenal training but you're still running off your World Cup fitness so you adapt pretty quickly. Your Momma said once that you're good like that, that you can adapt to anything and blend in with a group like a little chameleon.

Admittedly, she said that to you when you were a lot younger but you're happy to keep the comparison even now.

There's only a few breaks in the pace of training and, every time, Natalia comes back into your orbit. She's always touching you in some way but her preferred position is standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and chin hooked around your shoulder.

Having her so close makes goosebumps rise on your body and your heart thumps so hard that you're a little bit scared she's going to hear it.

You write it all off as her being Spanish though, even as soft little kisses are pressed to your neck. They're a bit ticklish and you flinch away.

"Stop it! I'm sensitive!"

"Oh?" Natalia quirks a brow, smiling like a wolf," You're sensitive, are you? That's nice to know."

Like usual whenever Natalia's around, your face burns red and you distract yourself by chugging half of your water in one go. But, despite your embarrassment, you lean back into her body, allowing her to support most of your weight as you both sway slightly as you wait around for the gym equipment to be set up.

"Hey," Natalia says softly, directly in your ear like you're the only two out on the pitch," Do you want to go to dinner tonight? There's this nice place near my apartment."

"What did I do to deserve dinner?"

"Survived your first day?" Natalia teases," Pulled of an incredible save against a goal that should have been mine?"

You laugh. "I'm wise to your tricks. You're not putting one past me."

"Oh, come on! Not even a little one?"

"No chance."

"Fine. But, really, dinner?"

"I would," You say," But Prins-"

"Bring him with. I'd love to meet him in person. Come on, what have I got to say to get you to agree?"

"Fine," You say," Dinner with you and Prins. Send me the address."

"I'll pick you up," Natalia replies with a wink," Can't have such a pretty girl walking around alone."

That moment, along with many others, get captured by the media team documenting your first day.

When Magda wakes up the next morning, it's to notifications from the Barcelona Instagram page and she scrolls through it to see if you're featured.

She doesn't know if it's anger or relief that bubbles up in when she sees your face in the pictures but it's definitely anger when she spots Natalia holding you tight against her body.

Your head is tilted back on the other's girl shoulder and you're beaming up at her as one of her hands is under your arm, holding your shoulder and pressing you back against her while the other is splayed out on your hip.

You're both smiling.

She flicks to the next picture and the next, each of them showing you and Natalia in various positions, curled around each other like you're the only two people there.

"Hmm," Pernille says as she rolls over and begins to wake up," Magda? What is it? Has something happened?"

"Is Natalia sleeping with our daughter?

"Huh? What?"

"Is Natalia planning on sleeping with our daughter? I mean, look!" She shoves the phone into Pernille's face.

"I won't lie but she's probably thought about it before. You know what Natalia's like. She's smitten."

"Smitten?" Magda scoffs," That's what you're going with?!"

"I could say patient as well," Pernille replies," I don't know many girls who would pine over someone for so long." She sits up and properly looks at the photos. "Although, I don't think she'll have to wait much longer. Princesse is smitten too."

[kjsasha]

I Wish I Could Live Again - YJH

Pairing : Ghost!Jeonghan X Female Reader

Genre : Smut, supernatural, a bit of humour and sadness, strangers-to-something.

W.C : 3K+

Warnings : Dom!Jeonghan, kind of sub!Reader, making out, fingering, oral(both receiving), unprotected sex (be wise), rough sex, cuddling (this needs a heads-up too, right?)

NSFW

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(I'd appreciate it if you could check it out too 👇)

Work hasn't really been easy these past few weeks. Fortunately, we've been granted two major projects from two of the most sought after companies of the decade but the deadlines are nearing and me being the substitute for our department's head for the time being since he's on a leave due to his surgery isn't really very efficient.

But it's not just about work; I've been exhausted for a while now with nowhere or no one to seek comfort in.

After a long day, I ran myself a much needed bath. I put on a pair of  navy blue cotton shorts and before I could grab my t-shirt to put it on, I felt a presence around me.

You know how you get a hunch when there's someone else in the room with you? But here's the issue; I live alone and it's literally around midnight right now. A shiver ran down my spine and I tried to gulp down the lump in my throat before mustering the courage to turn around.

I screamed at the sight in front of me followed by my hands instinctively covering my bosoms. A guy leaning on the wall while biting his nail nonchalantly. He seemed taken aback and checked himself as if he was supposed to be invisible.

"You can see me?", he asked with a little furrow between his brows.

"Of course I can, you thief", I said fidgeting to get my t-shirt with one hand while the other covered my chest.

"What? I'm not-...and it's not something I haven't seen before", he said gesturing towards my boobies with his head.

I hurriedly put my t-shirt on and grabbed the showpiece that was nearby.

"I'm calling the cops", I threatened him with the flower vase.

"Go ahead. Tell them that the ghost in your apartment has become visible out of thin air", he said sliding his hands inside his pockets.

"G-Ghost?", I muttered.

"Yes", he said as if it's something very normal.

"What do you mean?", now I was confused.

"That I'm the spirit trapped in this apartment. I don't know how or why you can see me right now but it has never happened before", he stated, trying to figure it out as his eyes averted to floor.

I tried to chant any holy verse that I could remember but then the guy looked at me as if I was doing something utterly offensive.

"Relax, woman. You've been living with me for about a year and a half now. I'm not gonna eat you now, unless you want me to eat you out", he said with a little smirk.

"What do you mean we-we've been living together?", colours were about to drain away from my body and the horror was visible in my eyes. The guy seemed to find it amusing.

He took three tentative steps towards me and I felt my legs backing away on its own accord. "Like I said, I'm bound to this apartment and I can see everything that goes on in here. I've seen you change, though I've been late to most but I've seen you take showers", he took two more steps, "I've seen you touch yourself", two more steps and he was right in front of me while my back was pressed onto my closet, "and I've seen you faking your orgasm when you brought that one night stand of yours", he lowered his voice as he said the last part leaning a bit near my ear.

All the fears that I had, flew away just like that.

"You perverted asshole", I gasped.

"Oh as if you wouldn't have watched me if the roles were reversed. I literally live here 24/7, what else do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, maybe go to another room when I was clearly having some private moments?", I crossed my arms.

"Well, you always ended up in the places I was already in"

"I didn't know about your existence until now so how was I supposed to know that you were there? You should've moved away", I huffed, "What else have you seen?".

He made an expression of thinking before he spoke, "I've seen you taking a call in the middle of your little fingering session and then lying through your teeth".

"So basically all my intimate moments, you sexually starved perverted man", I said hitting him with the vase that I was still holding and he groaned.

He grabbed the vase from my hand and caged me against the closet with his hands on either side of me.

Author's Pov :

Y/N : "What are you doing?"

"I don't know how long you will be able to see me or how long I'll be able to hold you but if I don't do this now, I might regret this for eternity"

"Hm?", she forced it out of her throat and it sounded like a whisper.

"Let me feel you once, please", his face inched closer.

"Consider it just one of your one night stands if that makes it easier", his nose touched hers.

Something about him made her feel intoxicated. Like on autopilot, she raised her head up and her lips brushed his.

His right hand held the side of her neck as he pressed his lips on Y/N's and when he didn't find her pushing him away, he kissed her like he meant it. As she pulled away to breath, a small laugh escaped through her lips.

"What is it?", he asked.

Y/N : "You don't smell"

He : "Ouch, just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I smell"

Y/N : "You look cute when you whine"

"Do I?", he said as he picked her up by the back of her thighs and took her to the bed.

"Umhm", she nodded.

He put her on the mattress gently and brushed a stray strand of hair off her face.

"You're beautiful"

"Is it your way of getting inside my pants?"

"You're gonna let me do that anyway"

"Aren't you a bit too confident?"

"Maybe", he kissed her jaw and trailed it to her collarbones. She felt his teeth graze her skin but she could care less about the marks right now. His hands caressed her body and her clothes were piled up on the floor soon after.

He took one of her nipples in his mouth and bit on it lightly as his hand moulded the other all the while keeping his eyes on her face.

He kissed down to her belly to her inner thigh and before she could assess the hot electricity coursing through her body, his wet cavern licked her bundle of nerves. As he delved his tongue in her core, her back arched off the mattress and her fingers interlaced with his beautiful hair.

"Oh...god", she couldn't help but moan at his ministrations. He held her by the hips to keep her in place as his tongue did its magic. Her orgasm was on the verge of snapping when he thought now was the time to be a jerk and pull away. She tried to push his head back where she needed but he had the audacity to laugh at that moment.

"Trust the process", he said before kissing her lips. While their mouths melded together, she felt his hand near her womanhood before one of his fingers rubbed her slit. Once his digit was coated in her slick, he pushed it into her hole. After depriving her of her release, the intrusion felt delicious. Pumping it a few times, he added another one.

"Has no one been stretching this tight little cunt properly?"

As he pushed a third into her, she held onto his shoulders with a gasp. He pressed his forehead on hers, "Let it go for me", he curled his fingers, "Cum, angel".

As if on cue, the knot in her core untied and her vision almost went white by its intensity.

"This can't be faked, can it?", he showed his hand glistening in her arousal with a proud grin.

She sat up and he got on his knees.

"Your turn", she said as she held the end of his shirt to take it off.

He got off the bed and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants leaving him in his boxers. She wanted to take a moment to appreciate how divine he looked and then her eyes drifted to the bulge in his pants, "See something you like?", he quirked an eye brow.

"That needs to go", she pointed at his boxers and he just chuckled before taking it off too, releasing his dick out of its confines.

He's hard and the tip's swollen and red with beads of precum on it. She neared the edge of the bed and reached for his member. It felt heavy in her hand and she lowered her head to give it a lick. As she took the head in her warm mouth and began to suck on it, his hand went to her hair and grabbed a fistful of it. When she tried to fit in as much of him as she could until her gag reflex kicked in and tears accumulated in her eyes, his grip tightened around her hair as he groaned.

He let her set the pace and when she looked up at him, his head was thrown back, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down.

The view made her want to suck him dry but her plans were sabotaged when he pulled her away and sprawled her back on the bed and hovered her.

Y/N's Pov :

"I wasn't done with you"

"I'm not done with you either", he said entwining my right hand with his and pressing it against the mattress.

His other hand guided his tip along my folds, covering it with my wetness before prodding the head in my core.

I looked down to where he was in me but he raised my chin up with his hand.

"Eyes here", he said and thrusted in when our gaze met.

He kissed me to ease the sting as he pushed it all the way in.

He pulled out a bit and pushed back in, my hand slid up from his chest to the back of his head and soon he picked up his pace.

His thrusts were deep, sweeping against my walls and kissing my cervix delectably that made my toes curl.

"Fuck, fuck, ah"

The lascivious moans and the lewd sounds that our bodies made, reverberated through the room.

The little coil at the pit of my belly was about to go delirious and my walls clenched around his length.

He : "Keep doing that and this will end a lot sooner"

I did it again intentionally and a smirk made its way to my lips when he groaned.

"Brat", he pulled his dick out making me whimper at the loss.

He turned me on my stomach and pulled my ass up before giving it a smack.

"Ah"

He did it again and the burn shot up through my body as he pushed his member back into me.

He plummeted in and out of my heat, the bed followed the rhythm and made noises.

"Oh shit, yes..... don't stop, I'm.....gonna cum", my impending orgasm was just a step away.

He pressed my face into the pillows while his other hand guided my hip.

The second one hit harder than the first and I felt light headed in my rapture as I held onto the bedsheets to try to stabilise myself.

He helped me ride out my orgasm and pulled out before turning me on my back again.

He pushed into me once more but this time a little hiss left my parted lips.

"Hold on for me, angel", he said as he began to impel me on his dick, my body moving up and down due to the force of his thrusts.

His hand squeezed my breast before making its way to my throat. The pressure wasn't painful but just enough to leave an effect. But as he neared his release, the grip tightened to the point of asphyxiating me.

I held onto his back and my nails dug onto his skin involuntarily.

The twitch of his length and the sinfully libidinous noises that he made, pushed me to my third orgasm that I didn't even know I had in me. He followed right after, spilling his load inside of me.

His grip around my neck loosened and he stilled after a few more thrusts.

His face nestled in the crook of my neck and he balanced some of his weight on his arms to not put it entirely on me. We remained like that for a bit, him resting on top of me as we caught our breaths.

He placed a kiss there before pushing himself off and out of me. As he helped me get up and get to the bathroom, a realisation hit me too late, "We did not use a condom-".

"And?"

"And you did not pull out"

"And?"

"What 'and'? I haven't been on any contraceptives lately"

He : "Are you hungry?"

"Relax, I can't get you pregnant. What are you gonna give birth to? Ghosts?", he asked sarcastically with a boyish grin and I hit him on the chest.

I stepped out of the bathroom when he walked into the room with a glass of water for me.

Y/N : "No, are you? I can make some pasta for you"

"I wish I could eat that", he laughed and my mouth formed an 'O' as I processed his words.

"But I can cook for you, I make really good stews", he added.

I lied on the bed and tapped on the spot beside me for him to join me.

As he did, I moved closer to him and he wrapped me in his arms.

"You'll not become invisible again, will you?", I asked.

"I don't know.......but even if I do, I'll still have to be here. You're stuck with me as long as you're in this apartment"

I nestled more into him.

".......Those weren't the only times I've watched you, Y/N", he spoke after a while, as if he was having some thoughts.

"I watched you cry alone because you were missing your dad (he's no more), I watched you lie to your mom about being okay when you had a fever, I watched you doubting yourself, I watched the tears roll down your cheeks when you saw a video online of an old man talking about how he has no one and I watched you work hard late into the night", I kept staring at his face as he continued looking elsewhere.

"You're a strong woman, Y/N. You're beautiful, kind and an amazing person. Please, never doubt yourself. I know my existence might not have any significance in your life but know that I'll always be here if you ever need someone to talk. I know I won't be able to tell you anything but I'll listen", I pressed my lips to his, kissing him as my tears threatened to cascade down my cheeks.

The night went on with me in his arms and I had the sleep that I haven't had in years. As the sunlight seeped in through the curtains of my window, I stirred in my slumber. But the absence of his embrace made me open my eyes.

He wasn't around.

I got up and checked the entire apartment before realising that he was gone.

He wasn't my hallucination, that much I'm affirmative about.

I can still feel his touch, I can still feel him.

I stood in front of the mirror and the marks on my skin are fresh and the sensation between my legs is perceptible enough for it to be just in my head.

I remember everything that he said and I'm sure he's somewhere around here, watching me.

I sat back on my bed and looked around.

"I know you're here.......thank you for everything you did and said last night. I wish I had talked and asked more about you. I don't know who you are but you'll always be a part of my life now. You made me feel more like home than I've ever felt. You made me happy, acknowledged...wanted...and I feel like as if I've known you forever. And you even gave me the best orgasms of my life-...why do I feel like you're smiling like a cocky bastard right now?"

Author's Pov :

"Because I am", he said.

He's here and he has been here this whole time. When she woke up, he was right there beside her but then he realised that she couldn't see or hear him anymore, he couldn't touch her anymore; everything was back to how it has been before.

"I don't know what happened to you or why you're stuck in here and I know I'm being selfish but please, be here and never leave me", she said and he could see her eyes glistening. He wanted to reach out to her but he knows he can't.

"I'll always be here"

"Watch me shower, eat, cry or touch myself but just be here. And please...be visible again", the warm tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I didn't even know you existed 12 hours ago but now I feel so attached to you. What kind of sorcery have you done on me?"

"Oh my god", she gasped suddenly and he looked at her with concern, "I don't even know your name", and more tears rolled down.

He couldn't help but smile at that.

"It's Jeonghan", he said.

"Next time, we're gonna talk more, you're gonna make me stews, we can even watch movies and then we can have sex", she said the last part almost inaudibly but Jeonghan heard.

Jeonghan : "If there is a next time, we will"

"I'm gonna go get freshened up now, you stay here", she said with narrowed eyes making him chuckle.

"Yes, princess", Jeonghan bowed her way.

She stopped in front of the bathroom door and turned around.

"Within the span of a few hours, you made me feel the warmth that I've been searching for", she said with a smile before heading in.

"And you made me wish I could live again"

Author : It's something I thought of posting before the month ends. Let me know your thoughts on it.

[scourgebff]

more from the hollycinder partners in crime au, their little family ( original concept/au idea by @the-owl-tree )! i imagine dovewing got cinderheart’s build with hollyleaf’s striking features while ivypool is leaning more towards hollyleaf’s tall stature but cinderheart’s recognizable markings.

holly’s disappearance into the tunnels after upending the entire normalcy of thunderclan had left quite a stir in her wake. ivy and dove grow up trying to make sense of and deal with her legacy in their own ways. cinder is in the middle, fiercely protecting her daughters’ youth from a world which wants to press the weight of everything on their shoulders far too readily while also struggling to figure out her own identity.

very detailed brainrot under the cut

it seemed like an ironic twist of fate in the eyes of lionblaze and jayfeather that dove was to take holly’s part in the prophecy, quickly sweeping her under their wing and closely guiding her paws. the lingering worry that she would stray from them and onto a dangerous path as holly had- doubly so since lion was made dove’s mentor. lion is fiercely protective of dove, seeing in her a bright potential and genuinely wants her to succeed. however it is quite clear to everyone that he’s projecting his sister onto her, for all her talent and resourcefulness going beyond the shadowy pelt and leading to heightened expectations. dove swallows down her discomfort at the pressure, wanting to make everyone proud and live up to their expectations, not only as warrior but as part of a prophecy so much larger than herself. one that she feels is partially to blame for driving her other parent away, as jay eventually reveals to her to full truth, leading to feelings of guilt she doesn’t even particularly understand. torn between stars and shadows, her paws wander over clan borders in search of an answer or escape for herself while discovering things she’d never expect.

meanwhile ivy feels like a spectator in her own life. listening in on near constant rumors and gossip about her family that she isn’t even included in, instigated by a cat she doesn’t even know. getting even further frustrated by just how passively helpless to remedy anything she is. while cinder treats the two girls completely equally, ivy isn’t blind to the practically palpable anticipation thunderclan holds towards dove. she’s a prodigy, with the undivided attention of both the clan’s healers and one if not the strongest warrior as a mentor, sent on journeys and given extra assignments as cats discuss how promising she is- yet also the level of suspicion cats hold towards her for being related to both a traitor, a healer, and a windclanner. ivy is of course of the exact same blood, yet she might as well not exist to anyone but dove and cinder bar a few extended family members. feeling isolated yet reluctant to try and burden her already troubled closest kin with insecurities she feels are ‘insignificant’, ivy meets hawkfrost who seems to not mind listening. in fact he says he relates to her, having a controversial family history himself. ivy asks for advice, ending up gaining confidence with his helpful suggestions and in turn drawing closer to the dark forest. she seems more well adjusted, yet in truth she’s merely getting better at lying and giving cats a spectacle to notice her by. while her social life improves, the unease in her grows as she’s gradually lured into working for the dark forest. ivy with new confidence and supposedly trustworthy new friends feels as if she can balance the danger despite rising escalation.

cinder, ivy, and dove remain extremely close. there is certainly friction between ivy and dove, however cinder is incredibly involved in their lives. refusing to let them lash out at each other and drift apart, she’s reminded all too painfully of her bitter last interaction with holly. she regrets how they ended, strangely enough considering how she didn’t regret dirtying her paws with blood to cover up holly’s sins. what she will not tolerate however is disrespect against her kits, growing estranged from her childhood friends jay and lion upon seeing how oddly they treat dove. it’s an uncomfortable situation, yet dove and ivy both are incredibly grateful to always have cinder in their corner. just for her they’ll set their reservations towards each other aside to form an at least temporarily stable truce. that being said, cinderheart being a reincarnation of cinderpelt actually has relevance to her character here that can be a whole other post on its own so i won’t go into it.

holly is more washed than a rack full of clean dishes icl. fleeing into the tunnels was a temporary solution, made at the peak of her mental crisis she initially tries to ignore how horrifically she treated so many cats. pushing it aside, and trying to restart herself. yet she can never forget cinder, even when she leaves the tunnels to become a wanderer cinder’s loyalty always sticks out so clearly. the kindness that holly had pushed and pushed and pushed until it broke and now here they were after that blow-out argument upon the gathering’s aftermath. a lot can be said for the time she’s out living as a rouge, but she eventually will have to come back and face her horrible past mistakes. unfortunately not before meeting a cat who might change everything for the worse- darktail C:

there’s some more i could mention because the cinderholly brainrot is infectious but i already rambled enough sorry TY IF U ACTUALLY READ THIS LOL UH </3 reward for making it down here is the fullbodies of these very normal not tortured individuals i consider them an equally normal amount

[sepublic]

In lieu of my latest reblog about people taking compelling characters and projecting their writing onto some other (usually white) dude, I want to bring up a post I had drafted all the way back from April, but never posted because at the time I still had enough patience not to. But now is different. I do think this analysis is a bit outdated because it doesn’t consider the mediocre white dude angle of Belos that I find paramount, but it’s good enough for my repurposed point.

-

            I find it funny when some people complain that the narrative was unfair to Belos despite his “trauma” and circumstances, like there aren’t multiple characters out there who parallel his issues, and get sympathy AND a redemption, in all but one case! Belos is narratively condemned not for what he has in common with others, but for what sets him apart, particularly his stubborn ego. Cases in point;

         “Belos deserved to have sympathy for having an unhealthy attachment to his more confident sibling that was mixed with resentment over being abandoned for someone else, culminating in guilt over hurting them and regretting it!”

         Lilith exists. She’s motivated by a massive inferiority complex with Eda, Gwen favors her. She’s clearly salty about Eda going off to have fun with Raine, and claims to Luz that she’s Eda’s ‘real’ family. She cursed her sister and felt enormous guilt over it… But in the end, Lilith IS given sympathy by the narrative, and the chance to redeem herself. And she takes just that.

         A lot of the people claiming Belos deserved better theorize that stabbing Caleb was an accident, and you know what? So was the permanence of Eda’s curse, Lilith expected it to only last a day and certainly not transform her sister. But Lilith still owned up. And she learned to make other friends while respecting Eda’s boundaries.

         “Belos was an orphan raised in a culture that encouraged genocide and a hatred of wild magic!”

         Caleb exists, he went through the exact same childhood as Philip, but still chose to change. And while they weren’t orphans at the time, Hunter and the Collector were also raised on genocide, taught to find wild/Titan magic apprehensive. But they loved it instead.

         “But Belos actually lost his brother, his loved one died!”

         So did Hunter’s! And he was shown to be snappy and aggressive, pouring himself into a mission to cope! But he still owned up, apologized to Willow for rebuking her. He lost Flapjack, and instead of making replicas of his lost loved one to keep to himself, discarding anyone that wasn’t close enough, Hunter made a diverse array of palismen for other kids, to give them the loving relationship he lost! Even his own palisman was clearly carved to be different from Flapjack, reminiscent but still their own thing.

         Then there’s Darius, who lost his mentor the previous Golden Guard; His own ‘Caleb’, so to speak! And he was also unpleasant about it, he took his grief out on Hunter, who had nothing to do with this! The canon audio diaries even confirm the apprehension has been going for a while… But Darius realized he was wrong to have projected onto Hunter, made up for this by practically adopting the kid and giving this kid the happy ending his mentor didn’t have; Passing the cycle of kindness the Golden Guard started. And his own grief is pointed out to the audience by Hunter himself.

         “They should’ve shown how having a hero complex and a desire to live out a fantasy can corrupt anyone!”

         Luz and the Collector. Luz herself makes these comparisons for Belos, and there were times where she hurt her friends trying to live out her fantasy, and/or planned to leave them under the impression she was doing the ‘right thing’. Luz makes a legitimate consideration that she could’ve been Belos, if she refused to listen to others and change. But Luz owned up! As did the Collector, whose escapism and wish to play the role of the ‘hero’, in this case Luz, causes them to do some pretty terrible things. But they still change after being called out, and are still given sympathy over the loneliness and trauma that fueled their escapism, as was Luz.

"Philip struggled with getting over a different type of fantasy, one that relied upon him conquering and hurting others!"

As did King! And King got over that, he quickly learned that other people would always be more important than his fantasies, even if the 'sacrifices' were a lot more minor. King started off the same, the difference is that he still grew up and that's why we judge his antics as so much more light-hearted.

         “Well that’s not fair, Philip’s examples were more extreme!”

         How about Eda’s curse? Belos never brings up his other sources of trauma as an excuse for his actions, but you know what he does invoke? His curse, claiming to Hunter and Luz that it forced him to act certain ways. But we see Eda, who got a rawer deal with her curse; She didn’t bring it upon herself, as Belos did. She legitimately loses control when it takes over. She scarred and disabled her father because of it, and you know what?

         Eda never uses her curse as an excuse. She never lets that justify what she’s done to people, and she even befriends the creature at the source of her curse, the Owl Beast. The curse she deals with is objectively worse, objectively more unfair, than Belos’. But it’s only Belos who actually cites his curse as an excuse, and the palismen at the source of it? He kills them.

         “Belos’ cursed form is treated as ugly and evil!”

         The palismen amalgam in his mind looked almost exactly the same, to the point where Hunter, who had seen Belos’ cursed form in person before, thought they were identical. But in the end, the palismen amalgam, despite resembling Belos’ cursed form, is a sympathetic and tragic victim who is murdered. Luz and Hunter mistaking him for Belos is justified, but it’s also still regrettable that they are judged by appearances.

         “It hurts people to sacrifice their morals for the greater good, you know!”

         Raine did that, they felt compelled to drag Darius and Eberwolf (one of whom was a childhood friend) into a murder-suicide, because as far as they knew, they were already going to be caught and executed, so may as well take their oppressors down with them! And they aren’t called out for it, because they couldn’t have known about Darius’ actual intentions…

         Because in the end, sometimes you have to punch a fascist, and sometimes you have to oppose a friend or loved one because they took the fascists’ side. It’s why Lilith is expected to change for Eda, not the other way around. Raine is not the aggressor here, it’s all from the principle of self-defense for themselves and the isles as a whole.

         And in the end, it’s because Raine is approaching from a place of actual good intent and moral concern that there are lines they still refuse to cross; As soon as they learn about Luz and King, they sabotage their own plans because they refuse to orphan these kids they just found out about for the ‘greater good’. When one of those very kids, Luz, makes Raine promise to keep Eda safe, you can see the conflict between their morals and their obligations in their eyes as Eda accepts the Bard sigil, and ultimately Raine powers through the draining spell to save Eda’s life, simply because Luz asked them to.

         I’ve talked since their debut of how Raine has some similarities to Belos, in particular how they both work their whole lives to infiltrate a group from within to topple it, even as they publicly support it as a celebrated leader. They both had to lie and work under the radar, and make effective rhetoric; They each wear their own masks. Raine has to constantly lie to and rebuke Eda about being brainwashed, and we can see the moral agony it gives them!

         But Raine is opposed to a legitimate threat, whereas Belos is completely making one up; Raine has to work under the micro-management of tyrants with control over them, Philip has been free from his colony for centuries, and even after finding out Gravesfield gave up on its witch hunting mission in the present, still traps himself of his own will. Belos feels no guilt for any of his ‘necessary evil’.

         Raine had actual morals unlike Belos that they did sacrifice, for an actual greater good, and they actually hurt over these choices. They dedicated their whole life to stop a dark and twisted parallel, which makes their inclusion in the finale as the only person outside of the core trio to help against Belos all the more deserved; They even help deliver the killing blows. And Raine is rewarded for all of their effort, allowed to see it come to fruition and rest happily afterwards, because they really were sincere, and actually did make sacrifices, something Belos preaches but never follows. Most importantly, Raine knew they couldn’t justify everything even for their morally-justified mission.

         “Belos was still legitimately wronged by Caleb for nothing, he didn’t deserve to be abandoned!”

         Even if we believe Caleb did ‘abandon’ Philip or whatever; The Collector was legitimately wronged by the Titan, imprisoned and isolated for millennia despite being innocent. But while he justifiably calls the Titan a bully, he never takes this out on King, or any other Titan for that matter, remembering the rest with love. Nor is the Collector expected to forgive the Titan; The Titan accepts she made the wrong call. After all, imprisoning the Collector left them in a vulnerable state to be exploited by Belos, and give him the draining spell…

         The Titan and Caleb’s mistakes were very much that, but the Collector matured for others, without needing an apology from the dead person who wronged him. And based on what we see of Belos’ memories, Caleb probably DID get to deliver that apology when he was alive, and Philip still insisted on being bitter!

         “His only childhood friend just ditched him for someone else!”

         That’s what happened to Willow, and that’s how she understood it for most of her life; Amity leaving her behind because she was too weak, and kids like Boscha and Skara were more popular, stronger, etc. But not only does the show say her rage against Amity is totally warranted and that the onus is on Amity to apologize, even if she didn’t choose to leave Willow (keep in mind she still saw Willow as a weak person to protect without input, as we later see in Labyrinth Runners)…

         Willow is still kind. She still opts to be compassionate to Gus, and to Luz, and in general a nurturing person despite her abandonment. And when Willow is given the chance to take revenge on Boscha by stealing her glory in Grudgby, she doesn’t kick the girl while she’s down to do so; But Willow is also allowed to still hold anger towards Boscha, as we see in Season 3. And assuming Caleb wasn’t malicious about leaving Philip behind, we clearly see how he welcomes his brother back and wants things to get better, just as Amity does; He had his own side of the story. And Willow doesn’t kill Amity despite being primed to very easily do so…

"But imagine finding out they CHOSE to leave you, when you thought they didn't!"

Camila?!?! In fact, Camila was THE precedent for this, and people went and applied her tragic scene to Philip to make HIM into some angsty sadboi! And last I checked, Camila didn't exactly murder Luz... Plus, Philip had infinitely more time to see Caleb and Evelyn interact, and thus figure out that Caleb wasn't being kidnapped or brainwashed; Compare that to Camila who is just dunked into that situation out of nowhere, and is barely even adjusting to Vee's existence on top of finding out Luz was someplace else the entire time, and dealing with Jacob.

"A lot of family members at least start off as well-intentioned when hurting loved ones, they could've shown that!"

Bold of you to assume that Belos' selfish entitlement towards Caleb is the same as Camila or Gwen's legitimate concerns for their daughters; They did unconditionally love and they were misguided. But when shown they were causing pain, they actually shifted gears instead of focusing on how they were fight because they knew better. And what they were doing WAS still harmful, even though they DID care.

         “Belos was probably a weirdo himself, and suffered from internalized hatred for his deviancy!”

         Lilith dyed her hair to fit in with the coven, and be taken seriously. Amity suppressed herself to be a stoic perfectionist, constantly trying to justify her own existence as she says; She had to work to be good at magic while others like Gus, Emira, and Edric were naturally talented, and was made to hate those who weren’t successful as witches. Hunter too loathed his own lack of bile magic!

         Most tellingly, Camila herself was taught to hide her weirdness, grew up thinking she was successful for doing that, and even tried to impose the same on Luz because of that misconception! But Camila realized what was done to her was wrong, and the same applied to her daughter; Accepting Luz’s weirdness meant accepting her own.

         “Even if he still chose to double down in villainy, Belos could’ve at least been given a moment where he was sympathetic, where his sadness was shown, before nevertheless deciding his fate!”

         Kikimora had an entire episode where she agonized over her obligations to a mother that seemed low key abusive, given her threat to disown her. We see her hesitate, cry, and be legitimately disappointed when she’s rewarded for staying with Belos by ‘getting to live’, a reward that doesn’t even last by the Day of Unity! Even after Kikimora makes her choice to betray Luz and Amity, we still get a final scene of her looking uncertain and even regretful of her decision, before she commits. Kikimora isn’t redeemed but is still humanized, despite being less human than Belos, so to speak.

         She’s even a dark parallel to Lilith, having jealousy towards the Golden Guard, an emotionally abusive mother, and an inferiority complex towards other members of the coven despite working directly with Belos! And she is given many chances to escape Belos, a few months where she is legitimately free from him, and chooses to remain in her ways because Kikimora’s difference with Lilith isn’t that life was more unfair to her, it’s that she refused to change.

         Now this is a bit out there, but there’s also the other Coven Heads! Mason, Vitimir, Hettie, and Osran! The show was shortened, so who knows what they could’ve provided for the story… Mason, Hettie, and Osran especially, since they’re not included amongst the coven head loyalists who still cling to power, even after Belos’ death. The show could’ve easily set up sympathetic moments to indicate a possibility of change, paying off in the epilogue; But because of Disney, you can’t blame the writers for not delivering everything they could’ve.

         “How about a character who was just… an asshole, no outside reason given?”

         Boscha, who was popular and privileged. While she does allude to some pressures that motivate her, as far as we know, there wasn’t really anyone or anything that made her be so cruel towards those she perceives as lesser. But despite this, Willow doesn’t see any point in trying to take Boscha’s spotlight as a Grudgby captain, when offered by her teammates; She doesn’t kick Boscha when she’s down. And Boscha is ultimately still recognized as unhappy with the loss of her friends, so even if she does do egregious things during the Collector’s reign, Amity offers Boscha the chance to become better and improve, as she did. And she takes it!

         “Well, none of these characters had to grapple with having done things nearly as bad as Belos!”

         And why do you think that is? Why are Belos’ sins so monumental in comparison, how did they get so bad? Because he kept refusing to change, kept refusing each opportunity, and got worse because of that. His first confirmed murder was Caleb, who right beforehand embraced his brother during what appeared to be a manifestation of the curse. But Philip still chose to commit his first sin despite receiving such unconditional sympathy, because he wanted control, not happiness. He didn’t start off as a genocidal dictator, he worked his way up to that over centuries.

         “They make it seem like Belos was born evil!”

         Our earliest chronological appearances of Philip are as a happy, carefree child who plays games with the brother he loves and looks up to; That isn’t the portrayal of someone ‘born’ evil. This is the portrayal of someone who became that way, over time, because he refused to concede anything to anyone, and wore away what decency he had across centuries, until we see the Emperor that Belos is when the show starts.

         An evil dictator who ravaged an entire world for hundreds of years came from an innocent little kid, and Luz becomes self-aware of how this can apply to her, even as she’s reminded that she also ISN’T like Belos because of this critical reflection and willingness to listen. Belos, on the other hand, consciously cultivated an echo chamber for centuries, killing any Grimwalker he felt disagreed with him, despite their unconditional love and support. He deliberately shut himself off from the isles and ignored the kindness of others.

         Bump reminds Faust that it’s disingenuous to project malice onto children who often simply don’t know any better, and just need to be given a chance to be taught and educated. But kids also have to take initiative to mature when they get older, hence why we hold adults more responsible; The established logic is that Belos wasn’t an evil child, he was simply a child who never grew up and that’s where his evil came from, rather than being some pre-existing source.

         To be honest, I think the narrative doesn’t bother showing sympathy to Belos over his trauma because he’s already HAD more than enough sympathy, across centuries, from his brother, the Grimwalkers, his followers, even Luz and the Collector! So the story doesn’t feel the need to waste tears on someone who already got them, and instead focuses sympathy to characters who haven’t received as much, if any; People like Lilith, Amity, Hunter, etc.

         Belos is the culmination of other characters’ traumas (who prove you can still choose to be better and happier despite these things), and was practically coddled by the people in his life for it. But he still chose to be bitter, never opened up to accept help, and his rejection brought even more pain that he could only blame on himself. Belos’ only tragedy is his refusal to change for the better; Even the narrative has made it clear he had chances, tears wept for him by people he knew.

He is a mirror to so many characters, what could’ve happened if they looked at their own pain and used it as justification to continue lashing out, because clearly they are the underdog heroes who have been wronged and are fighting against an injustice, right? The hero of their own story, if you will. Hell, we still also get that with Kikimora, as I just said! What I’ve listed is not a double standard, but rather proof that Belos was not uniquely condemned by his circumstances, for he is alike many characters as I mentioned. And Belos does not need to be portrayed “sympathetically” in order for the audience to understand the relevance of these parallels; Namely, that Belos has no excuse to still be like this when those similar nevertheless choose not to be cruel, and will accept others’ compassion.

         And besides, with how the show was shortened… Who’s to say the writers didn’t plan to throw Belos a sympathetic moment of genuine loneliness, before doubling down? Not that they really would’ve needed to. But if they planned it, the writers had to leave it out to prioritize the weirdos this show is actually about, due to the shortening.

[navigatebetweenthelines]

Because a lot of you seem to be conflating intelligence to mean a single thing im going to spell it out for you

DAZAI!

quick on his feet. He reads body language pretty well. he knows what to expect. His disadvantage is that he tends to project his own expectations onto others and this clouds his judgement. He is "intelligent" in the way that he has a great capacity to improvise in tricky situations. He doesn't know everything he just always makes sure to have a plan B C D E F and G. Thats it

RANPO!

he knows all the facts about any given situation. His biggest disadvantages are that his judgement is shoddy at best and he doesn't always know what to do with the information he has. He is used to disregarding information for the sake of peace (like dazai is a killer, or kyoka is a killer or yosano tortured thousands) but that often means he ends up too close to the wrong people. He forgives EVERYONE because for as much as he sees the bad in a person he sees the good. He will always plan for the opposing team to do the right thing even when it isnt likely. He is unreliable and inconsistent. The good thing about him is that as soon as he realizes his mistake he never makes it again.

POE!

JUSTTT as smart as Ranpo. He can GATHER as much information as Ranpo but it takes more effort. He has a lot of resources and technical know how. He knows technology, he knows politics, international law and most importantly people (arguably more than Dazai). His biggest advantage is that he knows exactly how to pressure people into doing what he wants. His mysteries are tailormade to each person and created so that people can only escape when they realize what he wants them to. It is becuase of this that he saw society as a farce. He knows reality and truth are malleable concepts. That's why Ranpo and him are such a good team. Ranpo can see everything immidiately and Poe knows what to do with it immidiately.

Louisa!!!

She can slow down time when she's focused THAT'S her ability. She is capable of thinking of every possibility and coming up with dependable statistics. She's smarter than Dazai but less of an asset because her analysis relies on what she is aware of (preexisting knowledge). In the world of BSD there is ALWAYS something no one is aware of. She isn't as capable of recovering as quickly from a miscalculation so she really only has one shot.

Chuuya!!!

He doesnt need to use his intelligence most of the time because he can pretty much brute force his way out of most things. His intellegence relies on instinct. He has GREAT instincts. He knows when a situation has gone sour. Of course he doesnt usually verbalize it because with Dazai he doesn't need to and when he's alone why would he announce it to an enemy. He knows when he's safe and when he isn't. His biggest disadvantage is that he doesn't always listen to those instincts. In terms of priorities he almost always puts himself last and that leads to a lot of problems.

NIKOLAI!!!

Nikolai is similar to Chuuya except a bit more extreme because no one's life is his priority. His motivations are unclear and he always goes for the most imoral option. He isn't concerned with a specific desired outcome it is the inconsistency of his own actions that drive him.

FYODOR!!!

Kinda like Poe, in that he knows how to work people, but to a lesser extent and a little like the chameleon that Dazai can be but to a greater extent. He knows what a person wants more than anything and he promises that to them.

His biggest advantage is that he is smart enough to ally himself with people who have nothing else to live for. Sigma, Nikolai, Bram (before Aya), Nathaniel and Fukuchi are all outsiders. They are alone but desperately want to feel like they belong. Fyodors biggest disadvantage is that if those people find belonging elsewhere then his influence on them shatters. He seems to be aware of that? Idk it's too soon to tell.

Mori!!!

He isn't crazy smart. He's just sadistic and cruel. He picks easy targets (children) and slowly takes away their agency. He undoes them until they have nothing to live for and they then become perfectly obedient adults. His biggest disadvantage is that he relies on the chain of abuse and that isn't sustainable as a dynamic for power. Chuuya and Akutagawa have no one above them to preassure them to listen to orders now that Dazai is gone. Also the extreme amounts of abuse he relies on is impossible to ditch out to EVERYONE. That's why he relied on the chain of abuse but that's failing. Mori isn't smart. He's a coward. He takes the shortest path no matter the resistance.

FUKUCHI!!

isn't smart either. He is just THE BEST chameleon. He hid in plain sight. He knows war and war tactics. He's a great spy and facilitating a strong bond with the target is a great spy strategy.

They are not all the same stop conflating their perspectives as "knows everything". It leads to a lot of misunderstandings and a lot of misinformation. DAZAI IS NOT RANPO! He doesnt know everything. He's just really good at pretending he does.

[morelikeravenbore]

✨ Ominis Gaunt headcanons

This lovely anon (as well as a few others) asked if I'd consider writing my Sebastian Alphabets for our favourite Slytherin Heir, but as a girlie whose brain space is 99% dedicated to Sebastian Sallow and like, 1% dedicated to, I dunno, survival and stuff, I struggled lol. Instead, I'm here to offer you some of my personal Omnom headcanons based on how I write him as a seventh year in How to Make a Villain, post fifth-year events.

(trigger warning: he's sassy and traumatised because that's just how I imagine him.)

Enjoy under the cut! (SFW!)

✨ He's a Cancer sun, Libra rising, Capricorn moon.

Cancer sun: Hard outer shell, soft squishy middle; deeply emotional but retreats into his hidey hole when triggered, emotions shift as often as the moon phases; cares deeply.

Libra rising: refined, pretty, physically attractive, charismatic; focused on justice and fairness, right and wrong; drawn to refined pleasures: art, music, fine food and clothing.

Capricorn moon: practical, rigid, dutiful, committed; craves stability; can appear cold and unfeeling on the surface, prone to pessimism; does not take shortcuts, does not look for the easy way out.

✨ He plays piano. (Duh, that's practically considered canon by now). Without sight, music is how this li'l Libra rising bebe appreciates and creates beauty.

✨ Being a member of high pureblood society, he is fluent in French. As a child, he spent his summers in southern France with his family, who own a manor in by the ocean. (Later, after he befriended the Sallow twins, he spent his summers in Feldcroft instead.)

✨ It was fearless little Anne Sallow who reached out to Ominis in their first year, and thus Anne, not Sebastian, was the first friend Ominis ever made. This friendship signified a profound change in his life: he never expected to make a real friend, let alone have anyone show him the kindness, tolerance and companionship that Anne did. His friendship with Sebastian, though a by-product of his closeness with Anne, grew more slowly, but by the time their first year was over, the three were inseparable. His friendship with the Sallow's gave Ominis the first sense of belonging in his life.

✨ Due to his deep-seated abandonment and trust issues, the damage to his friendship with Sebastian after the events of fifth year are near irreversible; worse than Solomon's murder was the loss of Anne, which Ominis blamed solely on her brother. But beneath this resentment toward Sebastian, buried so deeply he never fully acknowledged it to himself, was a festering anger towards Anne for leaving him. She was the first person he ever loved (platonically or otherwise, it's up to you), and though he understood her reasons for leaving, her absence felt like another abandonment. It was easier to project this anger Sebastian than ever admit that he was angry at Anne, too.

✨ To keep Sebastian out of Azkaban after Solomon's murder, Ominis had to call upon his family for help. In exchange for their covering up the incident, he was forced to pledge his allegiance to furthering the Gaunt legacy. Thus, he gave up his dreams of freedom and living as his own person. He'd always harboured a secret desire to pursue music, perhaps study abroad in France, but instead had to promise to fulfil his "familial obligations" to the Gaunt's by marrying a woman of their choosing and working in whatever influencial Ministry role they assigned him.

✨ Romance. Given how cruel his family is, Ominis vows to never fall in love. The idea of condemning someone he actually cares about to the Gaunt name and legacy is unbearable — he'd sooner enter into a loveless, arranged marriage than inflict that sort of pain onto another innocent person. That's not to say he won't ever fall in love, but it would take a very, very special person to capture his attention and break through the many (many) defensive walls he's put in place around his heart.

And here's a little snippet of Sebastian and Ominis' dynamic in How to Make a Villain, which you can read on wattpad or ao3 if you like :)

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

All The Fear and The Fire of The End of The World [Joel Miller x artist!reader]

Read on Ao3

Sequel to The Artist and the Builder

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/artist!reader who is his age and has arthritis and allergies (although that's not really addressed in this one)

Tags/warnings: ANGST, bit of h/c, Panic attacks, reader is sick, Joel has anxiety. That's about it, but please stay safe is panic attacks is something that triggers you <3

Summary: Joel has told Ellie about what happened in Salt Lake City, and she is livid with him. Seeking comfort with you, Joel however finds you in the grips of a nasty flu, and has to put his own needs aside to nurse you.

Words: 3,799

A/N: Title is from Hozier's Wasteland, Baby! Couldn't resist: All the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl...

Thank you to @pazizz for having a read before it was finished!

Joel hasn't had an attack like this in a long time - not since he and Ellie settled in Jackson - but now, it's bad.

His heart is being squeezed like a stress ball, his lungs are not taking in fresh air, his throat is constricted. Panic floods his brain as he clutches at his collar. He can't breathe, can't think, can't -

Ellie's screamed words echo in the fiber of his being.

How could you? I hate you! Don't talk to me ever again!

He had finally told her the truth about what had happened at the hospital, why she didn't get to save the world. And Ellie shut him out.

You took my decision away from me!

How could she even consider dying for a cure that wasn't guaranteed? How could she not see that she was the light of his entire life?

How could he not tell her the truth from the start?

Joel stumbles onto one knee, the guilt taking his legs from under him. He fights to breathe, his right fist closes, and he bangs it into the floor. Again. Again. Pain reverberates through his hand and arm, and that jerks him out of his mental anguish.

He punches the floor until the skin of his knuckles break, and he can breathe normally again. Greedily gulping down air in a way that sounds like sobbing - but he is not fucking crying - Joel slowly gets back onto his feet. His knuckles are aching, his arm feels battered, but he grabs his coat, and heads out. Hurrying through the snowy streets of Jackson, he barely notices anyone passing by. He's in a hurry, hurting hand hidden in his jacket pocket, internal compass pointing to your house.

He needs comfort, your soothing hands. He needs to know that he did what he could.

Even if it was you who pushed him into telling Ellie, he knows you were right to encourage him to do it. And he needs you now that Ellie has denounced him. You won't judge him for waiting so long.

He walks into your house without knocking. His throat feels almost constricted when he enters the living-room, expecting to find you in front of the fireplace, immersed in one of your projects. But you're not there, and the fire is nothing but a heap of embers. Frowning, Joel calls your name again. It's not like you to leave the fire unattended or leave on the lights. He walks over to the bedroom door and pushes it open.

There's a pile of blankets on the bed. When his eyes get used to the twilight in the room, he sees that there's a body underneath the layers of covers.

He speaks your name, and the pile of blankets moves. For a second his heart seizes, and panic rises within him. Not you too, he can't stand it!

Then you croak his name, and he knows what's up.

You're so cold. You've never been this cold in your life, and no amount of blankets is helping. Good God, how is it even possible to be so cold, to shake so hard? Your muscles are aching with how much you're shaking, and you can't do anything about it.

You hear Joel's voice close to you, and you will your eyes open, even if using your vision is making your headache worse.

Joel's face swims somewhere above you. Through the brain fog, you hear him ask you how you are.

"Just a slight temperature," you mumble, then feel Joel's callused hand on your forehead.

"You're burning up."

He takes off his jacket, and gets in bed with you, digging himself underneath the blankets until he's right next to you. Fitting his form to yours, he wraps his arm around you to bring you in even closer.

"You're shaking!"

"Jus' need a nap..."

"You need a lot more than that, darlin'."

You mumble something as your eyes fall shut. His body heat has already started to spill onto you, and slowly, you stop shaking, and start relaxing.

"How long have you been like this?" His voice is soft, his breath so warm against your skin. You want to crawl into his voice, melt into the rich, deep syllables, dissolve from this aching body.

"Had to leave the clinic around midday," you slur. Speaking seems difficult. Your throat is sore, your head feels like it's about to explode.

"Are there any meds?"

"No."

"Then it's rest and liquids for you."

You're already drifting off, secure in his arms. Joel feels you relax and become heavy, your audible breathing slowing down. Gently, he strokes a couple of stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear, and notes that your hairline is damp with sweat. When he's certain that you're not waking up, he carefully disentangles himself from you, and gets up from the bed.

His own heartache is forgotten when he rummages through the cupboards of your kitchen, finding your teas made from dried herbs and flowers. He gathers towels, finds a bucket for water, gathers whatever he can find that will help him take care of you. He returns to the bedroom to check on you before leaving your house to get something to eat from the dining-hall, and see Jackson's doctor.

The doc has, naturally, nothing to prescribe except bedrest and liquid, which Joel had already figured out. What little drugs there are, must be saved for the truly sick. He's luckier at the dining-hall: he gets a big portion of chicken broth from one of the women working there.

"This will cure anything," she promises, and Joel thanks her gruffly. He hurries home to you, finding you exactly where he left you.

You sleep for hours. Focusing his attention on you, wiping your forehead whenever it gets too shiny, listening to your wheezing breaths, Joel forgets about the pressure over his own chest. He can't forget about Ellie, her anger, her words, but he doesn't succumb to anxiety over what happened.

When you wake up, the things Ellie said are pushed to the back of his brain.

You're like a cat waking up from anesthesia: unable to walk but hell-bent on doing it.

"Need the toilet," you mumble, and Joel supports you to the bathroom. You're freezing once you slump down on the toilet seat, and he turns around to give you some privacy.

"Go away," you moan, bent over with you aching head in your hands.

"I've seen women piss before, so do what you have to so that I can help you back to bed," he retorts, and you scoff weakly before releasing a stream of urine that seems searing hot. You manage to wipe yourself and wash your hands before you have to lean on Joel again.

"We need to get you out of these sweaty clothes," he tells you, but you're loath to get undressed.

"It's so cold," you whine, but you're in no position to fight him on it.

He puts his own flannel on you before taking you back to bed, where he coaxes two spoonfuls of broth into you, and almost half a cup of tea, until you shake your head. He gives up, and lets you curl up to sleep. The winter darkness is falling but he turns on the bedside lamp so that he can see your face, its lines stressed by the lamplight and sickness, your forehead shiny with fever, your lips separated as you snore. For a long time, he just watches you, like he's looking for an answer in your features.

Eventually, he turns off the light, rises from his chair, and leaves the bedroom to start a fire in the living-room fireplace.

Your temperature is up the next day so Joel brings the doc, who can't do anything except encourage him to continue doing what he's been doing so far. You're mostly asleep, delirious when you're not, and still so, so cold. Joel does his best to get fluids in you, and a couple of spoonfuls of chicken soup, but it's hard when you're either limp in his arms or shaking.

By afternoon, he's exhausted. Tommy comes by to check on both him and you, and he brings food. Joel never even thought about eating himself.

Sitting on opposite sides of the kitchen table, Joel opens the lunch box and devours its contents.

"I saw Ellie earlier today. She seemed upset, what's up with her?" Tommy wants to know. Joel winces from the painful stab in his heart.

"Nothing's up with Ellie."

"Liar."

Joel looks up from the food at his brother. Tommy knows him too well.

"I told her. About what happened in Salt Lake City."

"That didn't go well."

"It didn't."

Joel looks down again and stuffs his mouth with the rest of the food. The conversation is over for his part, and Tommy knows better than to push it.

"She'll come round."

Joel grunts, and they both sit in silence for a while before Tommy rises.

"I gotta get back to work. Lemme know if you need anything."

Joel clears his throat. "If you see Ellie... tell her I'm not coming back to the house for a while. I don't want her to have to move out."

"Sure, bro."

Tommy pats Joel on the back as he passes him by, and when the front door closes, Joel follows to lock it. He then comes to the bedroom, kicks off his boots, and crawls into bed next to you. His fingers tremble slightly when he touches your forehead, still finding you burning hot. Carefully, not wanting to wake you, he fits himself to your body, puts his head down, and watches you through the grey winter light.

Caring for you has kept him busy enough to not dwell too much on what happened with Ellie, but now his brain is buzzing with her last words to him, her rage and disappointment, his failure. He owes Ellie so much, and he failed her.

His unavailable heart has been locked inside his closed chest for so long, until Ellie cracked it open. Ellie, with her courage, innocence, those stupid puns that she loves so much, and that Joel can’t help smiling at. How could he have surrendered her to the Fireflies? His relationship with Ellie had developed from duty to decency before finally unfolding into love. He has already known the worst pain in his life, and he wasn’t going to live through that again. He simply could not give Ellie up.

And now he has lost her anyway, and he might lose you too.

"You get well," he whispers, assured that you can't hear his dramatic, pathetic plea, even when it's directed at you. "My heart can't take it if you don't make it, you hear me? Don't you dare die on me."

You offer him no sign of having heard him. He swallows, his throat tight, and presses his eyes shut, praying that sleep will take his worries away.

Your violent coughing wakes him up. He blinks blearily in the dark room before he gets his bearings, his arm going around the body that is convulsing next to him. It's a wet cough, rattling in your lungs, and it's new. He sits up in bed, hands on you, like that's going to help. As if anything he does helps. He hates the feeling on not being able to help.

When your coughing subsides, you groan and mumble something.

"What's that, darlin'?"

"My head," you repeat, voice raspy and thin.

"Just lay still."

"Thirsty."

Joel promptly rolls out of bed and goes to get a fresh glass of water from the kitchen. When he sits by your side to help you drink it, he realizes that you're no longer shaking. You take little sips before slumping back against the pillow, your face ashen and your eyes matted, but when he feels your forehead, he can tell you no longer have a fever. That has to be a good sign, right?

“How are you feelin’?” he asks, knowing immediately that it is a stupid question. You open your mouth, but instead of words coming out, there is a bout of coughing. Joel grimaces sympathetically as he takes the glass from your hand to avoid you spilling on yourself.

“Been better,” you finally wheeze, reaching for the glass again as soon as the coughing subsides. He gets up to go refill it, and you drowsily look around the room.

“What day is it?”

“Tuesday,” he calls back from the kitchen.

You let that sink in. When Joel comes back in, he clearly sees your confusion.

“You’ve been out of it for a few days, yeah.”

“And you’ve been here the whole time?”

He hands you the refilled glass but averts his eyes when he replies.

“Someone had to look out for you.”

You drink more greedily now, the cold water lashing its way down your scratchy throat in a way that makes you feel more alert despite the discomfort. Joel takes your glass when you’re finished, puts it on the nightstand, and pulls the covers more snugly around you.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, somewhat amused at his fussing. “You should go home. Has Ellie even seen you since I got sick?”

He freezes, pain flashing across his face before his features turn to cold, hard stone. But you saw it, plain as day.

“Joel?”

He doesn’t answer, and your fear rises.

“Joel, is Ellie alright?”

“Yes.” The answer comes promptly, but the three letters contain a world of events and emotions that you, despite your current state, need to know more of.

“What happened?”

“We’ll talk about it later, darlin’. You need to rest.”

“We’ll talk about it now.” You stress the last word with a rise in volume and pitch, which brings about another bout of coughing. When you’re done, Joel gives you a disapproving glare.

“You’re not well.”

“Duh. Now tell me, or do I have to get out of this bed and go find Ellie myself?”

He sighs deeply, jaw squared as he stares out of the open bedroom door. You wait as he gathers himself.

“I told her. About Salt Lake City.”

“And she didn’t take it well?”

“No. She never wants to see me again. She hates me.”

“Joel…”

Joel can’t look at you. Not even his brother knows the whole story, but he has told you, one late night after the two of you had fucked and were sharing whispered secrets in each other’s arms. He couldn’t keep you in the dark, you’re too important. With all that he has lost in life, with all of his scars and traumas, he got to know Ellie, and he got to know you. When he least expected it, you came along, with your way of seeing the world, its light and its shadows, your body as aching as his but your mind nowhere near as broken. Your ribs bend open so easily for your heart to do what hearts do best. And that kept his chest from closing again now that Ellie hates him.

He’s so grateful for you. And so ashamed.

Tears burn in his eyes and when you sit up and put your hand on his shoulder, he draws a sobbing breath. Goddammit.

“It’s okay, Joel,” you rasp. “We’ll figure it out.”

He passes his hands over his face, wills his tears away, but the more he fights it, the more constricted his chest feels.

No, not now, not when he needs to stay strong for you!

“Joel?”

“Be right back,” he presses, standing up so quickly that the world spins for a second, and his first two steps are wobbly. He hears you speak his name again, but he hurries out to the kitchen, finding support from the sink, his head swimming, his heart beating so fast he thinks it’s going to explode but at the same time he can’t breathe, his throat is closed, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, Jesus fucking Christ he’s having a heart attack –

“Joel!”

Your hands are on him, turning him around. At the end of his tunnel vision is your haggard face, and through the roar in his ears – where did that come from and what is it? – he can hear your voice.

“Joel? Listen to my voice. Feel my touch. You’re okay, baby, you’re okay. I promise. You can breathe. Just take a deep breath, that’s it, just like that, and exhale. Good, go ahead, take another one. That’s great, Joel, just like that.”

Without even noticing, your hoarse voice has pushed through the panic and the pain and the noises, and he finds himself breathing deeply, consciously, his heart slowing down. He blinks a couple of times, and his eyesight is back to normal. You’re in front of him, nodding your encouragement. He wets his lips, wants to say something, but then his knees buckle under him, and before he knows it, both of you are on the floor, you from trying to help him, your still weak body no match for his weight.

You’re coughing, and he collects you in his arms, ignoring the smarting in his elbow. It keeps him sharp.

“You okay?” he asks you as soon as you’re done coughing. You nod against his chest, wheezing breath keeping you from speaking. He holds you closer when you shiver slightly, and when you embrace him back, he feels a lot better.

“What about you?”

“I’m good, darlin’, don’t worry about me.”

“That was a panic attack, Joel, and not a small one.”

He frowns, looks down at you.

“I have a heart problem.”

“Maybe so, but that wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“How would you know?”

You roll your eyes at him, even though it hurts your head.

“I’m a nurse, Joel.”

He has to chuckle at your tone, but you’re not amused.

“I also had a sister who suffered panic attacks from a young age. It differs from person to person, but what I did to you worked on her. Seemed to work on you as well.”

“It… did. Thank you.”

“How long have you – “ you start, but he interrupts you, though not unkindly.

“Can we… not talk about it right now? I’m exhausted, and you need to rest.”

You agree, and with combined forces, the two of you manage to get off the floor and drag yourselves back to the bedroom. You collapse on the bed together and just barely find the energy to arrange yourselves comfortably before both of you are out.

You sleep uneasily, your cough waking you up constantly. Your head is still aching, and your throat is lined with needles when you swallow, not to mention how much your lungs hurt when you cough, but you’re hungry for the first time since you got sick.

You hear a light snore next to you, so you turn your head. Joel is deep asleep, turned away from you, sleeping on his good ear. Your hacking must have disturbed him because you’re quite sure that he was holding you when you went to sleep.

Slowly, gently, you place your hand between his shoulder blades. He’s warm, sweaty even, in his flannel and no doubt from his attack earlier. But he seems at ease now: his broad back is relaxed, his breaths are deep and even, and he doesn’t move when touched. Carefully, you scoot closer, a tickle in your throat threatening to grow into a cough, but you manage to keep it down. Your arm goes around his waist, and you mold yourself to his form, spooning him tightly, your hand finding a soft spot on his belly to rest against. His breath stutters and changes, but other than his hand clumsily finding yours, he doesn’t move.

He smells of old sweat, and you don’t feel too fresh yourself. The thought of taking a shower with him once he wakes up sets off a pull deep within your lower belly, and you smile as you feel your cheeks heat up. Even when struggling through the worst flu you’ve ever experienced, you can’t keep from fantasizing about the things this man can do with his hands, his mouth, his cock…

You take it he’s to stay with you now, which means that you have to tidy up the living-room, make room for him, but you find yourself not minding. You want him there, you want to go to sleep and wake up with him next to you, and once you get well you want to wake up with your hands all over each other, his mouth on your skin, his rare smiles over breakfast.

The thought of breakfast makes your stomach growl, and you feel a little faint. It’s definitely time to eat something. Gently, you move away from Joel, rousing him when your arm leaves his waist. He rolls over onto his back and rubs his eyes before looking at you.

“Hi,” you smile, patting his arm. “You sleep if you need to. I gotta eat.”

“What time is it?”

“No idea, but it’s still light outside.”

“I’ll fix us something.”

“It’s fine, I’m on it.”

You get out of bed, your legs a little weak but still carrying you, and go to the bathroom first. Joel’s heavy steps are heard making their way to the kitchen, and when you appear in the doorway, he’s already making tea and heating up broth.

“I’ll get something from the kitchens,” he tells you without looking up. “Better see my brother too, let him know we’re alive.”

You walk up to him, feeling a little bit like Bambi on the ice, but you make it, and you wrap your arms around him from behind, and rest your cheek to his back. Joel stops what he’s doing, muscles flexing before relaxing, and his hands come to rest on top of yours.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh.”

He turns around until he’s facing you, and there is something soft in his eyes when he cups your cheeks with his big, warm hands and leans his forehead to yours. Both of you exhale audibly, then smile together. You lick your lips, clear your throat.

“Joel…”

“I love you.” His fingers make small, soothing circles behind your ears.

He beat you to it, the rascal.

“I love you, Joel. We’ll fix this. You’ll stay with me, and we’ll figure it out.”

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head a little, lips ghosting over yours. You draw back.

“I don’t want you to catch what I have.”

“I don’t care.”

He kisses you, and you let yourself melt into it, into the assurance that Joel Miller is yours, body and soul.

[penheadie]

Can we get some Monix headcanons? 👉👈

Oh boy where to start it's kinda embarrassing. I am so glad you asked. I have an entire storyline planned out about them (me and my friend project our ocs onto them all the time. I love the babies.)

They are sadly a doomed from the start couple

In the beginning it was definitely a one-sided love at first sight sort of deal. Mono had a pretty intense puppy love crush on Six from the get-go meanwhile Six at the start did not like him whatsoever and was more focused on surviving begrudgingly becoming his survival partner when she wasn't in the mood to get close to anyone again.

They're kinda both mentally fucked up in the head. Mono has abandonment issues and Six has survivors guilt developed from not being able to save Rain and believing she was the cause of it. They both have their own issues that they need to work out but they try to help each other through their differences.

The first time Mono had caught Six displaying more childlike innocent behavior was when he followed her out to the shoreline where he had witnessed her knack and talent for being smart and crafty, taking broken things and fixing them. He learned about her affiliation towards music boxes when he witnessed her dancing with the ballerina attached to the music box after she had just fixed it in her natural element. Something about seeing her like that made his heart flutter. (Think about that music box scene from the first Tinkerbell movie but with Six)

OKAY! OKAY! WARNING THIS IS MY FAVORITE ONE BECAUSE OF HOW CUTE IT IS GAHHHH! The first time Six tries to sneak a peek at Mono's face while he is asleep is unsuccessful. The first time Six asks Mono about why he hides his face he goes on to explain that the reason he hides his face is because that the entire world sees him as a monster. Without taking it off his head she slips her hand underneath the paper bag to try and feel around for his facial features. After coming to the conclusion that he is normal she squishes his cheek and she responds with “it doesn't feel like a monster here” the one time where Six actually does something cute and wholesome. Either that or the reason how she knows he's not a monster is because monsters don't have hearts, and she can feel his beating in his chest perfectly.

Whenever Mono is feeling insecure or ashamed about his face Six will proceed to drown him in a sea of little pecks and kisses until any lingering doubts about his face are gone. 

Six hunts for Mono and Mono cooks for Six. One time she brought him home a rat with the head decapitated from its body. Because of this he tries to introduce her to cooked foods and how much better they taste compared to raw food, since the only thing she seems to ever be capable of digesting is raw food. So he tries to get her to eat healthy. Six does not hog all of the food; she makes sure Mono can eat plenty too. 

Six gets inspired by Mono so she really wants to try to do good although her attempts are a little misguided. Six sucks really bad at being a good person but she's trying. 

Six is a biter. She chews her fingers and bites her knuckles as a nervous habit or when she is self-harming herself. Whenever Six is like that Mono will instead offer her his own hand, as he'd rather have her take out all of that pain and anguish she is feeling onto him rather than herself. Nobody said it was healthy. 

Mono loves hearing stories about when she was a baby from her older brother RK (or either her adoptive father Roger only the og's will understand this) since he was abandoned at birth he never really got the opportunity to experience what a family really is about and have people in your life who care for you.

Mono has already planned ahead, as he has big plans for the future that involves them getting married and having several children together living happily ever after (He doesn't know where babies come from) Six can sometimes feel a little overwhelmed with his expectations and sometimes feels like he didn't keep her thoughts in mind, asking her what she wanted first and was wondering if she got a say in this. Because as his “future wife” don't you think she should also get a say about whether or not they're going to have future children? Mono's dream of having many kids is meanwhile a nightmare for Six on the contrast. But don't worry when they get older and become adults they compromise about what the other wants.

For as much as Mono and Six love each other and have feelings for each other they struggle with communication as it isn't exactly as healthy as RK and Rain's relationship. They are both just shy and awkward little babies that don't know how to communicate their feelings of what the other wants. Which is one of the things that got them into trouble more times than once was the little miscommunication. Both of them had to keep secrets to keep the other safe in their eyes.

Six snuggles and is such a cuddle bug in her sleep! She cannot sleep without having Mono by her side or something to snuggle up against. It's just not the same without it. She is so tiny when she snuggles up against the lanky boy.

Mono and Six have nightmares on a regular basis as they were pretty common occurrences, Mono having nightmares about future events before they happen about Six abandoning him and Six having nightmares about all of her dead friends haunting her in her dreams and already pre-existing trauma. Whenever the other has nightmares there will be a long process with many stages in which the other will do nothing but hold them close, consoling them and offering them comforting words until they are reassured that there is nobody else here but them in their arms and that they are not at that terrible awful place. 

Six is asexual and Mono is bisexual. And they both willingly accept each other for who they are, as Mono wouldn't care if Six was a boy, or a girl, or a worm he will accept her for whatever she is.  

Now this is self-indulgent but tickle fights are a must between them. Sometimes if the Six is a little down in the dumps Mono will tickle her to try and lighten the mood. It's one of the few ways they can unwind together and have a chance to act like kids again. But Mono better expect Six to get him with some payback.  

Six had faith in Mono, as he used to tell her stories about how he was going to fix the world and bring it back to the way it was before the corruption took over; they were both going to fix the world together. That was the first time Mono ever made Six feel a sense of hope, and to find out that he is the source of the corruption later she sees that as even more of a betrayal and thinks that he lied to her, that is one of the reasons that makes the betrayal all that much more heartbreaking. 

Six realizes she has feelings for Mono around the time that he saves her from the collapsing building seconds right before the Thin Man kidnaps her.

Six is the one to initiate the first kiss. When Six gave him the first kiss she definitely did that thing where she lifted her leg because she is a little too short to be able to kiss Mono without standing on the tips of her toes in order to reach him. It took Mono a full thirty seconds to process what just happened, before quickly soon after Six was trying to resuscitate his useless butt with the defibrillator after she caused him to have a literal heart attack and die on the spot. Instant K.O. 

Just two little kids against the world with nothing more pure and sweet than innocent puppy love.

[snowblack-charcoalwhite]

why do you think alicent loves aemond so much? why she doesn't love aegon as much as she loves aemond? alicent appears to have misconceptions about her children. just like dumbledore said to snape about harry. you see what you want to see. the thing is alicent overlooks aegon good traits like cunning (he convinced people living for years at dragonstone to follow him without bloodshed so it means he convinced them. it means aegon is far more diplomatic than aemond even though aemond brags about studying history and philosophy so one can expect aemond to be more polished snd diplomatic but all his knowledge goes out of the window when he's angry) and resourceful while she is too preoccupied with aemond not causing problems compared to aegon that she paints aemond as unproblematic golden child. this and aemond actually never comes back. aegon does. alicent was so wrong about both of her children. had alicent really understood aemond she would have never loved him that much because he represents everything she despises thirst for blood, war and violence. she just likes her men strong, not self-pitying like aegon because he reminds her of herself. had she really understood aegon she would have loved him more because they are very similar doing their duty and fighting till the end. she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself.

this is very funny old joke that the child who rebels the most often ends up as the one more successful than obedient dutiful one.

Hello, thank you for the ask! And I`m awfully sorry for the delay with answering:(

Well, in a way you answered your own question. "she hated parts of aegon she hated in herself and loved parts of aemond she loved in herself" - there is quite a lot of truth to it, I think. However, I do not agree with the premise that Alicent doesn`t love Aegon (or, more precisely, that she loves him less than she does Aemond).

In fact I find it quite difficult to say which one of her sons, in my opinion, Alicent loves more - because she loves them in different ways.

She sees Aemond as a pillar she could lean on (just like she views Criston), as a shield she could grab to protect herself and the rest of her family (not in a sense that she`s ready to sacrifice Aemond but meaning that shes sure he can take it). There IS a part of Alicent that lives in her second son (in one of my posts I called him the voice of her bitterness and rage) but overall they are quite different people. She might not understand Aemond as well as she would like to; she might love him less if she did - but we will never know. As it is, Aemond is her brave and fierce baby boy who went through a horrible traumatic experience (that started with him fighting alone) and still was strong enough to be the one to stand by her side when pretty much everyone else turned against her.

Aegon indeed too strongly reminds Alicent of herself. She feels it - and since she is often too harsh and demanding (sometimes even resentful) towards herself, she projects these feelings onto her child that resembles her the most. She might feel like she is not enough (screw you, Viserys, by the way) - so Aegon does not feel enough as well. There might be some apprehension about the way Aegon deals with his suffering: drinking, whoring, lazing around - trying to drown out the voice of his suffering with other powerful sensations and feelings where Alicent (almost) always chooses to suppress them. But that doesn`t mean she doesn`t love Aegon. In a way thinking about him - about his lot, his duty-bound fate, the neglect he suffers where the support should be given to him - hurts her too much, so she can`t fully process the love she feels for her eldest son, and neither she can express her properly. So here go slapping, shouting and saying the words that she knows will hurt a lot - but she can`t stop herself from saying them.

Her love for Aemond makes her feel stronger. Her love for Aegon makes her bleed. So no wonder Alicent feels more ready to embrace the former. And yet, when she takes a stand between Aegon and Meleys none of it matters.

[statustemporary]

free fallin' - Chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: On a dark and stormy Halloween night 27 years ago, five people stepped onto an elevator. They never stepped off.

Now 28, Emma Swan and her son Henry work together to discover what caused her parents and the other inhabitants to suddenly disappear.

//rewrite of previous work, expanded to a multi-chapter.

RATING: Teen+

WORD COUNT: 3,564

TAGS: Captain Swan, Tower of Terror AU, CSSNS 2022, Graphic Depictions Of Terrifying Sights in Chapter 1, no beta we die like killian jones,

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: ha ha... oops. it's been two years since i updated this. life's crazy and my passion for ouat has faded but i'm determined to finish all my posts WIPs and maybe get my WIP folder on my laptop emptied onto here. i'm trying.

this has changed drastically from the film, mainly because i messed things up in the first chapter but oh well lol. similar premise but obviously things are a free-for-all now in my story. wish me luck trying to finish this lol.

not really sure how i'm feeling about this chapter so i'm sorry in advance if it doesn't live up to expectations! here's to the next one eventually!

enjoy!

***

Uncle James lives in a swanky townhouse just a few blocks from the heart of Storybrooke. The front windows of the place have a magnificent view of the hills in the distance while the back windows peered out at the Hollywood Tower Hotel like a taunt.

Emma hated growing up there.

The entire place felt too modern and unlived. Uncle James refused to have any sentimentality in his living space. No art projects on the fridge, no souvenirs from trips, and definitely no family photos. The farthest he went with décor was a floating shelf of ratty books in Latin. She wondered if what happened that Halloween night 27 years ago haunted him and that’s why he refused any reminder of his twin. Did the mirror play just as cruel of a joke?

Oddly enough, she did stumble upon a picture of her mother in his bedside drawer when she was eight. Mary Margaret looked stunning, her degree placard from Harvard held tightly in her hand with a bouquet of flowers cradled in her opposite elbow. Her graduation gown was flowing in the wind and her smile was positively radiant.

Uncle James caught her looking at the photo and he ripped it from her grasp. She never saw it again.

Not much about the townhouse has changed over the years, including the man residing inside of it. Uncle James remains aloof and standoffish to the point Emma wouldn’t be surprised if he forgot he had a niece at all.

His car, a sleek black sports convertible, is parked out front and it feels promising, even if she dreads the upcoming conversation. It takes a great effort to place one foot in front of the other as she approaches the entrance, her feet feeling as heavy as lead. The sickening weight in her heels is the only thing to prevent her from running back to her car after pressing the doorbell.

Uncle James looks surprised and disappointed to see her on his doorstep. His shoulders visibly drop and his mouth ticks down in a frown. “Emma?”

She flashes a quick smile at him.

“Uncle James, hi. How are you?”

He cuts straight to the point, narrowing the opening of the door so that only a sliver of his body is visible. “What are you doing here?”

The sigh that leaves her lips makes him close the door another inch. “Can we talk inside?”

“Actually Emma, I’m about to leave for – ”

He’s wearing pajamas. And a bathrobe. She swallows down the anger that’s brewing, the almost two decades of resentment towards his willful absence, and steels her shoulders. “I need to talk to you about my parents.” That catches his attention.

Paranoia, or maybe it’s PTSD, seems to take over her uncle as he pales and ushers her inside his townhome, head ducking out the door and swiveling around before he slams it shut and locks it. He brings her to the kitchen and offers her some alcohol as he makes his own drink. She remembers being thirteen and him offering her some of his rum and coke when he realized they had no orange juice in the fridge. The drink disgusted her and he got angry when she spit it in the sink. They never ran out of orange juice after that.

“So…” he begins. His hands are tense where they’re splayed on the kitchen island’s marble countertop. There’s a wild gleam in his eyes that unsettles Emma but she doesn’t know where to place it. She knows reporters, both professional and amateur, have hunted her down and pressured her for a statement, an interview, anything. Had they done the same to her uncle? “What were you saying about your parents?”

“Do you remember that night?” she asks. Uncle James sighs and drops his head.

“I could never forget it.” Defeat thickens his voice as his shoulders grow rigid. He shudders and takes a deep breath before looking up at her. “What about it?”

Emma shifts in her seat. “Can you tell me about it? From your perspective?” He looks ready to deny her so she pulls out the card up her sleeve. “It’s for Henry. He’s doing a project in school.”

“Ah,” he murmurs. A shadow crosses over his face as he collects his thoughts. “There’s not much to say from what I saw, really. I arrived early because my polo club cancelled our game. I saw Mayor Mills, exchanged a few words about the party at the Tip Top Club. I was on the stairs with some fancy drink from the patio bar when I saw your parents head into the elevator. David and I hadn’t talked in a few months but Mary Margaret invited me to the party.” Emma feels herself soften as her uncle smiles absently as he remembers her parents. “Obviously she didn’t tell him I was coming and he was glaring at me. He still hadn’t moved on from our fight. I raised my glass to them, a peace offering. Then the elevator doors closed and that was it… That was the last time I saw them.”

“Did you see anything else that night?” she asks, leaning her elbows atop the island. “Anything strange or… unusual?”

He shakes his head as he looks down at his drink. Silence follows for a beat and then another and Emma’s afraid she’s lost her uncle to his memories of the past. “The lights went out not long after I saw them get on the elevator.” She nods. “Honestly, I thought people were crazy when they said all of them were cursed. I mean, magic?!” He huffs out a laugh of disbelief. A pause and then his face darkens. “If there’s any inkling to that notion, I’d wager on Regina.”

Huh. Emma’s brows pinch together as she mulls that sentence over in her head. The sudden drop of formality with the former mayor was odd. For all the time she lived with Uncle James, he never mentioned Regina before today, much less by name. He never mentioned any of the others either but the way he spoke now hinted at a history. A nasty one at that.

Her mouth opens to ask another question but Uncle James shakes his head and downs the remainder of his drink in one go. “I think it’s time you left, Emma. It was nice seeing you.”

He disappears around the corner to his bedroom at the back of the townhouse before Emma has a chance to say any departing words. Resigned, she gently places her cup in the dishwasher and sees herself out.

***

The late morning air hangs heavy around the hotel. Emma stands outside on the sidewalk, head tilted back as she takes in the massive structure. In reality, she never thought she’d come here, let alone twice in as many days. She checks her watch to confirm she has a few hours before Henry gets out of school. The last thing she wants is for him to be back here.

“Uh…” a voice sounds to her left and Emma turns just in time to see her son stop short, eyes widen, and his body swivel back the way he came.

“Henry!” she calls out in frustration. She watches his small body freeze and tense up as she comes upon him.

He grins small but innocently up at her. “Ha ha… Hi, Mom.”

“What are you doing here?! You’re supposed to be in school today!”

“Well about that…” he laughs nervously. She says his name in warning and he winces, opening his mouth ready to spew an inventive explanation when they hear a creaking behind them.

The metal gate to the hotel opens slowly and the chain-link keeping it closed snakes down to the ground in an exhausted heap. She blinks rapidly at the scene before her, her mouth dropping open in shock. That… shouldn’t happen.

Maybe the chains were just rusted and finally gave way, she tried to reason with herself. Maybe LJ forgot to lock back up after everything yesterday.

So lost in her thoughts, Emma didn’t realize Henry had moved away until she saw his small figure squeezing through the open fence and running up the hill to the hotel. “Henry!” she yells out. Running is her thing – running away from emotions, commitment, the whole shebang. Apparently, her son inherited that from her, just literally.

The bottles of holy water in the pocket of her leather jacket are justled by her running up the driveway. Sage in her bag bumps against her hip. Her gun rests heavily in her holster.

Emma’s eyes scan the landscape furiously.

“Henry!” she calls out. She evens her breathing and rests one hand on her hip where her firearm rests in case some crazy person is behind all this and has Henry.

“Hurry up, Mom!”

Emma turns the last bend of the driveway and lets out a deep sigh. Henry stands in front of the entrance to the hotel bouncing on the balls of his feet. He impatiently waves her over, eyeing the locked front doors.

“You know,” she starts, “I think I should bring you to Granny’s right now. Let her watch over you and see if you try to skip school again.”

Henry whines, head thrown back in exasperation. “But Moooooom! These are your parents!”

“Henry, come on. You can’t really believe that.” Emma bends down in front of him and takes hold of his arms, her thumbs rubbing soothing circles even as her heart bleeds. “My parents disappeared so long ago… This can’t be them.”

“But it is!”

“Henry…”

“What about yesterday?! You believed it was their ghosts when they scared us out of here!”

“Ghosts don’t exist, Henry. How do you explain that, huh? Magic?” She deflates as her son mumbles to himself and looks to the ground. Softening her tone, she continues, “It would be really cool if magic was real but it’s not. Those are probably just projections some twisted loser made to scare people. Okay?”

“Are you calling us Jem and the Holograms?”

They jump at the sudden appearance of a third voice, their heads turning to see Killian Jones leaning halfway through the closed front door.

Emma’s breath stutters while Henry starts, “What the –”

“Tsk, tsk,” Killian taunts. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

She panics. Her hand flies to her bag and she pulls out the holy water, uncapping the bottle and surging the water towards the door.

It seemingly goes through his body, the blessed water streaming down the front door, but he jerks at the sensation.

Then Killian starts to groan, writhing in pain. The half of his body positioned through the door begins to curl in on itself as gurgling from his throat becomes audible. Emma stares – watching and waiting for smoke to sizzle from his frame or for him to disappear but nothing happens.

Until the gurgling changes sound and it becomes clear it’s transitioned into laughter.

Killian raises his head, smirking in glee. “Holy water? Really? I know I’m devilishly handsome but you didn’t really think that’d work.”

The photos never did his smirk justice, she realizes. And all she wants to do is smack it right off his face. With a growl, she stands up straight and marches right through Killian to the front door, pulling the spare key LJ gave her from her pocket.

“Chills, darling,” Killian whispers in her ear. The air shifts around her. Despite the absence of any breath ghosting over her skin, she can feel the way a smirk dances across his lips and the whole thing makes her angrier.

Click. The key sits just perfectly in the lock and the door swings open. She strides inside, Henry following excitedly behind her.

Her back straight as a rod, she places her hands on her hips and stares down the… beings in the hotel lobby.

“Not the friendliest lady, huh?” Killian drawls from behind her.

Henry takes immediate offense. “Hey, that’s my mom!”

“Apologies, lad,” Killian tosses carelessly over his shoulder as he heads towards the bar.

“Enough!” Emma calls out roughly. She narrows her gaze, her voice dropping an octave. “Who the hell is behind this?”

Regina sighs, sitting regally on a cobweb infested armchair in the center of the lobby. She examines her nails with more interest than her voice provides in an answer. “If she weren’t dead, I’d say my sister.”

“Regina!” Mary Margaret quietly admonishes from David’s side near the luggage cart.

“What?” Regina asks, her eyes thinning to slits and lips turning downward. “You’ve met the witch. A house should’ve fell on her sooner.”

“She was really a witch?!” Henry asks, practically bouncing in place from excitement.

Regina scoffs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was.”

“Magic isn’t real,” Emma grits out. She moves just slightly in front of Henry, eyes flicking between the Jones brothers and Regina. “Now explain who is putting on this sick joke because they’ve got a nice harassment charge waiting for when I bring them down to the sheriff’s office. It’d be a pity to add evading arrest to that as well.”

“Well,” states Liam from where he’s reviewing a check-in book. “Once you find out, let us know. I’d like to have a chat with the lad as well.”

“Seriously,” she continues. She puts her hands on her hips to further assert her authority and presses hard enough that she’s sure the skin under her jeans is colorless. “This isn’t funny. Tell me.”

Killian tsks. The sound is quickly growing to be her most hated. “As pretty as you are to look at, lass, I think the peace and quiet was better. I’d have told you if I knew.”

David scoffs, crossing his arms. “Leave the girl alone, Jones. You’re nothing but a drunk – she wouldn’t waste the time with you anyway.”

There’s a shout of indignation from the other side of the room and then the entire lobby erupts into chaos. The Jones brothers jump to the other’s defense as David tosses insults back and forth. Regina adds her own one-liners to the disappointment of Mary Margaret. Their own disagreement drags David into it as well, and he manages to fight off both Regina and the Jones brothers as if a skilled swordsman against multiple enemies.

Words no longer decipherable, Emma subtly steps to the side, one eye on the group and the other searching, investigating. Caution rolls deep within her and she keeps one hand resting on her holstered firearm. Ghosts aren’t real. There’s no such thing. Holy water didn’t do a damn thing.

Sophisticated projector is what she’s looking for, then. They have to be holograms or AI or something that digitally recreated five tragically unsolved missing people, for the pure enjoyment of scaring others. She bets that there’s some YouTube channel that showcases Hollywood Tower Hotel scares, run by whoever is doing this.

Emma’s gaze scans the walls of the outdated hotel.

It didn’t hit her last time, too busy scared for their lives to really pay attention, but the floral wallpaper pulls from the moldings. The green background has faded and the white flowers accenting it yellowed. Burnt out lamps with golden shades sit atop wooden tables covered in layers of dust.

The sound of something rustling wafts through the air but the group of beings either don’t hear it or don’t care. If she follows the sound, though, she might find the ‘genius’ behind it all. Her eyes narrow on a closed oak door near the hallway to the main floor ballroom.

A once golden sign looks like a beat-up bronze, the fake bright finishing having flaked off over the years. Coat Closet. Likely place for someone to setup their gadgets.

The vinyl flooring crackles under her feet as she moves towards the it.

Her head turns at an echoing pair of footsteps and a quick glance back confirms Henry treads closely behind.

The wooden door swings open with a creak. Emma splays her hand against the rough wallpaper and feels around until she hits the light switch. Flickering yellow light fills the cramped space. Pink wool carpet stained from age and buckling wood paneling buried behind huge swaths of clothing greet them first before the smell of must hits their noses.

Henry shrieks and jumps back at the sight of a large rat scurrying over fraying paper and escaping through the lobby.

Great. Nothing in the closet except a rat and leftover coats from that night…

Emma was only a baby when her parents disappeared on Halloween night at the Hollywood Tower Hotel. Grandma Ruth, overwhelmed in her grief, packed up all of their things and tucked them away in a storage unit out of town. Out of sight didn’t mean out of mind, though, and Emma served as a reminder of her broken heart every day, until she couldn’t handle it anymore and went into an eternal sleep.

By the time Emma was old enough to know and inquire about her parents’ things, Grandma Ruth’s storage unit had been auctioned off due to lack of payments.

Aside from a small box of things brought to her Uncle James’ place alongside her diaper bag, everything her parents owned was gone.

Being at the hotel, at the place where she lost them before she could even know them, Emma wants something to hold of theirs. The only thing she has of her mother’s is a pink cardigan, left at Granny’s apartment during a dinner once. Soft, powdery fragrance once enveloped the fabric but has long since faded. Now the small cardigan hangs on her coat rack as a reminder of what is so far from her grasp.

But maybe… maybe in this place seemingly suspended in time… she could have something.

Her eyes have studied the photographs of the night well enough that, once she looks towards the coats, she immediately recognizes the red scarf.

Tucked around the neck of a shimmering floor-length dark coat, the red scarf sticks out in a sea of navy and black. It calls to her and Emma’s fingers slowly reach out. The coat ticket says 191, the black jacket kept close stating 192 most likely belonging to her father.

The fabric is cool to the touch and though spiders and moths have left their mark elsewhere in the hotel, the state of the coat closet is pristine. Could it hold the smell? The perfume Emma has spent half her life looking for? The only thing that reminds her of her mother’s embrace. Of comfort and security and love.

She pulls both coats off the hanger and holds her mother’s up, her nose nearly to the scarf –

“Hey!” Henry calls from behind her.

Emma turns swiftly, her eyes locking in on the beings crowding their way towards them. Her hand shoots out and grabs Henry’s arm, pulling him swiftly behind her.

“Hey,” Mary Margaret echoes quietly. Her brows furrow together as she takes in the sight before her. “That’s my coat.”

Mary Margaret’s hand reaches towards the coat but Emma jerks it back towards her, feeling oddly protective of the thing. The smell of the scarf hits her nose and she rustles the coats in her arms for a better grip, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

“Hey,” her watery voice sounding loud in the tight closet as the others look at her in wide-eyed shock. “Don’t crowd us in here. I’m – ”

“Emma,” David breaths out, her entire body deflating.

Emma blinks, hesitating for a moment. “David?” she asks. “You… remember?”

Tears flood his eyes as he gives her a soft smile. “Of course.”

A fluttering lightness fills Emma’s chest as he steps forward, smile still on his face.

It’s incredible, she thinks to herself. How her father could just know it was her despite all the time that had passed. Maybe this is his ghost and this is her closure.

Emma nearly drops the coats as her father takes another step…

Until he bends down onto one knee and picks something up from the floor. A polaroid.

“We’ve never been able to get in here,” David whispers, more to himself than to her and Henry. He stares at the polaroid as tears roll down his cheeks and a shaky hand comes up to cover his mouth. Mary Margaret leans in close, her own eyes filling, and she rests her head on his arm.

Acting every part the proud father, David shows the others what the polaroid is. “This is our daughter,” he begins, looking up with a wide, watery grin and turning the polaroid towards her and Henry.

The film is slightly overexposed and a person stands in the background more a blur than a defining figure. In the center stands, with help of the mystery figure, a small Emma barely a year old with a spattering of light hair atop her head and a gummy grin directed right at the camera.

“Her name is – ”

“Emma,” she finishes in a rushed, exhausted breath. Looked over by her own baby photo. Damn.

She clutches the coats tighter to her center and Henry looks up at her, confused. “But – ”

“We’re leaving.” Emma frees one hand to grab Henry’s arm and pulls him through the closet, through the ghastly chill of the projected beings in the hotel, and out the front door.

[riddley-art]

Pawns of the Past: A RiddleCat love story

Chapter 3

Summary: Set six months after the fall of the Justice League, thanks to the Suicide Squad, and five years after Arkham Knight, Riddler tracks down Catwoman, who’s been living far from Gotham, determined to reclaim the money she stole from him. Their tense confrontation takes an unexpected turn as old sparks reignite. What begins as a mission of revenge slowly evolves into a complicated romance, forcing both Selina and Eddie to confront their feelings, their pasts, and the possibility of a future neither expected.

I’m beyond excited to finally share the project I’ve been working on with the incredible @adhdnursegoat! This is our very first RiddleCat fic, and we’re so thrilled to bring it to life today. 💜💚

Rated: Mature

Need to catch up or re-read? Here's the link to: Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Archive of our Own Link

Chapter 3

Selina Kyle doesn’t say anything right away; she just tilts her head to the side, her verdant eyes locking onto his. Edward cannot help but feel like the room is pressing down on him, the heady heat of her gaze pinning him in place. There’s a weight in her silence, in her body language, and the piercing intensity of her stare. For anyone else, her stillness might come off as idle curiosity, but he knows better. Selina’s silence is purposeful, heavy with an unspoken challenge.

There are some memories people never forget: a birthday, making the winning goal for your sports team, a graduation, a wedding, the birth of a child, or the death of a loved one. Sometimes, these memories come in bursts, seemingly burned into the mind in a very particular way. These are called flashbulb memories: events locked, frozen in time—a mind remembering every detail down to not only sight and sound but touch, taste, and smell. For the neurotypical person, these aren’t always accurate, the mind falling prey to human fallacy.

However, for Edward Nigma—a man with a photographic memory and perfect recall—his memories are more reliable than the majority of the human race. His mind is a labyrinth of every sight, sound, and feeling he’s ever experienced, perfectly preserved, whether he wants them or not. It can be overwhelming to have the near eternity of your life at immediate access, every mistake and moment of triumph replayed in painstaking clarity. At times, it has drivin him to the edge of his sanity, the relentless flood of details drowning out the present, but he’s learned to focus. He’s taught himself to narrow the river of thoughts and fixate on the present moment and a few good memories he owns.

One of them? Rome.

For a moment, as he stands there in her line of sight, it all comes back in a rush. He’s on that ship again. He feels the gentle sway beneath his feet, the way the deck shifted under them as the night deepened.

And the kiss—well, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was a declaration. He remembers the way her lips pressed against his, the urgency in her grip as if daring him to deny the connection they shared. He remembers how the world seemed to narrow until it was just them, and then the shock that had crossed her features as she pulled back just enough to see his face. That look of betrayal, that stunned realization, when she saw it wasn’t merely another conquest but him—Edward Nigma. And what followed had been as inevitable as gravity: she had kicked him overboard, straight into the shark-infested waters below.

Now, as Selina stands there, watching him with those same eyes, he feels the memory crashing over him. It’s all there—the taste of salt on his lips, the humid warmth of the night air, the lingering tinge of fear and thrill tangled together. He can’t believe it—is this really happening? Or has he fallen asleep and is dreaming?

He rubs his eyes

No, not dreaming. 

Edward’s pulse quickens as his analytical mind races to make sense of it. It’s a sensation he hasn’t felt in a long time, like being swept into the middle of a challenge he can’t control. A flicker of doubt crosses his mind, a hesitation born from a lifetime of betrayal. He wants to ask her, Why now? Why are you here, dredging up these memories? but he can’t seem to find his voice. (To be fair, he should ask himself why he is here all the same.)

The problem with remembering everything is that he also remembers the things left unsaid between them—the promises broken, the words cut short by pride or fear, the fleeting moments when it seemed like things could have been different. Rome wasn’t just about the thrill of a heist or the exhilaration of the chase. It was about the unspoken connection, the undercurrent of something more, something he still can’t quite name.

Selina’s smile widens and something in it makes him feel helpless, like he’s not the one in control right now. “You seemed restless,” she says, her voice soft but filled with that familiar, teasing edge.

Edward shifts on his bear feet, his mind racing. “I... yeah. Couldn’t sleep.”

Selina clicks her tongue, a thoughtful action. “Neither could I.” Then she advances, her gaze never leaving his.

She moves toward him with the graceful, predatory elegance of a cat stalking its prey, each step deliberate and silent. Her eyes stay locked on his, a teasing smile playing on her lips as she closes the distance between them. The soft light of the bedside lamp catches on her silhouette. Her flowing, silken black robe shifts, accentuating the dip of her waist, the ample swell of her hips, and her shapely legs peak beyond it with each delicate step closer. 

A little wary of the femme fatale before him, he steps back, shoulders tapping the door behind him. His breath hitches as she approaches. His heart racing, unsure whether to brace for her next move or stay frozen in place. But all he can do is watch her—captivated, caught off guard by the sudden closeness. Her presence feels like a trap he can’t escape, though he’s not entirely sure he wants to.

The space between them is thick, a swell of energy that makes his chest feel tight, and Edward, his back now flush against the door, realizes that he’s completely at her mercy. His mind races, but his body refuses to move, locked in place by the intensity of her gaze and the slow, predatory way she moves closer.

His heart pounds when she stops merely a foot away. She looks up at him, a playful glint in her eyes. “Do you remember exactly how that night went?” she asks, her voice smooth and soft. “Rome, I mean.”

Edward hesitates for a moment, clearing his throat. “Uh... more or less,” he lies, trying to sound casual. The truth is, that night has burned itself into his memory, every detail burned into his mind, into the very fabric of his being. But there’s no way he’s going to admit that now—not while she stands there like this.

Selina hums, her smile deepening as if she can see right through him. “You sure about that?” Her dainty hand, lithe and adorned with acrylic nails, purple of course, raises to press against the door beside his head. She leans in, her eyes raising to meet his gaze. “Because I know you, Eddie. Photographic memory... remember?”

Oh, dear.

Feeling like a mouse with its tail caught in the cat's teeth, he swallows hard, throat bobbing with the motion. He gives her a small, nervous chuckle. “I guess some things are hard to forget…”

Selina raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the game. “Oh, I’m sure you remember every little detail. Why don’t you tell me, then... where were my hands when we kissed?”

Unsure if he heard her right, Edward shakes his head, trying to clear the haze of confusion that’s settled over him. “Selina, what are you doing?” His voice rough, a little more squeaky than he would care to admit. He tries to look away, but his gaze keeps drifting back to her, drawn in by the same magnetic energy that’s always existed between them. 

But, something about this feels... off. They had only just begun to rebuild the fragile bridge between them a few hours ago, they had not even some to a full resolution yet, and now here she is, seducing him with the same dangerous charm she wielded back in Rome. Remembering the fear of being thrown overboard, remembering the lesson she taught him all those years ago about touching her, he is quite skittish. 

His mind swirls with conflicting thoughts. Part of him knows this isn’t right, that it’s too soon, too tangled in the unresolved past. Yet, another part—one he’s not sure he wants to fight—is more than willing to let this happen. He wants her. He always has. But could this really be happening now, after all they’ve been through?

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head again, more out of desperation than control, but the question lingers in his mind: Is this right?

"Who cares if this is right or not?" Selina breaks the silence, her voice low and sultry. 

Edward’s eyes snap open and shift to her.  His breath catches as he realizes she knows exactly what he’s thinking, and he tries to muster a response, but the words tangle in his throat. She always has that uncanny ability, another reason why her presence has always captivated him. Back then, it was exhilarating—and it still is.

"Why don’t we finally our bodies do the talking tonight, for once in our lives," she whispers, stepping closer, her gaze never leaving his. She’s mere inches from him now, pressing in as her hand slips from the door to his shoulder. Her breath is warm against his cheek, and Edward is trapped between the pull of her and the barrier behind him.

It would be so easy - just a simple tilt of his head, not even a full turn it would take to catch her lips. He idly wonders if they still feel as plush and juicy as they look, as they felt back then. His eyes flick to them. 

What was the question again?

Selina, seemingly sensing his hesitation, shifts back, nails grazing down his bicep before pulling away completely. But she does not look deterred. Instead, her lips twitch into a deeper smirk, and her green eyes fall half-moons, gaze sultry when those slender hands rise to tease her nails down the sides of her neck. 

The movement is slow, sensual, and it draws his eyes down to her neck and décolletage against his will. She traces her collarbones, sharp and kissable, before trailing lower catches the overlapping edges of her robe and teasing it apart. 

"You want me to spark your memory?" Her voice is a taunt, a challenge, and before he can respond, she moves with deliberate ease, shrugging off her silken robe. The shift of her shoulders is measured, moving in a way to lure him deeper into her sinful tableau as she further reveals the soft swell of her breasts, the slender plane of her belly, and the supple curve of her hips. He barely registers the robe falling to her feet in a black pool.

The sight hits him like a wave. Beneath the robe, she’s wearing the same style of silk lingerie from that night on the ship in Rome: black, lacey, and silky. His mind flashes back to the intensity of that moment—the heat of their kiss, the feel of her beneath his fingertips. the shock in her eyes when she realized who he was, and then the sudden whirlwind of being kicked into the shark-infested waters below.

His throat goes dry as his eyes trace the familiar sight of her, standing before him like a living reminder of the past, wrapped in the very same silk that’s haunted his memories for so long. It is a fantasy come true - but one 

Eddie’s pulse races, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation, uncertainty, and desire. Selina’s eyes lock onto his, daring him to say something, to make the next move—or to stay frozen in place as she takes control.

“Now, I’m gonna ask you again,” he notes  where were my hands when we kissed?”

“You were... cupping my face,” he says slowly, watching her expression carefully.

“Go on,” Selina prompts, her voice teasing, as if daring him to get it right.

Edward’s fingers twitch. “And... one of my hands was on your back,” he continues, feeling his heart pound in his chest. “The other one was holding my hat.” His voice softens as the memory becomes more vivid.

“Good boy. You do remember…” Selina’s teeth are bright, white and catching the minimal light in the room, when she smiles. “Why don’t you recreate it, then? Show me how it went.”

He blinks, unsure if he’s heard her right. “Recreate it?”

It is a command - hypnotic in execution. It is something that tugs at the knots of his inhibition, loosening his warriness just enough for him to consider her offer to be authentic. He searches her eyes, glittering like emeralds center with an onyx pool, more gorgeous than the jewels she covets. He wants to believe her. 

In fact, something in him does. 

Especially when she reinforces the request, nodding and saying softly, “Yes. Exactly how it happened. You remember every detail, don’t you?” 

Yes. 

As he reaches up to cup her face, Selina gently takes his wrists in her hands, stopping him. She tilts her head, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She guides his hands down to her waist, placing them there with deliberate slowness. “My hands were on your face. You remember?” 

The surrealism of it all had scrambled his mind. Her command to recreate their kiss - meaning to touch her - had made him glitch. 

“R-right.” Eddie’s heart races as his fingers rest against her waist, feeling the warmth of her body beneath his hands. Selina raises hers to his face, cupping his cheeks softly, just as she had done that night on the ship. Her fingers brush against his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as the memory becomes more real, more vivid.

But it is not just a memory anymore. 

This is real. 

And his awareness is sucked and snapped into the present. 

Selina’s skin is soft, both beneath his fingertips and on his face. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he is glad he shaved, allowing him to feel her touch unencumbered. Her caress is gentle, safe, further tearing down his warry walls. 

Edward’s heart pounds as their faces draw closer, the space between them shrinking with every second. Her eyes never leave his, gaze intense, and filled with challenge. Her hands stay on his face, pulling him in just as she had done years ago. His hands tighten slightly on her waist, the same way they had when he was caught by surprise the first time. Her lips brush against his, soft at first, testing the waters, but the moment is unmistakable. The memory and the present collide, and he is lost in it. And then, just like that night, she leans in, pressing her supple lips to his quivering ones. He can’t tear away from her, the weight of it all crashing down on him like a wave and soon pulled further in the undertow. 

When he kisses her back, it is slow, familiar, and filled with the same heat and hesitant tension that burned between them all those years ago. Tentatively, one of his hands, slips from her hip, fingertips caressing her skin as he slides around to rest on her lower back, just like last time. 

For a moment, nothing else exists. It’s just them, locked in a kiss that, what once lingered on life support in his mind for so long, is now resurrected and pulsing with life. It is all too much - too fantastical and all too real simultaneously. Too good and too magnetic. And despite the fact their lips move together in uniform consent, he still hesitates to take it further. He is really not sure what exactly he is allowed to do, what would be too much, and afraid of unintentionally going too far. He would be content just to stay like this for minutes, hours, especially as she curves her body into his, pressing against him in a feline manner that only she can pull off. 

Eyes still locked, his narrow and his brow furrows. He wants more, gaze trying to convey his admittedly pitiful desire. 

Please?

Please don't pull away? Please don't let this be a ruse? Please don't play with me? Please don't stop? 

But the way she looks at him, the way she sighs, the way she lets her eyes flutter shut, and the way she slides one of her hands back and into his hair answers all his questions. I won't, she promises. 

Edward wishes he could say he were a stronger man, that he could say it took more than that to completely unravel him. But when her lips part and her tongue flicks at his lips, enticing him to join her game, he feels weak, feeling like the only safe option here is to respond in kind. 

So, he lets his eyes close. It is only fair. Selina closed hers, letting him have her in an unguarded state. It is a poignant sign - that she trusts him - for now. And, he soon believes that she wants him just as much as he wants her, because when she lets his tonuge meant hers she gently clasps it between her teeth before sucking him past her plush lips. 

Oh, god.

She tastes the same, her mouth just as soft, and it makes him weak in the knees. It makes his skin tingle and his breath quicken. That clawed hand of hers cards into his hair, letting her nails scrape along his scalp as she pulls him closer to deeper their kiss. The hand on his face drags down, grazing down his neck in a tantalizing manner that has him shivering. And when she suckles on his tongue, he cannot help the soft moan he breathes into their kiss, a sound that is swallowed between the when he now eagerly kisses her back. 

Edward's hand tightens on her lower back and he pulls her flush with him, her hourglass body molding perfectly with his. Idly, the hand on her hip toys with the edge of her panties, fingers tingling at the familiar sensation of the silk under his touch. His lets his fingers graze the skin just above the waistband, feeling the warm flesh. To his surprise, she shivers and her hands tighten in place on his chest and hair. He pauses, tensing for a moment as his mind processes her response.

Curious, and always one to test a theory, Edward repeats the motion, dexterous fingers tracing from the back of her pelvis  to the front, grazing the sensitive flesh over her hipbone. Much to his delight, she responds just the same, only this time paired with a shuddering gasp against his lips. It makes his loins twitch, arousal flooding his system at the thought of the indomitable Selina Kyle twitching in his grasp. If he did not have an ego before, then he does now. 

Embolden, Edward dips his fingers under the hem of her silken lingerie, caressing her hip and palming her flesh. He resumes the movement of his mouth, head angling to gain further acess to the fortress she has let him breach.  

In kind, Selina tilts her head even more, her own hand tightening in his locks as she meets his sensual probing with equal intensity, if not more. The hand on his chest, warm and tender, descends, dragging her nails as she goes. It is a sensation that has him tensing and shivering, the muscles in his abdomen fluttering under her touch. It almost takes his breath away when those same acrylics trace the waistband of his boxers, mirroring him in a way that makes him smile into their kiss. 

Briefly, they both share a mutual grin, lips still moving as he chuckles and she hums a playful sound. Edward relaxes fully, feeling like he can finally breathe in their mounted tension, feeling like he is welcome in her arms. It is something that he would have never imagined happening, and only existed in his wildest dreams. 

Edward would be lying if he said he had not thought of it before. What would it have been like had they continued their eclectic tryst in Rome? How would it have played out? He is also ashamed to say that he had touched himself to the fantasy of being in her hold, of her hands on him just like this, of her letting him grip at the flesh of her hip to pull her closer. 

But, even in all his imaginative mind, did he ever conceive that she would be willingly dipping her slender fingers into the waistband of his boxers to graze the sensitive, twitching skin of his lower belly and pelvis.  Grimacing into the kiss, Edward's hand resting under the waistband of her panties pulls away to grip her wrist in a delicate, tentative hold. He doesn't pull her hand away, but he does reluctantly retreat from their kiss. 

When he opens his eyes to find Selina's curious expression, he has a hard time looking at her directly, especially with her hand poised in such an intimate position. There is a heat that touches his face and neck that makes it even harder for him to address her. 

He clears his throat, the fingers on her lower back smoothing across her skin. “You - you don't…have to do that…,” he rasps.

Selina blinks, face remaining soft and curious. “Do you want me too?”

Edward feels the answer strangled in his throat, unable to come out even as his mouth opens and closes, beckoning them to pour forth. He wants to do a lot of things. But all he can do is look away. Still seemingly unable tell the woman before him that he wants her to touch him more than anything. His jaw clenches, tongue feeling leaden. 

Apparently, she does not like his response because the fingers in his hair tighten, forcing his gaze forward. He did not expect it, the forceful command in her grasp and the blazing look in her eyes, especially as she says, “Tell me, Eddie. Use your words.”

It all lights a fire in his belly, one that has his cock twitching, wanting to be closer to her hand. He sucks in a breath, hand tightening on her wrist briefly, before he loosens and finally lets go, unable to hide the tremor in his hand. 

“Yes.” He is relieved to find his voice isn't as timorous as he feels inside. 

“Yes, what?”

His brow softens. “Yes, Selina, I want you to touch me.” 

It still surprises him when she smiles, appearing pleased with his answer. It surprises him even more when her hand continues its descent to his aching erection. He cannot breathe for a few heartbeats, an autonomic process stalled until he must think to kick start it with somatic interference. Her hand is soft, much like the silken lingerie under his fingertips. 

Edward is suddenly hyperware of everything: the cool wood of the door on his heated back; the navy ring around her pupils that fades into that srtiking verdant green; the feel of her flesh dipping, yeilding to his tighted grip; the smell of her perfume, something gentle and blush,  sweet rose and cashmere; pressure of her thumb when it smears the arousal that has collected at the tip of his cock He hisses, finally inhaling and soothing his aching chest. 

His hips twitch forward, seeking more of her touch, and his hands do the same, wanting to touch her. The fingers on her lower back slip up her spine in the gentlest of touches while the other grazes her rib cage with the lightest of touches. He tangles himself in her hair, cradling her head and tilting it to press a slow kiss on her jaw. He shudders once more when she strokes him in a languid manner from tip to base and back. His thighs tense in response, balls tightening before relaxing, the rest of his body following. 

It has been so long, too long since anyone has touched him like this. Come to think of it, it was even before Rome since he had been with anyone, Selina truly being the last and first person to touch him in a concerning amount of time. Even before his spiral into obsession, Edward could count on one hand how many different people he had kissed, and only one finger for the one he slept with. Urges, the urge for sex, the urge for companionship, the urge for self-care, and self-regulation all took a backseat to his infamous aspirations. If something ever arose, then he would handle it himself, having no desire, but, mostly, no one to share it with. 

So, it is fair that he would be quite receptive to a more intimate touch. He also thinks it is fair that he would not last long if she continued, her touch skillful and seductive when she smooths her hand down to cup his balls. What he doesn’t think is fair, it that he is already on the edge, teetering by the time her hand strokes up his shaft again, giving the head a few languid strokes at the end. He could not stop the moan nor the fact that his head dropped to her shoulder to steady and control his longevity. 

Edward takes a steadying breath, his grip on her arm gentle yet firm, effectively halting her teasing touch. His lips press against the delicate line of her neck, trailing soft kisses down to the sleek curve of her shoulder. He lets his mouth linger there, savoring her skin, and manages to whisper against her, “I’m ashamed to say I won’t last long if you keep that up.”

Selina’s lips curve into a small, knowing smile, her gaze warm and reassuring. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of with me,” she murmurs, her voice a quiet assurance that slips through the hazy tension between them.

The vulnerability in her words fills Edward with a warmth that starts in his chest and spreads outward, grounding him in this moment that feels surprisingly tender amidst the charged air. He exhales, his warm breath skimming across her skin, and he can’t help but smile when she shivers in response, her body receptive to even the gentlest gestures he offers.

He kisses a line down her arm, her hand still lingering at his waistband, but she releases him with little resistance as he brings her hand up, pressing a soft kiss to her wrist. His eyes meet hers then, the vibrant green of her gaze softened by the dim light, and he sees the flicker of unguarded emotion that rarely breaks through her composed exterior.

“Still,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. He kisses her palm. “I’d rather wait.”

For a moment, neither of them move. Selina tilts her head, studying him with that curious intensity she often wears when she’s caught off guard. The way her eyes search his face makes him feel as though he’s under some kind of spell, frozen beneath her gaze. 

Then, she reaches out the hand he kissed, resting her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing along his jawline in a gesture so tender it almost unravels him entirely. “You’re a rare breed, Eddie,” she whispers, her voice carrying a warmth he rarely hears. It’s as though she’s acknowledging not only his choice to wait but the courage it took for him to stop her in the first place.

Edward closes his eyes, letting the moment settle in the warmth of her touch. Her hand rests against his cheek, grounding him in a feeling he’s not entirely used to—something so achingly tender it feels almost foreign. He shifts his hands, smoothing his palms over her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin, the firmness of her muscles beneath. His touch drifts down her back, following the seam of her spine with a slow reverence, like he’s tracing a path he’s memorized only in the hazy spaces between memory and longing.

When he opens his eyes, he catches her gaze, and there’s a flicker of something vulnerable in his expression—a small, almost shy smile. “Not many people see it that way,” he murmurs, a quiet admission that feels heavier than he intended.

Selina’s eyes soften, and the smirk she’s worn like armor melts, leaving a gentler, more genuine expression in its place. Her fingers tighten slightly against his cheek as she studies him, as if considering just how much of herself she’s willing to reveal. “Then they don’t know you like I do.”

Her words hang in the air, wrapping around him in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. There’s a quiet truth in them, one that touches something deep and hidden, a place he’s carefully guarded, even from himself. The weight of her statement makes him pause, the implications settling over him with an intimacy he isn’t sure he knows how to accept.

“And how do you know me to be?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, a question he isn’t certain he wants an answer to but can’t help but ask. He’s both afraid and curious to hear how she perceives him, to see himself reflected in the eyes of someone who has, for all her allure and elusiveness, seen more of him than anyone else.

She tilts her head slightly, considering him with a depth that makes him feel exposed, as though she’s peeling back his layers and seeing everything he’s spent years hiding. Her hand slips from his cheek and trails down his jaw, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin along his neck, leaving a warm, tingling path in their wake. Her eyes are steady, unflinching, and for a heartbeat, he feels as though she’s memorizing every line and shadow on his face.

“You’re…” she begins, pausing as though searching for the right words. “You’re a man who thinks in terms of puzzles and patterns. Someone who sees the world as a series of challenges, problems to solve, a mind always calculating, never resting.” Her voice is soft, almost contemplative, as if she’s speaking to herself as much as to him. “But you’re more than that, Eddie.”

The way she says his name, so familiar, so unguarded, sends a shiver down his spine. He feels both exposed and understood, a strange combination that leaves him at a loss. It’s as if she’s seeing beyond his intellect, beyond his riddles and mind games, into something more human.

Selina’s eyes hold his, unwavering, and there’s a spark of something that isn’t pity but understanding. “You’re someone who feels deeply, even if you don’t show it. A man who’s been hurt, who hides behind all that cleverness because it’s easier than letting anyone close. But underneath it all, there’s a part of you that wants to be seen, even if you don’t know how to let yourself be.” She brushes a stray lock of hair from his forehead, the motion as natural as if she’s done it a thousand times before. “I see you.”

The vulnerability in her words is a mirror to his own, and Edward’s breath catches as he lets her reflection settle into him. He’s spent years building walls, constructing labyrinths of wit and detachment to protect himself, to ensure no one ever gets close enough to hurt him.

His hands trail slowly, appreciatively from her waist to her hips, and he never breaks their gaze when he crouches to grip the back of her thighs. The way she jumps gracefully, eagerly into his arms, wrapping her legs easily around his waist makes him chuckle, feeling more relaxed than ever. 

He walks her to the bed, and in the process, he asks her a question to validate the situation. Although he is fairly confident in her answer, he still needs to know. “Are you sure about this?”

In Selina fashion, she answers his question with a question, “Are you?” The tone of her voice is teasing, but he is not playing at the moment.

“Selina… please, I need to hear it.” He stops walking, pausing at the end of the king-size bed, but not lowering her. 

The way her smile falls, her green eyes searching his own as she very obviously studies him. She looks as if she is searching for something or trying to figure something out, the gears turning in her mind. It is not long before her gaze softens, probably the most it has been all night, before she mutters, “Yes.”

Without breaking her gaze, he lowers her carefully onto the bed, hands firm on her hips, fingers brushing against her skin in a touch that’s both reverent and grounding. His own heart hammers against his ribs, and he takes a deep breath, steadying himself, gathering the courage to let this moment unfold without the need for pretense. For once, he’s not trying to think ten steps ahead, not analyzing every possible outcome—he’s just here, letting himself exist in this moment with her.

Selina watches him, her expression softened but still bearing that playful spark, as though daring him to drop his guard completely. She tilts her head slightly, one eyebrow arching, and reaches up to tip her slender fingers under his chin, her touch feather-light but grounding. “It’s not like you to be this quiet, Eddie,” she teases, her voice soft yet laced with a hint of challenge. “What’s going through that brilliant mind of yours?”

He chuckles, feeling his own tension loosen with the sound, a small but genuine laugh escaping as he shakes his head. “You, Selina. Just… you,” he says, his voice surprisingly steady but warm, the honesty feeling strange on his tongue yet liberating.

A soft smile curves her lips, and she hooks her arms around his neck, pulling him just close enough that her breath brushes against his cheek. “Good answer,” she whispers, her voice almost a purr, before her gaze deepens, settling into a warmth that makes his heart skip. 

He lets her pull him down, settling beside her, propping himself on an elbow. From this angle, Selina’s long hair is splayed out on the pillow that cradles her shoulders and head. It is like a dark halo framing her features, and for the moment, he is lost. He is lost in the vision of the woman before him. The gleam of her eyes, the beauty mark on her cheek, the delicate column of her throat, and the supple swell of her breast held in a tantalizing manner by black lace and silk. His mouth goes dry, his tongue gritty and unable to find the words he wants to say. 

Edward’s hand trails along her side, fingers grazing the edge of her bra, and he feels a subtle shift in her body as she lifts her shoulders, offering him access. Her back arches gracefully, her body stretching beneath his touch, and he slides his arm beneath her, pulling her just a bit closer as his fingers find the clasp. There’s an intimacy in the movement, a quiet exchange of trust as his hand lingers at her back, warm against her skin, before he deftly undoes the clasp.

As the fabric loosens, her shoulders relax, and she lets the straps slip down her arms, her eyes holding his with a depth that makes his heart pound. The lace falls away, revealing her completely, and he’s mesmerized by the sight, a gentle awe settling over him as he takes her in. The softness of her skin, the delicate curve of her breasts—all of it stirs something within him that goes beyond desire, something both tender and reverent.

Selina’s body shifts as he leans down, brushing a kiss along the skin of her collarbone, his lips lingering there, savoring the warmth of her. Her breath hitches, and he feels her fingers slip into his hair, pulling him just a little closer, her touch steadying him, grounding him in the moment.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against her skin. His palm curls around her waist, thumb tracing along her ribs. He follows the pressure of her hand in his hair, pressing increasingly firm kisses down between her breasts. 

Selina’s breath deepens, her chest rising with every kiss he places between her breasts, each one more intentional than the last. Her fingers grip his hair, guiding him but never pushing, letting him set the pace as he explores her with a gentleness she hadn’t expected but now craves. Her skin is warm beneath his lips, her heartbeat steady yet quickening, and every soft sound she makes drives him further into the moment, grounding him in this shared vulnerability.

His hand rests on her waist, fingers tracing along her ribs as though he’s committing every inch of her to memory. She feels his hesitation, the careful restraint in his touch, and it brings a soft smile to her lips. Selina lifts her hand from his hair and reaches for his, gently wrapping her fingers around his hand resting on her side. Their eyes meet, and there’s a quiet confidence in her gaze, a silent permission that speaks volumes.

She guides his hand, pulling it slowly higher, settling it over her breast, and she leans in close, her lips brushing his ear as she whispers, “You can touch me, Eddie.”

His breath catches at her words, the invitation igniting something deeper within him. The warmth of her skin under his palm, the softness and strength of her body, fills him with both desire and an unexpected reverence. His thumb brushes over her nipple in a delicate, exploratory caress, and he feels her lean into his touch, her hand resting over his, a silent encouragement that lets him know she’s here, trusting, wanting. She mewls, eyes fluttering when he repeats the motion. His gaze flicks back to her face, and in her eyes, he sees not only desire but a warmth that makes his heart pound, a softness that tells him this isn’t just another game. 

Edward’s breath hitches as his fingers find the edge of her panties, the delicate fabric soft beneath his touch, a contrast to the warmth of her skin. He feels her body shift beneath him, a subtle movement that encourages him, that tells him she’s as present in this moment as he is. His fingertips brush just beneath the seam, lingering as he gathers the courage to ask for more, his question lingering unspoken between them.

Selina’s soft laughter fills the space, a sound rich with understanding and affection, and it soothes him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Her fingers trace gentle patterns along his back, grounding him, her touch steady and reassuring. She looks into his eyes, her gaze filled with warmth, a quiet reassurance that he doesn’t need to worry, doesn’t need to ask—she’s here, and she’s his.

With her silent encouragement, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of her panties, watching her for any sign of hesitation. Her gaze remains steady, her lips curving into a small, knowing smile as she lifts her hips, granting him permission to continue. His heart pounds as he slowly begins to ease the fabric down her hips, letting the silky material glide over her skin, savoring each inch as he reveals more of her to him.

He trails his fingers down her thighs, guiding the fabric along the length of her legs with a gentleness that matches the reverence in his gaze. Her legs are long and graceful, the lines of her muscles shifting as she moves with him, each subtle motion a testament to the confidence and elegance that defines her. He lets his hands linger at her ankles, finally sliding the fabric free and letting it fall to the floor.

As Edward takes her in, fully revealed, he feels a rush of awe and quiet gratitude for this moment, for her trust, for everything she’s allowed him to see. His gaze returns to her face, his expression softened with affection, with a warmth that feels both grounding and exhilarating. 

Selina reaches for his shirt, her fingers pushing the white material of his tank top up just enough to encourage him to pull it off himself. It is not long before the same is happening to the boxers. When her nails scratch along his hip before hooking in his waistband, he hisses and is unable to suppress the reflexive shift of his hips. 

“So sensitive,” she murmurs, teeth peaking through her lips in a smile. 

He has a hard time meeting her gaze, either from the bashful heat creeping up his neck or the gentle, teasing look in her eyes. When she repeats the touch, nails grazing more assuredly from his hip to skin above his boxers, he sighs and furrows his brows. 

As Selina’s nails scrape along his hip, her fingers hooking into the waistband of his boxers, Edward can’t stop the quiet gasp that escapes him, a reaction as instinctive as it is revealing. Her fingers move with a quiet confidence, drawing the fabric down slowly, and deliberately, leaving him feeling completely bare and exposed in more ways than one. The soft amber glow from the bedside lamp casts a warm light over them, illuminating the contours of their bodies in a way that feels intimate, timeless, and somehow unreal.

He’s painfully aware of his own vulnerability, the way the air feels cooler against his newly bared skin, the way her gaze moves over him with a quiet reverence that he isn’t sure he’s worthy of. There’s a part of him that’s still braced for the moment to shatter, for reality to intrude or for the scene to twist into something more sinister. It’s been so long since he’s let anyone see him like this, and a surge of anxiety pulses through him, filling his mind with an unrelenting series of doubts.

What if he makes a mistake? What if he doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t measure up to her unspoken expectations? Or, worse, what if he somehow does something wrong, something she doesn’t like? His mind races, spiraling down into familiar insecurities, and he can feel his heartbeat quicken, his breath hitch, his control slipping away. He can’t slip back into that mask of bravado, not here, not now. And he cannot help but feel so out of place here in her arms - as if someone else is supposed to be here in his place. 

But then, her hand is in his hair again, her nails dragging gently against his scalp in a way that pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. The sensation grounds him, centers him in the present, drawing him back to her. He hears her voice, low and soft, a gentle reassurance that cuts through the fog of his anxiety. “Hey, I want this, remember?”

Her words echo in his mind, a quiet encouragement that feels as steadying as her touch. He lets out a shaky breath, his gaze meeting hers, and there’s something in her eyes—a warmth, an understanding—that allows him to let go of the lingering doubts. She’s here, with him, choosing him, and for the first time, he feels a spark of confidence that maybe, just maybe, he’s enough as he is.

Edward takes a breath, his hand moving to rest over hers, his thumb brushing over her fingers with a quiet affection. “I… I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he admits, the words tumbling out before he can stop them. It’s a confession, raw and unguarded, one he hadn’t planned to make but couldn’t hold back.

Selina’s expression softens, and she moves closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, her lips lingering. “Eddie,” she whispers, her voice warm and steady, “you’re not going to disappoint me. Just be here… with me. That’s all I want.”

Finally, he feels the last of his anxiety begin to ebb, replaced by a sense of quiet acceptance. He lets himself lean into her touch, allowing her words to sink in. 

Just be here…with me.

Further, pulling him back to solid ground are her lips, soft and plush, as she kisses down his cheek to his neck. There, Selina nuzzles the sensitive column of his throat before pressing a kiss to his carotid. Both of her arms curl around his neck, pulling him deeper into her hold, and at some point, she maneuvers her legs around his waist. Her hold is warm and comfortable, and he finds himself melting into her embrace. 

Surely, if she were going to pull away, Selina would not have let him get this close, would not be pulling his hips with her legs, would not be rolling her hips against his, or kissing and placing kitten licks against his earlobe. 

His teeth chatter, and he sucks in a sharp hiss, the onslaught of sensations overwhelming in the best way. Edward’s breath stutters as he feels her warmth move against him again, his senses flooded with her touch, her scent, the gentle yet insistent way she holds him close. The doubts that had once shadowed his mind are vanishing, dissolved by the weight of her presence, by the quiet encouragement in every brush of her lips, every pull of her arms around his neck. Her hands stroke his shoulders, each touch an unspoken reassurance that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, that she wants him, all of him.

Her lips continue their path down his cheek to his neck, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive skin, her breath warm against him as she nuzzles into the hollow just above his collarbone. The sensation makes him shiver, his muscles tightening, and a low groan escapes him as he feels her hands slide over his back, tracing along his spine with a tenderness that sends a thrilling wave through him. He leans into her, letting her guide him, allowing himself to melt into her embrace as her legs wrap more securely around his waist, drawing him closer.

He can’t ignore the quiet confidence in her movements, the way her hips roll against his, a wordless invitation that pulls him deeper into her. Her mouth finds his earlobe, the touch light, almost teasing, as she trails kitten-soft licks and kisses against him. He’s overwhelmed, his body alive with sensation, and he’s unable to hold back the soft hiss that escapes as his hips press against hers, driven by a surge of desire he can no longer contain.

The moment her warmth slides along him, skin to skin, arousal and anticipation sparking between them, he feels his control slip, his body responding instinctively, drawn into her rhythm. The heat of her against him is intoxicating, sending a rush of need through him that makes his forearms tremble as he braces himself beside her, his face hovering over hers. He struggles to keep himself steady, but his gaze is drawn to hers, the intensity of her eyes anchoring him even as he feels himself unraveling.

Selina smiles up at him, her expression soft but laced with an intensity that makes his heart race. There’s a kind of fierce tenderness in her gaze, something that speaks of trust, of desire, and of an understanding that goes beyond words. He wants to say something, to convey the gratitude, the quiet awe he feels, but he’s lost for words, his thoughts too tangled, too overwhelmed by her presence.

Instead, Edward leans down, capturing her lips in a kiss that’s slow, deep, a reflection of everything he can’t or does not know how to express right now. Still surprising him no matter how far they have gone, Selina responds with equal fervor, her arms tightening around his neck, her legs drawing him closer once more, pulling him this time with an intent that has his pulse racing. 

With another deliberate arch and roll of her hips, the tip of his erection catches her entrance. Mouths still connected, he gasps and pauses. Then, when her legs tighten at the ankles and her lithe hands clutch the back of his head and neck, she pulls him deeper. Her warm, mewling breath at his ear is sensual alone, but that, coupled with the sensation of slowing sinking inside her, has him trembling with restraint. 

As he finally sheaths himself to the hilt, Edward’s movements come to a halt, his body tense, his breath stilled as he processes the overwhelming sensation of being this close, this vulnerable. His eyes widen slightly, and he blinks, his brows furrowing as he struggles to maintain control, to steady himself amidst the intensity of the moment. Every instinct tells him to move, to give in to the pull of her, but he pauses, grounding himself, feeling the weight of the intimacy they’re sharing.

He meets her gaze, his eyes softened with a mixture of awe and concern, and he finds his voice, though it’s barely more than a whisper. “Are you okay?” he asks, his tone laced with genuine care, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

Selina’s lips curve into a reassuring smile, her hands sliding forward to cradle his face, her touch steadying him. She lets out a soft breath, her fingers brushing gently along his jaw as she nods. “Yes,” she whispers, her voice warm, inviting, a quiet encouragement that eases his lingering doubts. “I’m here with you.”

Her words sink into him, settling the last of his nerves, and he closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself absorb the reality of the moment, the feeling of her body beneath his, the warmth of her hands on his skin. It’s more than he ever thought he could have, more than he ever allowed himself to hope for.

Never, in all his years, his dream, his hopes would have ever seen this happening. It may have indulged in the fantasy, but that is all it was - a fantasy. Men like him don’t get the girl. 

But when she gently suggests, her voice like honey in his ear, “You can move, Eddie,” the thought of what he does or does not deserve disappears. It is about what she thinks, right?

This isn’t a dream or a fleeting fantasy—she’s here, beneath him, her hands warm against his skin, her expression open, welcoming, urging him to let go.

He begins to move, his hips finding a rhythm that’s slow, gentle, testing the waters as he lets himself feel the warmth, the softness, the subtle strength of her body beneath his. Her gaze meets his, half-lidded and smoldering, and he feels his heart race as he watches her response to each motion, her quiet sighs, the way her breath deepens, catching and releasing with every careful thrust. She’s mesmerizing, her eyes shining with a warmth that feels like both an invitation and a reassurance.

Selina’s hands slide along his back, fingers tracing patterns that send a shiver down his spine, her touch anchoring him while pulling him deeper into her embrace. The way she looks at him—her lips parted, her brows furrowing slightly with each gentle push—tells him more than words could. It’s a look of complete trust, a kind of open vulnerability that leaves him breathless, that makes him want to give her everything he has, everything he is.

Her sounds are soft, quiet gasps and murmurs that fill the room, mingling with his own hitched breaths, and each one is a spark that fuels his pace, that gives him the courage to move with a little more purpose. Her body responds to his, shifting in subtle, fluid movements, matching his rhythm with a natural ease that feels as though they’re in perfect sync. He watches her, captivated, his own breaths becoming more labored as he loses himself in the way she arches into him, her hands pressing into his shoulders as if pulling him closer is the only thing that matters.

“Selina…” he murmurs, the name slipping from his lips like a confession, filled with reverence, with gratitude. His pace quickens, his movements deepening as he finds a rhythm that feels like their own, a steady build that’s both gentle and unrestrained. Her quiet sighs become more urgent, her body pressing against his with each thrust, and he can feel the warmth of her skin, the way she shudders in his arms, every detail intensifying the connection between them.

It is hard for him to focus on everything - especially when he is so focused on not losing himself too soon. 

But he cannot prevent the inevitable. 

Soon, too soon for his liking, too soon for his pride, his hips still, before he pulls out swiftly, taking a deep breath and squeezing his eyes shut. Edward’s breath trembles as he hovers above her, fighting to rein himself in, to hold onto control even as every fiber of his being urges him to let go. His heart pounds against his ribs, his chest rising and falling as he breathes through the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. He tries to push away the quiet embarrassment that creeps in, the flush that blooms over his cheeks. Part of him feels exposed, a touch of self-doubt swirling as he imagines how he must look to her now, stopping in his tracks, struggling to hold back.

But then he remembers her words from earlier in, the encouragement, the gentle assurance that he has nothing to hide, nothing to fear in her presence. He opens his eyes to find her gaze steady, warm, and filled with that quiet confidence that has been unraveling his defenses and insecurities all night. Her expression is unbothered, accepting, her hands resting on his back in gentle support as though she’s silently telling him it’s all right, that he doesn’t have to worry about holding back.

“I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to last…” he admits softly, his voice laced with both apology and frustration, his gaze flicking down as he struggles to let the vulnerability settle.

“You don’t have to hold back, Eddie,” she says softly, her voice carrying that familiar blend of strength and encouragement. There’s a confidence in her tone that eases his tension, letting him feel her acceptance in a way that requires no touch, no gesture—only her words, her presence.

It’s enough. The anxiety dissolves, and he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, returning her steady gaze with a nod. He leans in, pressing his lips to hers again, deepening the kiss with a renewed sense of trust, a silent promise to let go, to be fully present with her. She meets him with equal intensity, her arms pulling him closer, her legs tightening around his waist as though she’s grounding him, urging him to lose himself in her.

He resumes his rhythm, his movements less restrained, his focus solely on the feel of her, the way her body responds to his with each thrust, the way her breaths grow shorter, her soft sighs and moans filling the room. The warmth and pressure of her beneath him, the way her hips rise to meet his, the subtle shivers that run through her—all of it pulls him deeper, their connection becoming a shared rhythm that feels unbreakable.

As he moves, he’s captivated by the expressions crossing her face: her brows draw together slightly, her lips parting as her breaths come faster, her gaze holding his for a moment before her eyes flutter closed. 

“Eddie…” 

The look of her beneath him like this, the sound of her moaning his name, warning him of her impending orgasm, the feel of her wrapped around him. 

It’s all too much. 

Edward’s body tenses, hips stilling before resuming an almost desperate pattern. He groans, praising her name, thanking her, as he finishes.

As the moment overtakes him, Edward feels his control slip entirely, the intensity of her beneath him, the way she whispers his name, tipping him over the edge. His hips still, then move with a last surge of urgency, and he shudders as he lets go, her name spilling from his lips like a confession. His mind is lost in a haze of gratitude, reverence, and undeniable connection as he gives in, breathing out soft praises, thanking her for this closeness, this trust.

But as his breathing begins to slow, and the reality of the moment settles around them, he looks down at her, his face flushed with both warmth and a lingering pang of self-consciousness. He notices the way her breath is still shallow, her body still taut with expectation, and a wave of embarrassment washes over him.

“Selina…” he starts, voice soft and filled with regret, his gaze unable to meet hers. “I’m… I’m sorry. I-” He stumbles over his words, the rush of apology mingling with his lingering self-doubt. He hates the idea of disappointing her, of not giving her the fulfillment he’d wanted to.

But before he can continue, she cuts him off with a gentle giggle, letting those slender hands of hers tighten on the back of his neck. “Hey,” she murmurs, her tone reassuring, a playful gleam in her eyes as she nudges him. “It’s okay, Eddie. Really.”

She shifts beneath him, a mischievous smile spreading across her face, and before he realizes what she’s doing, she rolls them both over, a graceful movement that leaves her straddling his waist. His eyes widen, his surprise quickly giving way to a grin as he looks up at her, captivated by the confidence and warmth radiating from her. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her face, and she gives him a teasing, reassuring look, her fingers tracing gentle patterns across his chest.

“You have all night to try and make up for it,” she says with a smirk, her voice low, inviting, laced with playful challenge. “So, no more apologies, okay?”

Edward’s heart swells, a renewed sense of gratitude and affection flooding him as he watches her, still amazed at the way she can turn even his insecurities into something light, something playful. Her confidence, her ease, it’s infectious, and he finds himself relaxing beneath her, his hands settling on her hips as he nods, a soft, genuine laugh escaping him.

“No more apologies,” he agrees, his voice a bit steadier now, his gaze holding hers. 

Selina’s smile softens, and she leans down, capturing his lips in a kiss that’s both tender and unrestrained, a quiet reminder that this moment is theirs, that there’s nothing to prove, nothing to fear. As she begins to move against him, guiding them back into a shared rhythm, Edward lets himself be fully present, letting her take the lead, surrendering to the moment with a newfound sense of ease and anticipation. 

End of Chapter 3. Will be taking a week's break for the holidays, so will see you back around the 4th

[sugarsnappeases]

WHO UP LILYROSEKILLING THEMSELVES?!

if yes, i have (unedited, be nice to me) snippetty-snip ❤️

When she turns to look at them again, inevitable really, a sort of irresistible pull - she’s curious about them, fascinated for some reason, inexplicably drawn to them - they aren’t in the booth anymore. Instead, her eyes find them out on the dance floor, which has filled considerably in the couple of hours since she’s been here - she’s sure it must be after midnight by now, and the whole place is bustling. There’s still quite a bit of space on the dance floor though, despite all the people, and the two men aren’t using any of it; they exist entirely in each other’s personal space, hands everywhere, dancing, or grinding really, so close together that they almost look like one conjoined creature.

The blond has his hands in the jeans backpocket of the lanky one, who has his face buried in the blond’s neck, folded over him in a way that should look comical but is making Lily blush a little. It’s just - intimate, they’re entirely in their own world, clearly obsessed with each other, devoted, and Lily thinks that’s something that she would really quite like to experience for herself. Maybe James had been obsessed with her, the way he chased after her for years, but she thought that he had probably been more obsessed with the idea of her than who she actually was, not that she really allowed anyone to see who she actually was back then, but anyway these two, out on the dance floor, are obsessed with each other in a way that ran deeper than appearances and expectations. 

They’re obsessed with each other down to the very marrow, cutting each other open and revelling in, revering, every drop of blood that spills, she thinks that they would probably let each other be messy and selfish and angry and cruel and awful and that they would look at the rot that lived inside the other, the knives, the imperfection, and still never let them go, still worship the ground they walked on. Lily didn’t actually know them, but looking at them - the blond one’s hands moving out of the jeans’ pockets and moving to slide under their waistband instead, the lanky one bringing a hand up and running it through the blond one’s hair, pulling his head back to lock their lips together - she’s sure that she’s right.

She’s also probably jealous, and projecting, and delusional. 

And drunk. 

It’s the last of these factors that makes her think fuck it, maybe she doesn’t need to try and forget about them, maybe she can down her drink, leave the guy who’s name she still can’t remember at the bar, and head out onto the dancefloor. 

More than the alcohol, she’s also promised herself that she’s going to try new things and do what she wants without waiting for permission from some impossible higher power, and what she wants right now is to slide herself in between these two men and hope that they’ll decide to worship the ground that she walks on too. 

It’s something visceral, the way she wants them, something she doesn’t think she’s ever fully felt about a person, or people, before, that kind of instinctive hungering that makes her want to dig her fingernails into their skin and never let go, makes her want to become a part of their conjoined creature, to make a monstrosity - a freak, Petunia would say, but Lily likes the sound of it this time, because she is feeling a little freaky, and maybe there’s nothing wrong with that. 

She isn’t entirely sure how she manages it, what with the way they’re plastered against each other, with the way they’re dancing and kissing and clinging to each other, there shouldn’t be room for anything between the two of them. Maybe they see her coming and separate slightly, or maybe she forces them apart and works her way in herself, but either way she ends up standing between the two of them, the lanky one behind her and the blond in front of her. The top two buttons of the blond’s shirt are now undone and it’s making her feel a little weak in the knees as one set of hands settles on her hips and another wraps around her waist. He smiles at her, bright, white teeth, and his eyes, level with hers as she stands in her heels, are a piercing blue, that same curiosity mixed with something a little more feral. 

“We were hoping you’d come over,” he says, and if the three of them weren’t pressed together so tightly she thinks she might have fallen over then, because that’s an entirely unfair thing to say to her. As it is, the lanky one is draping himself over her in the same way that he had been draping himself over the blond earlier and really, if they felt her sway a little in their arms she was sure she could just pretend she was dancing.

It’s a little overwhelming, how immediately connected she feels to them, in the way those blue eyes are staring into hers, and in the way there are hands holding her like she’s something precious, a treasure, and in the way there’s a chin resting on her shoulder now; the two men welcoming her into their dynamic like she was made to fit there, in between them. She thinks she could get addicted to it, obsessed with it, very easily - it might even have happened already.

She leans back against the chest of the lanky one, turning her head to try and get his face in her line of vision. His eyes are a greenish sort of hazel, glinting with that same intensity that seems to exist in everything these two do, and she smiles at him as he moves his head to look at her better. 

“I kinda wanna kiss your boyfriend, if you don’t mind,” she says, smile turning into a grin, once again thinking fuck it and turning back to face the blond one before the lanky one can reply, lifting her hands to tangle them in his hair, mussing it up more, pulling his face to hers and pressing their lips together.

[yelling-space]

sex hcs

// Might be a lil heavy 4 a first post idk??? thought it be a good indicator of what u can expect from me in relation 2 each charter encase that's sming u want 2 avoid tho,

so enjoy this short summary the Main 4s feelings on/relationship with sex and daans here 2 for some reason

none the left over colours fitted Enki so i made him pink 2 spite him

Cw :(Impyed) child prostitution + s/a

Cahara

-whore by birth,slut by choise

-has a hate-love relationship with sex(regardless position) and kinda treats it like a "get out of jail free" card, rellised from a young age the amount of horrble suitions he can get out of if he opens his mouth a lil wider and swings his hips a little

-can be pear pressured/guilted into agreeing 2 sex + for as mutch as hes into and enjoys sex he feels so gross and unclean and not comfy in his own skin after regadles who its with (he will internaly throw up and try 2 rip his skin of if you call him "exotic")

-will cry if he has totally normal fully consensual sane safe sex w a partner/ his wife

-doesnt understand the religious belifes of immodesty or sodomy esply when those higher up dont tend 2 practice what they preach , OPPOSITE of a prude , open whore.

D'arce

-closeted butch top that didnt realize her desire to fuck pretty men was actually her lesbian soul shining through

-lotta her,,,less practical ,vewis on sex stem from deep rooted homophba + was 2 goal oriented and determined 2 became a knight 2 even think about or consider it before espacping the dugon

-full heartedly believed all women harbour a disgust 4 the male sex organ and that coupes just did not have sex endless it was 2 convive a child , as you can imagine she was in for a surprise when discovering that was not the case.

-horrifically inexperienced and guided by her desire to dominate, and thus becomes known for owning The Scary Strap" that medieval men are afraid of

Enki

-Dead body fucker. That Necromancy spell is NOT going to just go too waist ,

-not all that interested in sex in general and never really saw any reason to engage with it when spell books are literally RIGHT there . saying that he most definitely gets of on having something completely under his control regardless what end the "fucked-fucking" scale he's on

- not really into sex with living people + how he's probably kind of inexperienced due to an isolated upbringing hence the want for control over puppeteering a sexual partner (dead body), or the high he gets off inflicting acts of sadism given how his ideas of intimacy have been twisted from childhood

-100%%%%%%% a fucking freek btw just cuz hes not 2 instered in sex dosnt mean hes not a fucking freek man fucks dead people and probs vry mutch into s/m

Rag

-wife kink. you don't understand how much he loves his wife.

-probs thinks sex is something shared between two lovers and is something meant 2 be full of affection and enjoyed by both party's

-probs see's s/a being viewed as something incredibly disrespectful, cowardly and the abuser deserve of death getting his shit kicked in (this is funny because i like 2 imagen rag starts projecting his dead wife onto cahara when he starts 2 lose it in the dungeon)

-did not know sex work existed or brothels were a thing, got jump scared by it when taking cahra back 2 see his wife with the others , he was vry confused and not rly sure where he was MENT 2 look so spent most the time with his eyes glued to the floor, celling or his friends faces (he respects women even if he's not rly sure what's going on)

Daan

-lil sex adictic freek , dosnt even realy enjoy sex that much,just so used 2 it being apart his life hes not entirely sure what 2 do without it,+allows himself to ast least feel incontrol the situion (for once in his life) cus he knows what the goal is and faster he gets it over with faster he'll be left to his own devices again.

-sex is all he rly knowns and grown up around, as well as one the only things hes ever seen actually be meaningful to anybody,regardless there relationships with there partner. but it feels like its something he owes people/doesnt really enjoy it regardless if he acrly wants it or not.

-dosnt proply understand how relationships work or that there's more 2 them then just sex (or that people could even *want* him for more then sex for that matter)

-sex was allways seen as something transactional or something for control - cant have any of that with fagcat, but can at least indulge in it in a way that makes him feel like he's way 2 finally has some small aspect control his life again.

-Honesty like ¾ his sex life is just him being abused by Pocketcat

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.