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grifffins · 2 days ago

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🔮 The Fool’s Journey (Into Trouble) 🔮 | Ch. 5

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

summary: A matchmaking event, a reckless plan, and a game that cuts a little too deep—because playing with fire always has consequences

wc: 8.3k (Chapter 5/?)

a/n: I'm reading all the reviews you're leaving, and it's filling me with so much joy, seriously, thank you so much! I promise I'll eventually get around to replying to them all, but for now, just know that I've seen them, I appreciate every single one, and they are absolutely fuelling me to get these chapters out faster. If I had to stare at this chapter any longer, I was genuinely going to throw myself off a cliff, so here it is before I lose my mind. I don’t know, I hope you like it!

And just a heads-up—ratings have officially gone up 🔥 y'all better handle this with care.

Ch. 4 ch. 6

also on ao3

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The next few weeks flew by in a blur of routine and mild frustration. I’d gotten used to maneuvering on crutches though not without my fair share of near-disasters and before long, I was downgraded to a boot. A clunky, annoying boot, but it was better than nothing. And now, I was almost out of it, counting down the days until I could finally move like a normal person again.

Lilia had been... Lilia. Ever present, always hovering just enough to make sure I wasn’t doing anything too reckless, but never crossing the line into anything that could be considered more. There were lingering touches, soft smiles, and the occasional meaningful glance, but nothing had really progressed.

And, honestly? That was fine.

Mostly.

Between the shop being surprisingly busy and my friends constantly roping me into their latest schemes, fundraisers, work drama, and questionable life choices. I barely had time to dwell on it. I liked keeping busy, helping where I could, and throwing myself into distraction after distraction. It was easier than thinking about how much I wanted Lilia but didn’t know how to move things forward.

Some days, it felt like we were stuck in this comfortable, frustrating limbo. We'd laugh, we’d bicker, we'd work side by side in the shop, but there was always this invisible line neither of us was willing to cross.

Still, things were good.

Lilia was still a mystery I was determined to solve, even if she sometimes acted like an impenetrable fortress. But there were moments, tiny cracks in the walls she put up. The way she’d refill my tea without asking, or how she’d linger at the end of my shift, pretending to read while really just making sure I got home safely. The way she’d watch me when she thought I wasn’t looking, like she was thinking about something.

And those moments? They were enough to keep me going. For now.

One afternoon, as I hobbled around the shop stocking shelves, I sighed dramatically. "Lilia, please, I cannot wait to be out of this boot. I feel like Frankenstein’s monster."

Lilia smirked from behind the counter, flipping through an old grimoire. "You only have to wait till this afternoon."

I shot her a glare. "Rude."

She chuckled, but there was that usual softness behind it, the kind that made my heart skip a little. "You'll be back to your reckless self soon enough. I'm sure I'll regret it."

I grinned. "Oh, you will. First thing I'm doing is dancing barefoot on the counter just to spite you."

Lilia rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she just said, "I'll keep the first aid kit ready."

I snorted, limping toward the register. "You should always have that thing on standby with me around."

"Trust me," she said dryly. "I do."

The bell above the shop door jingled, and before I could process it, Jen and Agatha waltzed in like they owned the place.

"Y/n!" Jen beamed. "Still hobbling around, I see."

Agatha leaned on the counter, eyeing Lilia with that devilish glint in her eye. "And, you're still under Lilia's watchful eye, huh?"

Lilia arched a brow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Jen smirked at me. "Oh, it's not a bad thing at all."

I groaned. "Guys, please."

Agatha ignored me, grinning. "Anyway, y/n, you up for helping me with something later?"

I sighed, already knowing I was about to get roped into something ridiculous. "What is it this time?"

Jen wiggled her brows. "Oh, you know, just a little... matchmaking event."

I blinked. "No."

Lilia, to my absolute horror, looked very interested. "Matchmaking?"

Agatha smirked. "Yeah. You in?"

Lilia, without missing a beat, looked directly at me and said, "I think y/n should go."

My jaw dropped. "What?!"

Lilia’s lips curled into that maddening smirk. "It could be... fun."

I groaned, slamming my head onto the counter. "I hate all of you."

Lilia just sipped her tea, looking far too pleased with herself. "You'll survive, baby."

“What exactly is a matchmaking event?”

Jen leaned against the counter, grinning like the devil she clearly was. "Oh, y/n," she purred, eyes sparkling with mischief. "A matchmaking event is exactly what it sounds like."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "And why, exactly, do you think I need to attend one?"

Agatha smirked, completely ignoring my very valid concern. "It's a charity event, actually. Think of it like speed dating, but fancier, cocktails, music, a little light mingling." She waved a hand dramatically. "People will bid on dates, there'll be matchmaking games, the whole romantic shebang."

I groaned. "You have to be kidding me."

Billy, who had apparently appeared out of thin air (or just snuck in without me noticing), clapped his hands together. "Oh no, she's not kidding, and I am so excited for this."

Lilia, who had been sipping her tea silently this whole time, finally spoke up, eyes fixed on me in that infuriatingly calm way she had. "I think it’s an excellent idea."

I gaped at her. "Et tu, Lilia?!"

She shrugged, setting her cup down with a smirk. "You did say you were bored."

Agatha nodded sagely. "Exactly! And what better way to pass the time than by meeting some... interesting people?"

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "Oh my God, no. I am not getting auctioned off to the highest bidder like a damn prize goat."

Jen laughed. "Oh, come on. It’s for charity! Think of it as... networking."

Billy wiggled his brows. "With benefits."

Lilia quirked an eyebrow, but there was something sharp in her eyes now, something that made my stomach flip. "You never know, y/n," she said smoothly, "maybe you'll find someone... intriguing."

I stared at her, heat rising to my cheeks. Was she actually encouraging this?

I pointed an accusing finger at the coven. "You’re all just doing this to watch me suffer, aren’t you?"

Agatha grinned. "Absolutely."

Billy winked. "One hundred percent."

Jen shrugged. "You should be used to it by now."

I sighed, sinking onto the nearest chair. "This is actually my worst nightmare."

Lilia, standing far too composed and far too smug, leaned against the counter. "You'll do fine, baby."

And the way she said it, soft, teasing, but with just enough of an edge, made me wonder if she was enjoying this a little too much.

I stared at Lilia for a long moment, watching the way she casually sipped her tea, completely unbothered by the absolute chaos the coven was throwing at me. Mixed signals? Oh, she was full of them. She’d spent weeks hovering, making sure I didn’t overdo it, looking after me with a quiet protectiveness, and now she was totally fine with me flirting with other people?

Okay, Lilia.

Fine. If she wanted to play it cool, I could play it colder.

With a wicked smirk, I crossed my arms and leaned back into my chair. "Alright," I said, shrugging. "I'll do it."

The coven exploded.

"YES!" Billy practically fist-pumped.

Jen beamed. "Oh, this is going to be so good."

Agatha cackled. "I knew you'd come around."

But I didn’t take my eyes off Lilia, watching for any flicker of emotion behind that carefully composed exterior of hers. She raised a brow, looking mildly impressed but ultimately unfazed. “Good for you,” she said, nodding. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I smiled sweetly. “Yeah, maybe I’ll meet someone intriguing, like you said.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but she didn’t rise to the bait. “Perhaps.”

Ugh.

I was going to do this. Not because I wanted to, but because if Lilia was going to keep up this whole mysterious and unattainable older woman thing, then I was going to make her watch me flirt with someone else.

By the time I got back from the hospital that evening, boot-free and feeling like I had reclaimed my dignity, I was on a mission.

I went all out.

I pulled out one of my best dresses, the kind that hugged in all the right places, paired it with strappy low heels— I wasn’t about to push my luck after just recovering from a broken leg — and topped it all off with red lipstick. My hair was styled to perfection.

I looked in the mirror and grinned. Damn, I missed dressing up.

Before I left, I snapped a quick selfie and sent it to the group chat.

Me: Ready to break hearts tonight.

Billy responded instantly.

Billy: BABE. I AM DEAD.

Jen: GIRL, THEY WON'T SURVIVE YOU.

Agatha: Show Lilia. Right now.

I rolled my eyes, typing back.

Me: No way. Let her suffer.

I grabbed my clutch, took one last glance in the mirror, and smirked.

Lilia Calderu had no idea what she was in for.

I arrived at the venue, the heels clicking confidently against the pavement as I made my way inside. The place was fancier than I expected, soft lighting, elegant decor, and the kind of crowd that screamed money meets desperation.

I spotted Agatha immediately, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, watching me approach with an impressed smirk. Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, and she let out a low whistle. “Damn, y/n. If I weren’t rooting for Lilia, I’d bid on you myself.”

I rolled my eyes, planting myself in front of her. “Alright, what do I need to do?” I asked, folding my arms.

Agatha grinned wickedly. “Eager, are we?”

I sighed, eyeing the bustling room. “Let’s just say I’ve been encouraged.”

She chuckled, handing me a glass of champagne like she hadn’t practically dragged me here. “Alright, here’s how it works. There are three... let’s call them options.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Go on.”

Agatha held up a perfectly manicured finger. “Option one—the bidding auction. People bid for a date with you.”

I groaned. “Hard pass.”

Ignoring me, she lifted a second finger. “Option two—the matchmaking questionnaire. You fill it out, they set you up with someone they think is compatible.”

I stared at her. “Do I look like someone who’s here for a deep connection?”

Agatha smirked. “No, you look like someone here to make a certain divination witch jealous as hell.”

I didn’t deny it. “And option three?”

Agatha smirked, holding up the final finger. “And then there’s option three... mingling, flirting, working the room.” She gestured grandly at the crowd. “And, honestly, that’s where you shine.”

I sighed, taking a slow sip of champagne. “And which one exactly do you want me to do?”

Agatha’s grin stretched impossibly wider. “Oh, baby, I didn’t bring you here to find your soulmate.” She winked. “I brought you here to make Lilia Calderu jealous as hell. So, option three it is.”

I arched a brow. “And if she doesn’t show up?”

Agatha shrugged. “Then at least you’ll have some fun and free champagne.”

I sighed, finishing my drink. “Fine. Let’s do this.”

Agatha grinned, looping her arm through mine. “That’s the spirit. Now, go mingle. And remember, eye contact, light touches, and laugh at everything.”

I groaned but let her pull me toward the crowd. This was going to be... interesting.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders back and putting on my most dazzling smile. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it right.

Armed with another glass of champagne and Agatha’s ridiculous advice bouncing around in my head, I stepped into the crowd, letting myself glide from conversation to conversation. I laughed, I touched arms lightly, I made just enough eye contact to keep people interested without giving too much away.

And through it all, one thought lingered in the back of my mind.

Please show up, Lilia.

I scanned the room subtly, pretending to be fully invested in whatever some guy in a ridiculous suit was rambling about, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel the absence of her. Could feel the weight of her not being here.

The evening dragged on, and despite the flattering attention I was getting, more than I knew what to do with, there was an ache in my chest that wouldn’t quite go away.

I found myself standing near a group of women, effortlessly charming my way through another conversation, when I caught myself staring toward the entrance for the millionth time.

Nothing.

I sighed internally, feeling my excitement wane just a little.

But just as I turned back to my conversation, I caught a shift in the air. A presence.

And then I saw her.

Lilia Calderu, standing in the doorway like she owned the place, dressed in a simple but devastatingly effective black dress, nothing overly elegant, just effortlessly put together, the fabric skimming her figure in a way that made my mouth go dry. Her dark curls were loosely pinned up, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and those brown eyes of hers scanned the room with sharp intent, missing nothing.

My heart stopped.

She looked... incredible.

Her gaze locked onto me almost instantly, and I saw the way her eyes flickered over my dress, my posture, the easy way I was leaning against the table with a glass of champagne in hand and a smile that may have been a little too smug.

For a second, I thought she might turn around and leave, but instead, she walked in with the kind of calm, deliberate grace that made my stomach twist into knots.

Agatha, appearing by my side out of nowhere, whispered, “And there she is.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “I thought she wasn’t coming.”

Agatha smirked. “She didn’t think she was coming. But then she realised she couldn’t let you have all the fun without her.”

I watched as Lilia made her way through the crowd, her expression unreadable, but her eyes, her eyes, never left me.

I forced myself to smirk, turning back to the group I was talking to, making a show of tossing my hair over my shoulder and laughing lightly at something someone said. But my heart was pounding.

Lilia Calderu was here. And she was watching me.

Game on.

I took a slow sip of my champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on my tongue as I kept my posture relaxed, my smile effortlessly charming. I could feel her gaze burning into me from across the room, sharp and assessing, but I didn’t look her way, not yet.

If she wanted to watch, I’d give her a damn show.

“So, y/n,” the woman beside me purred, leaning in just a little too close. “You never told me what you do for a living.”

I smiled, tilting my head coyly. “Oh, you know... a little bit of everything,” I said smoothly, trailing a finger along the rim of my glass. “Keeps life interesting.”

I swore I could hear Lilia’s scoff from across the room, and it took everything in me not to grin.

Agatha, who was lingering nearby, nudged me under the table with her foot. “Subtle,” she whispered, her tone practically dripping with glee. “She’s watching you like a hawk.”

I shrugged, pretending to be unaffected. “Let her.”

I felt her familiar presence before I even saw her. Lilia’s energy was intense, heavy and magnetic, drawing people in without her even trying. And then, just as I was laughing at something unremarkable, I saw her appear at the edge of my vision, standing beside the group with her arms crossed, a neutral expression on her face.

But her eyes? Her eyes told an entirely different story.

They flicked from the woman leaning too close to me, to my lips, and then, finally, locked onto mine.

I arched an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Lilia,” I greeted, taking another slow sip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into that maddeningly subtle smirk. “Neither did I.”

Agatha, not missing a beat, grinned and chimed in. “Lilia! Finally decided to join the fun?”

Lilia’s gaze didn’t leave mine as she responded, “I suppose someone had to keep an eye on y/n.”

“Oh, I think I’m doing just fine on my own,” I shot back, playful but pointed.

Lilia’s lips twitched. “So I see.” Her gaze dragged over me, slowly, taking in every inch of my dress, my posture, the way I was standing just close enough to the woman next to me to imply interest.

I held her gaze, my heart racing. “You know, you could’ve just stayed home,” I teased, my voice dropping just a bit. “No need to check up on me.”

Lilia stepped closer, leaning in just enough that I could catch the faint scent of her perfume. “Maybe I just wanted to watch?”

I swallowed, my bravado slipping just slightly.

Agatha, watching the exchange like it was the best thing to ever happen to her, nudged me again and whispered, just for me to hear, “You’re losing, babe.”

I straightened up, regaining my composure, and smirked at Lilia. “Well, since you’re here... maybe I should introduce you to some people.” I gestured to the woman beside me, who looked suddenly very interested in this new development. “This is—”

But before I could finish, Lilia reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her fingers lingering a second too long. The touch sent a shiver down my spine.

“Enjoy yourself, baby,” she murmured, her voice low and full of something I couldn’t quite place. “Don’t let me stop you.”

And with that, she stepped back, leaving me absolutely reeling.

Agatha burst into laughter. “Oh my God, she is so playing you.”

I clenched my jaw, staring at Lilia’s retreating figure as she casually wandered toward the bar, looking as cool and composed as ever.

Oh, hell no.

I was not about to let Lilia Calderu waltz in here, throw me off my game with a well-timed smirk and a touch that lingered just enough to make my brain short-circuit. If she thought she could walk away with the upper hand, she had another thing coming.

I plastered on my best grin and turned back to the woman next to me, who was still watching the whole exchange with keen interest. “Sorry about that,” I said smoothly, letting my fingers graze lightly over the rim of my glass. “Old friend.”

Lilia, who had just reached the bar, tilted her head slightly at my words, clearly listening in.

The woman smiled, intrigued. “Old friends who stare at you like they’d rather eat you alive?”

I laughed, but it wasn’t entirely fake. “She’s... complicated.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lilia's shoulders tense slightly. Gotcha.

Agatha, still lingering with a devilish glint in her eye, whispered in my ear, “Atta girl. Make her work for it.”

With renewed confidence, I turned my full attention to my current company, leaning in just enough to make it seem like I was entirely absorbed in our conversation. I laughed at all the right moments, let my hand casually brush against hers, and even threw in a little coy lip bite for good measure.

And Lilia saw every second of it.

I could practically feel her eyes on me, dark and heavy, her carefully composed façade slipping by degrees.

When I dared a glance her way, I caught her watching with that unreadable expression, cool, detached, but with a flicker of something darker beneath. Jealousy? Annoyance? I wasn’t sure, but I liked it.

Still, she didn’t approach.

Fine. If she wanted to play it that way, I’d push a little harder.

I tilted my head back, laughing at something the woman said, making sure my posture screamed confidence, my neck arched just enough to be noticeable. And then, as casually as I could manage, I said loudly enough for Lilia to hear, “You know, I was a little nervous about coming tonight, but... I think I’m really enjoying myself.”

From across the room, I saw Lilia’s grip tighten around her glass.

Agatha, ever the enabler, had appeared at the bar, bit back a grin and leaned against the bar near Lilia. “So, Lilia,” she said innocently, “what brings you here tonight? Surely not jealousy?”

Lilia’s eyes flickered with something sharp, but she simply took a sip of her drink, her voice smooth as silk. “Just making sure y/n doesn’t get herself into too much trouble.”

“Oh, I think she’s handling herself just fine,” Agatha teased, shooting me a wink.

I smirked, running a hand down my hip and throwing Lilia a pointed glance before turning back to my conversation.

But before I could say another word, Lilia appeared at my side, moving silently and suddenly. Her presence was commanding, and I felt it in every nerve of my body.

“Y/n,” she said smoothly, her voice velvety and low. “A word?”

The woman next to me raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, clearly amused. “I think I’ll leave you to it.”

I swallowed, my heart pounding, but I kept my smirk firmly in place. “Of course, Lilia.”

She led me away from the crowd, her hand resting lightly on my lower back, just enough to own the situation, just enough to remind me exactly who I was dealing with.

Once we were in a quieter corner, she turned to face me, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “Having fun?”

I shrugged, playing it cool. “I was.”

Lilia’s lips twitched, but her gaze sharpened, laced with something I couldn’t quite place. “You’re walking a fine line, baby.”

I tilted my head, stepping closer, pushing just enough. “Maybe I like the edge.”

Her eyes darkened, and for the first time all night, I wondered if I’d pushed too far. But instead of pulling away, she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending shivers straight down my spine.

“Careful,” she murmured, voice low and dangerously smooth. “You might find yourself wanting something you can’t have.”

I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my cool. “Maybe I’m tired of waiting.”

Lilia’s expression remained unreadable, her head tilting just slightly. “Getting ahead of yourself, baby.”

I exhaled sharply, biting back the urge to roll my eyes. “And you love dragging this out, don’t you?”

She made a soft, thoughtful sound, her gaze sweeping over me like she was deciding just how much she wanted to let me have. “Mmm. Maybe. Or maybe you’re seeing something that isn’t there.”

Heat curled in my stomach, frustration and want tangled together, her eyes flicked down to my lips for half a second, just long enough for me to notice, but before I could say anything, she let out a slow, almost teasing sigh and stepped back, putting space between us. “Go on, baby. Enjoy your night.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me reeling.

Agatha appeared at my side almost immediately. “So... that looked intense.”

I took a deep breath, my heart racing. “I think I might be losing.”

And honestly? I didn’t want to play this game anymore.

Agatha grinned. “No, babe. You’re both losing.”

I groaned. “Great.”

I huffed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest as I watched Lilia disappear back into the crowd with that same frustrating grace she always carried. I turned to Agatha, my lips pursed in irritation. “You know what? I don’t want to do this matchmaking thing.”

Agatha, ever perceptive, didn’t even argue. She just sipped her drink and gave me a knowing nod. “Of course, no problem.”

I blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

She smirked, leaning against the bar. “I know when you’ve had enough, y/n. And right now, you look like you're two seconds away from murdering someone.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening pressing down on me. “Yeah, I think I just... I need to go home.”

Agatha nodded, patting my arm. “Good call. Go home, take a bubble bath, and—”

“Eat my feelings?”

Agatha grinned. “Exactly.”

I gave her a small smile, grateful she wasn’t pushing. “Thanks, Aggie.”

She winked. “Don’t worry, babe. We’ll gossip later.”

I nodded, weaving my way through the crowd, ignoring the curious glances and the lingering presence of Lilia somewhere in the room.

By the time I stepped outside, the cool night air hit my skin, and I let out a long breath. The tension that had been building inside me all evening eased slightly, but the frustration was still simmering beneath the surface.

Because despite everything, the flirting, the teasing, the stupid mixed signals, Lilia still managed to keep me at arm's length. And I was tired of playing the waiting game.

As I made my way home, heels clicking against the pavement, I couldn't help but feel like I had just walked away from a fight I wasn't even sure I wanted to win anymore.

I made it home, kicking off my heels the second I stepped through the door. The silence of my apartment felt jarring after the noise and chaos of the event, but it was exactly what I needed. No prying eyes, no teasing coven, and most importantly, no Lilia.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I walked into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and downing it in one go. The adrenaline from earlier was fading, leaving me feeling tired, annoyed, and... a little disappointed.

The evening had started off fun, with the whole “make Lilia jealous” plan in full swing. But somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about teasing her and started feeling like something else. Something heavier.

I wanted her to chase me. I wanted her to want me.

But instead, she just kept pulling back, staying in that frustrating space of almost.

I flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, letting my thoughts spiral.

Maybe she really doesn’t feel the same way.

Maybe the age gap is too much for her.

Maybe I’m just a fun distraction to her.

I groaned, tossing a pillow over my face. “Ugh, stupid.”

Just as I was debating whether to text Agatha and unload my feelings, my phone buzzed against my thigh.

I grabbed it, half expecting it to be one of my friends checking in, but my breath caught when I saw the name on the screen.

Lilia.

I stared at it for a beat, my thumb hovering over the screen.

Was she going to scold me for leaving early? Check on me? Or just... toy with me some more?

Taking a deep breath, I swiped to answer. “Hello?”

There was a pause, then Lilia’s voice, soft and measured. “You left.”

I blinked, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I did. I wasn’t feeling it anymore.”

Another pause. “I see.”

I rolled my eyes. “Did you call just to state the obvious, Lilia?”

She hummed, and I could practically hear the smirk in her voice. “Maybe.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Lilia.”

She sighed, and for a moment, I thought she might actually say something real. But then—

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

My heart did that stupid little flutter thing, but I pushed it down, forcing a casual tone. “I’m fine. I always am.”

There was silence on the other end, and for a second, I thought maybe she’d hung up. But then—

“I shouldn’t have encouraged you to go,” she admitted quietly.

I swallowed, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone. “Why did you?”

She didn’t answer right away, and when she did, it was softer than I expected. “Because I wanted to see what you’d do.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling frustration bubble up again. “And? Did you enjoy the show?”

Lilia exhaled, something close to a chuckle, but there was an edge to it. “More than I should have.”

My grip tightened on the phone. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

Another pause. “So I’ve been told.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “Go to bed, Lilia.”

“You too, baby,” she murmured, and before I could come up with a snarky response, the call ended.

My heart pounding, frustration and something else, something deeper, swirling in my chest.

I stared at my phone for all of ten seconds before I muttered, "No, fuck this." Without thinking any further, I tapped Lilia’s number and called her back.

She answered almost immediately, her voice a little softer, maybe a little surprised. “y/n?”

“You’re confusing,” I blurted out, pacing back and forth in my living room, frustration bubbling over. “You are so confusing, Lilia.”

Silence.

I didn’t care, I was on a roll now. “You flirt with me, you pull away, you get all soft and caring, and then you act like none of it happened. And I keep trying to play it cool, keep waiting for you to make up your damn mind, but you never do.”

She didn’t say a word, and I wasn’t stopping.

“And fuck you and this whole age gap excuse, because that’s what it is now, Lilia. It’s an excuse. You keep telling yourself that’s the problem, but it’s not. You flirt with me, you want me, and then you shut me out like it never happened. I’m tired, Lilia. I’m so tired.”

I paused, breathing hard, and then it hit me. My eyes widened as I blurted, “And you never even gave me my underwear back!”

I was hysterical.

I could hear Lilia inhale sharply on the other end, and for a second, I thought she might say something, anything. But all I got was silence.

And that silence was worse than if she’d yelled at me.

I swallowed hard, my anger deflating into something... heavier. More raw. My voice softened, and I rubbed a hand over my face. “I’m sorry,” I muttered, feeling the weight of it settle in my chest. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you.”

Still, she said nothing, and it was starting to hurt more than I thought it could.

I took a shaky breath. “I’m done, Lilia. I can’t take any more.” My throat tightened, and I blinked back the sting in my eyes. “It hurts too much.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint static of the line. Then, finally, Lilia’s voice came through, so quiet I almost didn’t hear it.

“Y/n...”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Don’t.”

Another pause. Then she sighed, long and slow, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I never meant to hurt you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well... you did.”

Silence again, and I could almost imagine her, standing in her shop, looking down at the floor with that troubled frown she always wore when she was thinking too hard.

After another beat, she said, “I—” but she cut herself off, like she couldn’t finish the sentence.

I shook my head, wiping at my eyes. “Lilia, I can’t do this anymore. Not unless you actually want me. Not unless you’re willing to admit it.”

There was a pause. Then, finally, so quietly it nearly shattered me, she said, “I do.”

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest. “What?”

“I do,” Lilia repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just... I didn’t know how to.”

I swallowed hard, my chest tightening. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

There was a long silence before she finally admitted, “Because I’m scared.”

I felt something shift inside me, my anger melting into something softer. “Scared of what?”

Lilia sighed again, and this time, she sounded... tired. Vulnerable. “Of how much I want you.”

My lips parted, my throat suddenly dry. “Then stop running,” I said softly. “Please, Lilia. Just... stop.”

She was quiet for another long moment, and then— “Come over.”

My breath hitched. “What?”

“Come over,” she said again, a little stronger this time. “Now.”

I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Lilia, are you sure—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “Please.”

And just like that, I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed my coat, shoved my feet into my shoes, and bolted out the door, my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The night air was cool against my skin, but I barely registered it, I was too focused on getting to Lilia.

The drive to her shop felt endless, every red light an eternity, every turn slower than I wanted. My fingers tapped anxiously against the wheel, my thoughts racing.

She admitted it.

She finally admitted it.

But what did that mean? What was waiting for me when I got there?

By the time I pulled up outside her shop, I was a mess of nerves, my stomach churning with anticipation and something I couldn’t quite name. I parked and sat there for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, trying to collect myself.

Come over, she’d said. Not “we need to talk,” not “I need to explain.” Just... come over.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and stepped out of the car. The street was quiet this time of night, the shop windows dark except for the faint glow of a single light inside.

I knocked, and almost immediately, the door creaked open.

Lilia stood there, looking... different. Her usual confidence wasn’t as sharp around the edges tonight. Her hair was loose, curling naturally around her face, and she had changed into casual wear, soft sweater and leggings, barefoot.

Her dark eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

I exhaled shakily. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she replied softly, stepping aside to let me in.

The familiar scent of her shop, incense, old books, and something distinctly her washed over me as I walked inside. She closed the door behind me, and the quiet settled around us like a heavy weight.

I turned to face her, my heart still racing. “I meant what I said, Lilia. I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

“I know,” she interrupted, her voice thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “I know, baby.”

The sound of her calling me that made my knees weak.

I swallowed. “Then why—”

Lilia took a slow step forward, her eyes locked onto mine. “Because I’ve spent a long time being careful, y/n. Too careful.”

I didn’t move, didn’t speak. I just let her talk.

“I told myself I couldn’t do this,” she continued, her voice quiet but sure. “That you deserved someone... younger. Someone with fewer complications. Someone who wouldn’t keep you waiting.”

I blinked, my throat tightening. “Lilia...”

She stepped closer, and this time, she reached out, brushing her fingers lightly over my wrist. “But you’re right. The age gap, the excuses... they’re just that. Excuses.”

I felt something break inside me, my breath hitching. “Then stop making them.”

Lilia looked at me, really looked at me, and I could see the struggle in her eyes, the hesitation, the longing, the fear. But then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she cupped my face in her hands, her thumb grazing lightly over my cheek.

“I’m done,” she whispered. “No more excuses.”

I barely had time to react before she kissed me.

Soft at first, hesitant, but then I melted into it, my hands gripping her waist as I kissed her back with everything I’d been holding in for weeks, months.

Lilia pressed closer, her body warm against mine, and I felt her exhale shakily into my mouth, like she was finally letting go of all the barriers she’d built between us. Like she wanted this just as badly as I did.

I pulled back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers. “Took you long enough,” I whispered, my lips curling into a smile.

Lilia chuckled, her fingers still ghosting over my jaw, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I know, baby. I know.”

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could finally breathe.

But Lilia barely gives me a second to recover before she’s grabbing my hand and pulling me through the shop, her grip firm, her steps hurried, almost reckless. I can barely keep up, my heart racing, my body already aching for her before we even make it to her bedroom.

And then I’m there, being pushed back onto the bed, the mattress bouncing beneath me as I look up at her, chest rising and falling rapidly.

She’s standing over me, eyes dark and burning with something dangerous, something I’ve been craving for so long.

I moan, unabashedly, because fuck, she’s so hot. The way she looks at me like she’s about to devour me whole, like she’s going to ruin me, like I’m something she’s been starving for.

And then she starts stripping, slowly, painfully slow, slowly, deliberately, eyes locked onto mine the entire time. Teasing me with every inch of skin she reveals. She peels her sweater over her head, her curls tumbling loose, and I watch, breathless, as she undoes the clasp of her bra with deliberate precision, letting it fall to the floor, her smirk growing the longer I stare. Her hands move lower, hooking into the waistband of her leggings, sliding them down her hips with an agonising pace. She steps out of them with ease. My pulse pounds in my ears as she takes her time, dragging it out, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me, letting the last of her clothes slip from her body until she’s completely bare, standing before me in nothing but those dark eyes and the wicked smirk playing on her lips, and I’m left staring, aching.

I can’t take it.

I stand up, lurch forward, hands reaching for her, closing the space between us, my hands immediately on her body, kissing every inch of skin I can reach her collarbone, her shoulders, the curve of her neck. My hands roam over her bare back, pressing her closer, needing to feel her. My teeth scrape over the pulse hammering at her throat, and I hear her breath hitch.

Lilia moans, her fingers tangling in my hair, tugging me even closer, and I can feel the heat radiating off her. I trail kisses down, across her chest, down her stomach, dragging my nails lightly, down her ribs just to make her gasp, desperate to taste her, to make up for all the time we’ve wasted.

I want her. I want to wreck her, hear her fall apart beneath me.

But Lilia has other plans.

With a low growl, she shoves me back onto the bed, straddling me before I can even react. Her body pins mine against the mattress, a delicious weight that has me gasping. She tugs my dress up, her hands rough and impatient as she drags it over my head and tosses it aside. A shiver runs through me as her fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, and without thinking, my hips lift to help her slip them off.

And then she does the same to me. Lilia’s lips are everywhere, hot, demanding, claiming me in a way that’s anything but soft. It’s hard, it’s raw, it’s pent up tension that’s been building for weeks, and it’s so damn good, and I can feel it in every press of her teeth, every bite of her nails against my thighs.

She kisses me like she’s making up for lost time, her hands gripping my hips tightly, grinding down against me, slow and deliberate, teasing me with the friction, with enough force to leave bruises in the morning. My nails rake down her back, desperate, needy, and she loves it, moaning into my mouth as she deepens the kiss.

We don’t stop.

There’s no hesitation, no second guessing, just heat and need and the overwhelming feeling of finally having what we both wanted.

I gasp as Lilia's hands roam lower, her touch possessive, her mouth following her hands, unrelenting, claiming every inch of me. She grips my thighs, spreading me open, pressing teasing kisses along my inner thigh, slow, deliberate, making me squirm.

She pauses just above where I need her, her breath warm against me, teasing, torturous. And when she finally looks up at me, her lips just barely brushing my skin, her eyes are dark, lips slick, pupils blown wide with hunger. She smirks.

“Took me long enough, huh?” she murmurs against my skin.

I can’t even answer, just nod breathlessly.

Lilia’s mouth is on me before I can even process it, her hands pressing my thighs apart with a hunger that makes my head spin. She doesn’t tease. She doesn’t drag it out. She takes.

She devours me like she’s starving, like she’s been holding back for too long and refuses to do it a second longer. Her tongue moves with precision, slow at first, savoring, before she licks deeper, pressing her mouth against me with a hunger that has my head spinning. She flicks her tongue, dragging it over me just right, and I sob, my body jerking beneath her.

Her fingers slide through slick heat, teasing, testing, until—

I gasp, my back arching off the bed as she pushes in, stretching me, filling me in a way that has me gasping for air.

She’s ruthless, curling her fingers just right, stroking deep, pushing, pulling, setting a pace that leaves no room for mercy.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, baby?” she moans against me, the vibrations sending a shiver up my spine. Her fingers don’t slow, thrusting into me hard, fast, each stroke deliberate and punishing. “The things I’ve thought about... every time you walked into the shop in those little skirts, every time you teased me?”

I whimper, my hands clutching the sheets, head thrown back in pure bliss.

She bites the inside of my thigh, and I cry out. “Those panties you left behind,” she breathes, her voice thick with lust, “I couldn’t stop thinking about them. About you. About what it’d feel like to have you.”

A desperate moan rips from my throat, my body trembling under her touch. “Lilia... please.” My hips lifting, chasing her, needing more. She hums, low and indulgent, before finally sliding another finger inside me, stretching me open, pushing deeper, pressing her palm against me just enough to make me whine. My hands clutch at the sheets, my body burning, every nerve ending sparking.

“I should’ve done this sooner,” her tongue circling me in slow, teasing strokes, drawing me apart piece by piece. “Had you like this ages ago. Been wanting to hear these sounds from you for weeks”

Her fingers press against that perfect spot inside me, and I choke out a sob.

She licks deeper, pressing her tongue flat against me before sucking lightly, and I jerk, crying out.

“Want to hear you cum for me,” Lilia purrs, her voice dark and commanding, before she sucks harder, her fingers thrusting into me faster, curling deep, coaxing me higher. “Come on, baby. Let me hear it.”

And I do.

The pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave, my body shaking, moaning her name over and over as I fall apart beneath her touch. Lilia doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up until I’m completely wrecked, panting, and twitching from the aftershocks.

She finally pulls back, pressing a final, lingering kiss against me, her breath warm and heavy.

“Good girl,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach, her voice full of praise that makes me shiver all over again. “You did so well for me.”

I can barely respond, my limbs boneless, my mind hazy. But I know one thing for sure, I want more.

It takes me a moment to come back down, my body still trembling, my breaths ragged and uneven. Lilia watches me with dark, satisfied eyes, her smirk smug and dripping with confidence. Her fingers still teasing lazy circles on my thigh like she’s enjoying the way I twitch under her touch.

But I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.

Before she can even process it, I flip us over, pressing her into the mattress with a wicked grin. Her eyes widen, but there’s no surprise, just anticipation, hunger.

“Fuck.” The word comes out in a breath, barely a sound, but enough for her to hear.

She hums, amused, her nails skimming over my arms as if daring me to continue.

My fingers trail lower, slipping between her thighs, and I pause, my breath catching as I feel how absolutely soaked she is. The realisation sends a shiver through me, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.

I pull back slightly, looking at her properly now, taking in the way her lips are parted, her pupils blown wide, her body already straining toward me.

“Oh,” I breathe, teasing my fingers against her, dragging them slowly to feel every bit of her need. “You don’t need any help, do you?”

Lilia’s breath hitches, her hips twitching beneath my touch, but she doesn’t answer, just watches me with dark, half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in anticipation. Fixes me with a look that makes my stomach flip.

It’s daring. A challenge. Like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

“Fuck,” I say again, letting out another slow breath, pressing a little firmer, feeling how she responds so easily. “You really have been waiting for this,” I murmur, my voice dark, satisfied. “Haven’t you?”

She parts her lips to respond, but I don’t give her the chance.

I sink my fingers into her, slow at first, teasing, stretching her open, feeling the way her body clenches around me.

And then I push in deeper, hard, and she gasps, her back arching, her fingers digging into my shoulders..

I don’t go slow. I don’t tease. I take her hard and rough, my fingers moving with purpose, curling inside her in a way that has her moaning instantly.

Lilia’s hands grasp at my shoulders, her nails scratching, dragging down my back, and I lower my mouth to her breasts, sucking one of her nipples between my lips. I swirl my tongue around it, biting down just enough to make her cry out, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, y/n,” she moans, her hips bucking up against my hand, her thighs trembling around me.

I smirk against her skin, flicking my tongue over the hardened peak before moving to the other, lavishing it with the same rough attention while my fingers pump into her relentlessly.

She’s so wet, so tight around my fingers, and it doesn’t take much before I feel her start to tighten around me, her walls fluttering, her breath coming out in broken gasps.

“So, you’ve been thinking about this for a while, huh?” I murmur against her chest, my voice dripping with satisfaction. “Thinking about how I’d feel inside you?”

She groans, her back arching as she gasps, “Yes... yes... fuck.”

I grin wickedly, increasing the pace, curling my fingers just right until she’s on the edge, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Come on, Lilia,” I whisper against her skin, sucking hard on her nipple as I thrust into her with delicious precision.

“Let me hear you.”

And she does.

Lilia spasms around me, her moan breaking apart into something raw and desperate, her entire body trembling beneath me as she comes undone, gasping my name like it’s the only thing she knows.

I watch her fall apart, mesmerised, drinking in every twitch, every gasp, every sharp intake of breath, and it’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen.

My fingers slow, riding out her high as I press soft kisses along her collarbone.

Her breathing is ragged, a deep flush crawling up her chest, sweat slicking her skin, and she lets out a soft, breathy laugh, pulling me against her, her fingers tangling in my hair. “I should hate how smug you look right now,” she murmurs, voice thick and shaky.

I smirk, kissing along her jaw. “You love it.”

She hums, her lips ghosting over my temple as her breath steadies, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

After the intensity of it all, after the heat, the moans, and the desperate need finally sated, we collapse into the sheets, bodies still humming with the aftershocks.

Lilia sighs softly against my hair, her arm draped lazily over my waist, her chest rising and falling steadily beneath me, and I feel her hand lazily tracing circles on my back.

I shift slightly, my leg sliding between hers, my fingers still ghosting over her skin, unable to stop touching her even in the aftermath.

Her skin is warm, still damp from sweat, her breathing slow and steady.

“Comfortable?” she murmurs, voice low and raspy, and I can hear the lingering amusement in it.

I nuzzle against her neck, pressing a lazy kiss to her collarbone. “Very.” My voice is heavy with sleep, and I can feel the exhaustion creeping in, but I don’t want to move. “You?”

She hums, her lips pressing against my temple in a slow, lingering kiss. “Mm. I could get used to this.”

My heart stutters at that, but I don’t say anything, just smile against her skin, letting myself bask in the warmth of her.

Minutes pass, maybe hours, time feels irrelevant when I’m wrapped around her like this. Lilia strokes her fingers through my hair absentmindedly, and I can feel her breathing slowing, the tension that always seems to cling to her finally easing away.

I sigh, letting my eyes flutter shut, my body melting against hers. “Don’t retreat in the morning,” I mumble sleepily, barely coherent, but needing to say it.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through me. “I won’t, baby.”

And that’s enough for me. With her promise lingering in the air between us, I drift off, feeling safe, sated, and completely tangled in her. Tangled in her warmth, in her scent, in the quiet hum of her presence.

#lilia calderu x reader #lilia calderu #patti lupone #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic

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hyperions-light · 1 day ago

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I am going to answer this one myself and just drop it regardless of the schedule because it’s my game lol

Warden M. Tabris (you will not ask her first name if you like your head connected to your body) probably is mildly amused + has a generally positive opinion of Leth, but she is very quiet and generally unimpressed- looking so she would make Leth uneasy. She mostly just talks with the people she’s closest to + the most genuine with (Sten, Morrigan, Zevran, hardened!Leliana) so she has a tendency to make people uncomfortable.

Vigilance Hawke eh… she’s so tired =( Idk if post-DA2, cynical + bitter Hawke would get along too well with Leth, who would probably remind her of her younger self. She’d think Leth was being kind of naive by spending so much time doing whatever their friends want without question (Vi did not kill Anders, but she didn’t like being lied to about the Chantry thing and she felt betrayed. She was a little… idk carefree and flippant during DA2, but not after =/). Leth would be wary. Vi is dangerous + sharp.

I think Leth would be a bit overwhelming for Revas Lavellan, honestly? She’s very diplomatic + reserved and the whole *everything* with Inquisition made her feel so isolated and and disconnected from people. She was very lonely and was hyper-aware that she was in a precarious position as a Dalish elf in the middle of an almost entirely human organization, and then the one person she managed to form an intense connection with turned out to be Fen’Harel lol. So she would be very polite and outwardly friendly with Leth, but they wouldn’t… hang out. Leth respects her a lot, though + she influences their thoughts about/decisions around Solas.

Companions below the cut!

DAO: Leth would not like Wynne, Oghren or Alistair. Wynne + Alistair would annoy them, Oghren they like… would want him dead lol. They would think Shale is amazing. They like Morrigan but their questions might irritate her, and they would DEFINITELY annoy Sten. They would get along with Leliana! Fashion + assassination? Match made in Heaven! They would attempt to kill Zev on sight, but eventually decide the reward was not worth it and then they would get along famously. Bringing Dog so many treats. Loghain, they would actually really like, I think. They love grumpy people! Love bothering them!!

DAA: still stabbing Oghren with knives. Velanna… they get her, but she’s too intense about stuff for them. They like DAA Anders and Sigrun, although Sig would probably not approve of their rampant disregard for the law and complete lack of remorse about it. They would have a lot of questions for Justice, but he would hate them, so they would just fight lol. Nathaniel would bore them.

DA2: Isabela + Leth would be an amazing/terrible combo lol. Varric is very special to them— first mentor that like… isn’t intense and harsh and paranoid lol. They would detest Aveline and Sebastian. Merrill they would adore and would happily enable whatever inadvisable experiments she was doing and ask a million questions. DA2 Anders is too intense for them. Fenris… they’re sympathetic, but I’m not sure they’d know how to handle him. Bethany would probably bore them a little tbh, but they’d think she was really sweet.

DAI: oh boy. Well they would/do like: Dorian, Leliana, Bull, Varric and ESPECIALLY Sera (particularly post-inquisition). They would have mixed feelings on Cole (they do NOT want to talk about their issues, but they do have SO many questions for him and think he’s fascinating), and Solas (SO many questions, again, but DAI Solas would make them suspicious and they’d think he was too uptight). Blackwall.. they’d be bored by him and suspicious of him pre-reveal, and chill with him after. Vivienne, they admire her intelligence, poise and style, but they really hate the nobility so much. I don’t think Vivienne would like them, though lol. They’d feel bad for Cullen, but probably not like him. They’d like Cassie okay, but the piety is a bit much for them. Leth is like… maybe the only person who doesn’t get along with Josie lmao, they cannot stand the Antivan nobility/merchant princes. She tries so hard but they are so resistant— maybe she could wear them down, eventually?

Hey! It’s Friday! That means it’s Rook Intro Hour <3

How it works: I ask you a question about your Rook(s) and you answer it with as much brevity or verbosity as you desire. You can do this whenever you want, and I’ll reblog it + add some comments! There’s no time limit— if you want to do the older ones, they are collected here! (The post is updated on Fridays!)

Today’s Question(s): Let’s do something special, today, to celebrate DA. What would your Rook think of your other DA protagonists? How about the other companions? Is there anyone they would particularly like or dislike? Why? What would the other protagonists/companions think of Rook?

Answer as much or as little as you like. Hope you’re well <3

#dragon age #veilguard #rook #the rook introduction hour #veilguard spoilers #datv spoilers #dao #daa #da2 #dai #Hawke #warden tabris #inquisitor lavellan #Lethanavir de Riva #M Tabris #Vigilance Hawke #Revas Lavellan

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gullemec · 2 days ago

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Deep Blue

Golden Cage - Chapter Eight

series masterlist ao3

Pairing: Billy Butcher x f!reader

Summary: You do your best to return to the life you knew before the Boys. Spoiler alert: it doesn't work.

Warnings: alcohol consumption, drunkenness

Please let me know if I missed any tags! <3

WC: 5.4k

A/N: The beginning of the end my friends, next chapter is the last in this series!! There will be an epilogue too :)

Stuff it down. Keep it inside. Just get through the day.

You arrive at the office on Monday dressed in a simple, comfortable turtleneck and slacks, the kind of outfit you used to wear every day back at Cambridge when you were a student trying to impress your classmates and appear effortlessly intellectual. It’s cozy, functional, and a marked improvement from the leather and frills Monica deemed appropriate for business casual, but there’s something about it now that feels a little too constricting. It’s as though you’ve been swallowed by the corporate machine, and the longer you wear this uniform, the more it starts to feel like you’re becoming the very thing you swore you never would.

Stepping into the lab, you slip on the standard issue lab coat like all the other interns. It’s a sea of white in here. Sterile, impersonal, and oddly comforting in its predictability. The sharp scent of chemicals, the quiet hum of machines, the click-clack of keyboards, it all feels like the backdrop to a new life. Safe, neat, and clinical. You also make sure your shoes are sensible, a modest pair of loafers. Flat, comfortable, and as unremarkable as possible. You don’t need to be noticed here. Not by anyone. Not right now.

You stay long after the sun sets, the office lighting flickering faintly as your fingers blur over your keyboard, typing emails, drafting reports, revising presentations. You dive into every team meeting, even when the topics bore you to tears, volunteering for the projects no one else wants. You’re determined to be indispensable, to blend in, to prove you belong. But each task, each hour spent at that desk, feels like one more stitch in the fabric of a life you know you don’t want.

Then there’s Adam.

You’ve known him for a while, but now you see him differently, less as a begrudging ally and more as a distraction. He tries to take over tasks from you, attempts to save you from the workload. It makes you bristle. You don’t need him to rescue you, not when you’re perfectly capable of handling it on your own. You push back hard, asserting yourself in a way that surprises you as much as it does him.

“I’ve got this,” you remind him, voice steady despite the tension creeping up your spine. “You’re more than welcome to watch, though.”

Adam seems genuinely impressed by the newfound confidence you’re exuding, and you notice how his gaze lingers a little longer than it should. It’s that moment when you realize he’s seeing you in a different light, not just as a colleague, but as something more.

He surprises you even further when, at the end of the week, he asks you out for drinks. For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of how to respond. But then, you surprise yourself, agreeing. It’s a small rebellion, a fleeting decision that feels more like a reflex than a choice.

It’s easier to fill the void than it is to feel its emptiness, you think, as you step into the world of after-work drinks and small talk. It’s something to do. Someone to be.

The next month drifts by in a fog. Think tanks, board meetings, and endless brainstorming sessions. You read emails three, four, five times before their meaning finally sinks in, your mind too foggy to absorb the words the first few times around. The words seem to slide off your brain, slipping into that place where the unimportant things go, things you’ll deal with later. Your father’s daily lunch visits become a constant, his chatter a background noise that’s easy to tune out. He’s talking about Vought deals, ad campaigns, and erectile dysfunction pill ad campaigns with The Deep as the spokesperson. It all sounds like white noise, a cacophony of things you’re supposed to care about but simply... don’t.

Slowly, like a drop of water sinking into a sponge, you start to blend into this world. Inch by inch, you learn the insider language—the jargon of stock prices and product launches, of investor meetings and quarterly reports. You smile at the right moments, nod when necessary, and pretend to care about things that mean absolutely nothing to you. You even go on coffee dates with Monica and Ashley, who are seemingly best friends again after their rocky patch. You let Adam take you out on a second date. You don't put out.

Your phone becomes a constant source of anxiety. It buzzes almost daily with phone calls, usually from Hughie or Frenchie or Annie, but some from MM too. Never from Butcher, and you’re not sure how you feel about that. You can't bring yourself to silence the calls, choosing instead to stare the screen down until the vibrations die, a Missed Call notification popping up. You don't feel good about ignoring them but, truth be told, you don't know what you would say to them. You don't know what they might say, what Butcher told them to explain your sudden absence. You're angry and hurt and confused. You figure if it's important they'll come find you.

The hours blend together as you move through this charade, a ghost moving on autopilot. At the end of the day, you retreat to your office, a small space you had cleared on the twentieth floor of the CytoGenix headquarters. It’s not the penthouse suite, but it’s a far cry from the cramped, open-concept, hot-desking hellhole you’d been relegated to on the sixth floor with the other interns. You had half expected a fight with your father over it—he’s protective, maybe even territorial about office spaces—but when you asked for the office, he grinned and agreed without hesitation, as though he knew this day was coming.

“I knew you’d come around eventually," he'd said. You just nodded absently, feeling nothing.

It hadn't initially been your intention to become more like your father when you'd asked for the office, but it seemed to happen that way anyway. In truth, you'd wanted the office so you could conduct V2 research in privacy, away from the prying eyes of other interns. But now you find yourself more comfortable hunched over your desk than you do curled in your bed. There’s something oddly soothing about being surrounded by papers, lab reports, and research data. It’s productive. It’s linear. It makes sense in a way your personal life never has.

The thought of Billy Butcher lurks in the back of your mind like a bruise that won’t heal, but you push it away. Focus. Research. That’s what matters now.

Another month passes, the days slipping by unnoticed. The office becomes your home. You don’t go as far as installing a bed, but you do get a comfy couch. It becomes your refuge, the place where you lie after long, soul-sucking nights in the lab. And after one particularly late night spent celebrating a completed project, you allow Adam to touch you on it, hands roaming freely under the guise of post-scotch intimacy. You want his touch to erase your hurt. You endure his too-polite kisses and the hesitant way his hand gestures around your skirt’s hemline. Not because you enjoy them, but because you want to feel something other than numb.

It doesn’t work. It never does.

You try to keep up with the location of the remaining V2 vials, through good old-fashioned eavesdropping and snooping, but without access to the bugs it's difficult. Everyone is understandably tight-lipped now, like even uttering the name of the substance is forbidden. All you know is that the vials are inside of the CytoGenix highrise, and that they're under constant surveillance. In a building this large and complex, they could be anywhere. This doesn't stop you from spending every night looking for them.

It's on a night like this that you find yourself falling asleep at your desk, eyelids impossibly heavy as you pore over yet another lab report, computer monitor displaying old security footage from the lab. More wasted hours accruing useless information.

Frustrated and exhausted, you shuffle to the ensuite bathroom.

You shake yourself awake, the cool water splashing across your face doing little to revive you. But when you look into the mirror, you don’t recognize the woman staring back at you. The tight bun, the purpled circles under your eyes, the dullness in your gaze.

You decide to call it a night, the lure of your bed too strong to resist. The prospect of collapsing into your memory foam mattress, soft in all the ways the office couch isn’t, feels like a small blessing. You’re exhausted enough to think you might fall asleep instantly, no risk of being left alone with your thoughts.

You lean against the cold metal of the elevator wall as it descends twenty floors. The hum of the cables is oddly comforting, a steady rhythm beneath your thoughts, guiding you down to the underground parking lot.

The feeling of being watched hits you before your eyes land on him. You’re not surprised to see him. Your body tenses, but your steps don’t falter. He stands there, a dark figure leaning casually against your car, the yellow overhead lights casting sharp shadows over his face.

You should have been expecting this.

“MM,” you greet him, your voice flat, drained. You can’t hide the bitterness in your tone. You want to feel some excitement, to run and throw your arms around him like you would have before all this. Still, he hurt you too. There's no way he didn't know about the bugs. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes are searching you in that way he does when he knows something's off. He pushes off the car and takes a step toward you.

“You haven’t been answering anyone’s calls,” he says, his tone clipped but not angry. “Anyone’s, including mine.”

You don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. “I’m not up for this, MM. Not right now.” You pull your keys from your pocket and start unlocking the driver’s side. “I have nothing new to report, despite my best efforts. Sorry to disappoint.”

“I don’t care about that,” MM says, stepping closer. His voice softens just a little. “We were worried about you.”

The laugh that escapes you is sharp and bitter. “Worried? Who’s worried, MM? The guy who bugged my apartment, or the people I thought were my friends but never bothered to tell me I was being watched?”

His eyes fall, a flash of regret crossing his face. He looks almost guilty. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. It made sense at the time. But… You’ve proven yourself. I trust you.”

The words hit you in a soft place you thought for sure had become unreachable. A lump forms in your throat, and you fight it down, furious that you’re about to break in front of him. Anger floods your chest to mask the hurt, and you force it out through gritted teeth.

“Thanks, but I can't say I reciprocate the feeling. You can let Butcher know I'm still making myself useful.”

MM’s gaze sharpens at your words, but he doesn’t argue. “Butcher doesn’t know I’m here.”

You blink, taken off guard. He sees it in your eyes and adds quickly, “He didn't want me to involve you.”

The mention of Butcher stabs at you, even more so that he's still trying to protect you from this. Like he has any right. MM doesn’t let you dwell on it.

“He’s not doing well, just so you know.”

Your stomach drops, the cold anxiety crawling up your spine. You nod, keeping your face a mask.

“Okay.”

Good, you want to say. Neither am I.

You chew the inside of your cheek, biting back any sign of weakness.

MM steps forward, his tone changing—more earnest now, but still carefully guarded. “I’m sorry. I can’t change what happened. But you’ve proven yourself. We all trust you now. And as long as you want it, there’ll always be a place for you with the Boys.”

His words hit like a sharp pang in your chest. You exhale slowly, holding yourself together as the weight of it settles. You’ve proven yourself. The words mean more than he could know, but they also come with their own pain.

You finally speak, the air thick with emotions you don’t want to feel. “I appreciate that, but... I just can’t go there right now. I can’t be around him.”

He takes a moment before responding, his voice low and careful. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you and Butcher. But right now, the Boys need you. We need you.”

You shake your head, tears welling at the edge of your eyes as you struggle to keep your voice steady. You can’t let him see how much this cuts. “I’m sure you guys have it under control.”

You climb into the driver's seat, ready to end the conversation. But before you can slam the door shut, MM’s voice cuts through the quiet night, commanding and sharp.

“We know where the vials are.”

You freeze, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. You turn back to him, disbelief clouding your thoughts. “What?”

MM steps closer, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leans in. “They’re in your dad’s office.”

Silence.

A beat passes, then another. Your breath hitches in your throat, and without thinking, you reach over the center console and unlock the passenger door.

“Get in.”

~~~

An hour later you're across from MM in a booth at a diner overlooking the Hudson. He’s got a plate piled high with pancakes, and you watch him shovel them into his mouth with the enthusiasm of a man who hasn't seen food in days. Meanwhile, you nurse your mug of coffee, the warmth washing over your face as the steam rises.

He looks up at you like he’s just remembered you're there. “You sure you don't want any?” he asks, gesturing to the half-eaten stack. His voice is a bit muffled by the pancakes.

“No, I'm fine,” you respond, dryly. The sight of him devouring food like it’s the last meal on Earth doesn’t really amuse you right now.

You sip the last of the hot black liquid before the exhausted looking waitress offers you a refill.

“Sorry,” MM says through the final bites of his pancakes, his voice more apologetic than usual. “I haven’t eaten all day.”

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He rolls his eyes. “Butcher’s got us running circles, following every goddamn CytoGenix van out of their HQ. He’s convinced the vials are being moved somewhere. Hell, I’ve been chasing vans all day.”

He’s exasperated. “Do you know how many goddamn vans leave that place?!”

You can’t help but agree. Butcher's being reckless. This isn't good.

MM continues, his tone darker now. “And it’s not just the vans. He was this close to breaking into your dad’s office before we stopped him.”

The mention of your dad sends a jolt of anxiety straight to your gut. A confrontation between Butcher and your father would not end well, and you’re not sure which side you're more furious with at the moment.

“I followed one of those vans all the way to Albany today,” MM continues, his voice tinged with frustration. “And what did I find? They were just illegally dumping medical waste. You know what that shit smells like?” He pauses, grimacing as he recalls the smell of decomposition. “When I got back, Butcher was losing his mind, ranting about hearing your dad say the vials were in his office.”

You feel a little dizzy. Is Butcher really doing as badly as you? Has his head been as cloudy as yours since you parted ways?

He's not spiraling because he misses you. He's going crazy because he’s losing control over the one thing he could still manage, his best piece of spyware.

MM’s voice pulls you back. “Is there any way you could sneak into the office and get them out? Do you know where your dad would keep them?”

The question hangs in the air, and you’re painfully aware of how little you actually know about your dad's routine. Perhaps if you'd spent more time in his presence, more time nestled under his wing like he'd wanted all along, you would know things like this. Instead you feel like a stranger to everyone you've ever known.

What do you know? You know he's in there all the fucking time. He lives there, for Christ's sake. If you're going to get in there and tear things apart it'll have to wait for a night when he's out and you can bribe the underpaid security to look the other way.

“It's almost the end of the fiscal quarter,” you murmur, already forming a plan in your head. “He’s gonna be working in there day and night for the next couple of weeks. He won’t leave until then. So, we just wait him out until I can sneak in there while he’s gone.”

But MM’s face darkens. He shakes his head, biting his lip. “That ain't gonna work. Vought’s pissed at your dad, and they’re not gonna wait that long. They’re moving the vials to a lab in Russia in a week.”

Your stomach drops. Vought’s lost patience, and it’s worse than you imagined. This is bad. A heavy darkness swirls in your gut.

“W–why can't you guys just intercept it again? Like Butcher and I did with the rest of the vials?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

MM rubs the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “Vought security’s a hell of a lot better than your dad’s. They’re not moving those vials between Manhattan and JFK without someone noticing. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but taking a car off the road is one thing. Trying to take down a fucking plane?” He leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “That’s terrorism, alright?”

You hate to admit it but he's right. Taking down a plane is way out of your wheelhouse. Who do you think you are, Homelander?

MM’s expression turns grim as he leans in further. “Once those vials hit Russia, it’s game over. Vought’s gonna have a lobotomized Supe army, and we’re gonna be fuckin’ cooked.”

Your mind conjures the image of you sneaking into your father's fortress like a cartoon cat burglar, prowling and somersaulting around until you find what you're looking for. A much younger and prettier Indiana Jones expertly replacing the golden idol, only the golden idol is a few test tubes filled with a multi-billion dollar mutation drug.

You'd be caught, surely, probably killed on the spot. But you'd have done it. You would have finally accomplished something to really be proud of, something your mother would be proud of. She would have wanted you to do this. She would have wanted you to fight.

“I'll do it,” your voice is firm and unwavering. You hold MM's gaze. “But not for you guys, and not for Butcher, okay? And not for me, either.” You swallow. “I'm doing this for my mom. And for Robin and Becca and whoever else that's dead because of Vought and never got justice.”

The words are out before you can stop them, and you can feel the weight of them, heavy on your chest. It feels… final.

Maybe it was all leading toward this. Maybe all of the pain and emptiness and anger and apathy was preparing you for this. To undertake a mission only you could, sacrificing yourself for the greater good. You can handle being disowned by your only surviving parent. You can survive criminal charges.

But would they let you survive at all?

MM nods, silent for a moment, but the weight of his stare speaks volumes. He gets it. You can see that much in his eyes.

He's right. Either you do this, accepting whatever consequences may come, or you let Vought win. You think of the two security guards in the van, their cold and unseeing eyes. Your fault. It can't have been for nothing.

“I'll do it this week, on Thursday.” Your voice is clear, resolute. “It's our family dinner. I'll make sure they both drink enough wine to put them out for the night.”

He lets out a sigh. “Just promise me you’ll pick up the damn phone if we call you, yeah? We’ll get you a wire, an earpiece. We’ll be in your ear the whole time, just in case.”

You remember Butcher's voice in your ear, losing his shit when Homelander cornered you. It tripped you up, unfocused your thoughts. The last thing you need for this mission is to be distracted. Whatever happens happens. No safety nets or precautions or contingency plans. You're picking a plan and committing. You don’t want anyone else in danger because of you. It briefly crosses your mind that this must be the mindset of Kamikaze pilots.

I will go down with this ship.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” you say, voice firm. “No wire. No earpiece. No safety nets. I’m doing this alone. I don’t want anyone else dying for this.”

He looks like he wants to argue, but you hold up your hand, cutting him off. “I would be doing this with or without your help, MM. Just let me do it my way.”

He protests a little more, but you stand your ground. You’ll go in, and you’ll deal with the consequences. No one else.

You eventually compromise that you'll let them drive you to the headquarters on Thursdays night and fit you with a wire, but only to gather intel should a standoff occur. You figure that, on the off chance you make it out of there in one piece, you'll need a getaway car. You'll take what you can get.

MM senses that something is different about you now. The anxious abductee he met a few months ago has been replaced by someone colder, jaded. The determination is clear in your eyes. You’re ready for this. Still, he feels the need to comfort you.

“Focus. Don’t rush it. You’ll know what to do when you feel it,” he offers, his voice soft but full of belief. It’s both terrifying and reassuring how much faith he has in you.

Once you iron out the details of the plan you stand to leave, lingering by the booth. For what exactly you're not sure. MM senses this.

“I know you don’t want to see Butcher right now,” he says carefully, his gaze dropping to the table. “But what about the others?”

You raise an eyebrow. He nods toward the window, where a white van is parked under a streetlamp, unnoticed by you until now.

“They’re here?” you exclaim, the excitement catching you off guard.

MM just nods. You jump out of your seat and race toward the van, tossing a crisp fifty onto the table as you go.

The doors of the van swing open, and you’re met with the familiar faces of your friends. Annie, Kimiko, Hughie, and Frenchie pour out, and without thinking, you throw your arms around Annie first. Kimiko follows, wrapping herself around you. Then Hughie and Frenchie pull you into a tight embrace, all of you tangled together.

You close your eyes, committing the moment to memory. For once, you feel right— you feel home.

As the hug breaks apart, you point an accusing finger at them all. “Don’t think I’m not pissed at you guys. You knew my apartment was bugged, and you didn’t say anything.”

Guilt falls across their faces like a shadow.

You decide that it's enough.

“But goddamn did I miss you.”

The guilt fades, replaced by genuine smiles. And just like that, you’re together again.

You all pile into the van, talking plans and strategies.

The plan is risky. The plan has a million ways it could go wrong. But right now, you’re all in.

You'll go to dinner on Thursday like usual and you'll ply your dad with wine until he's three sheets to the wind and dead to the world, leaving him defenceless against your thievery. You'll enter like a shadow in the night, pilfering the vials and stealing away, silent and unnoticed. You'll be revered amongst the Boys, earning their respect and a sincere apology from Butcher.

Okay, the last part may be a little too lofty of a goal.

Frenchie provides you with a lock picking kit, promising to show you how to use it in case the vials are in a safe.

“Do you feel safe going in there?” Hughie asks. “Are you worried about being caught?”

You take a deep breath. “The thought has crossed my mind,” you admit. You'd imagined how you might respond, rehearsing excuses about looking for a file or wanting to talk about logistics at three in the morning.

Ultimately you wave Hughie off, assuring him it'll be fine. He doesn't need to worry about anything, you've got it covered.

Silently, secretly, you do wonder if this might be the last night you spend amongst friends, together like this. Scheming and planning and laughing.

There is a weight on your shoulders, heavy layers like sediment settling in your heart. There's a flavour in the air that tells you something permanent and significant is shifting. Like maybe nothing will be the same again.

As the van starts moving, the weight of what’s ahead presses down on you, but for the first time in a long time, it feels just a little bit lighter.

~~~

You meet with Frenchie a few times so he can teach you how to pick locks. You don't get particularly good, but he figures you'll do just fine. He says something about bringing dynamite just in case, but you're really relying on it not coming to that. It'd be a real shame to damage the mahogany.

Annie runs through basic self defense with you, instructing you on how to punch steadily and dodge attacks. The two of you run through Vought's files on all registered Supes, looking for ones with the ability to liquefy a person. It turns out there are quite a few, but none of them jump up off the page to you, none have any tie back to your family. You put them all in a pile to look through later.

Later.

Later doesn't feel quite real. You ground yourself in every moment with them, suddenly nostalgic for the smell of laundry detergent and the distant din of a dozen dryers shaking in tandem. You're really not trying to jinx the mission and doom it to failure but it's just that there's an inexplicable finality about this. It's like some internal radar is going haywire but you have no idea how to interpret what it's for.

All you know is that whatever happens when you creep into that office is going to change everything.

~~~

It's Wednesday evening. There's a chill in the air that is h characteristically cool for this time of year, promising an early winter. You brace yourself against the whipping wind, pulling your cardigan around your body as you make your way across the lawn of the Lakehouse.

You'd insisted on taking the dinner here instead of at Monica's apartment or at headquarters. You knew there was no chance your father would stay the night at the Lakehouse, not having spent a night here since he became a widower, but you also knew that all his best wines were in the cellar here.

Your consciousness feels unreal, like it's blurred at the edges. You overthink every word you say, the cadence of your forced laughter. The fork and knife in your hand feel foreign as you cut into the braised lamb. You barely taste the rosemary seasoned polenta, everything turning acrid in your mouth. The shadows on your father's face darken as he mumbles about Russian labs undercutting him. Your voice is hollow and far-away when you ask benign questions about quarterly projections.

Other questions cloud your mind.

What will happen tonight? Where will we stand tomorrow? Will you find out who I really am? Will I find out what you really are?

The first bottle of wine goes down quickly, as is customary for the Morgans. You suggest another, not completely out of the ordinary. You swirl your glass around as you feel the edge of reality soften. The second one is finished just as supper is being cleared out. It would be odd to suggest a third bottle without good reason. So you give a good reason.

“Dad, there's something I wanted to talk you you about,” you begin, glass of wine held contemplatingly in your hand. “I've been thinking about it and… you're right. I want to get more serious about the company.”

That's all you really had to say, a pleased grin already spreading across his face. You continue.

“I think I should be the one to take over one day. I should start learning the ropes from you. I was thinking maybe it's time for me to join the board of directors.”

His reaction is only marginally less excited than it would be if you had just announced that Jesus had risen and appointed him president.

He leaps from his seat, surprisingly spry for a man of his age, running around the table to squeeze you. The second bottle of wine clearly hit him like a truck. For a brief moment you wonder why you have to ply him with obedience and alcohol to receive affection.

You tuck that one right back where it came from.

“Another bottle of wine to celebrate?” you suggest. Your father goes to the wine cellar himself, procuring a bottle of red from the year you were born.

Drink up.

As he excitedly rambles in your ear about incentives and managerial styles and investor relationships your eyes wander over to Monica.

Her mouth is set in a straight line, eyes intense and fixed on you. She is absolutely seething. She makes no apologies for her contempt as it practically explodes from her like sparks. Her mouth settles into a flat scowl, eyes narrowed and refusing to tear away.

It occurs to you now, suddenly, that Monica had far more ill will toward you than initially anticipated. You consider her overbearing interest in your wardrobe, her insistence that you dress and behave in bizarrely specific ways. You'd obeyed, desperate for any motherly attention. Only, now your focus has shifted. Instead of misplaced loving concern, you see manipulation, deceit. The ridiculously embellished designer brands were a humiliation ritual, a method for othering you amongst those who might endeavour to befriend you. You recall the way that family dinners had become a dreaded biweekly exercise in condescension and frustration, how a beloved tradition had so quickly soured. Every ounce of anxiety and self-doubt you'd entertained since that woman walked into your life comes to the fore.

Monica had hazed you, and you'd been too blind to see it.

Perhaps she had been aiming higher than you'd thought this whole time. No, she wasn't seeking half of his company once he died and left it to her. She wanted all of it.

You raise a glass to her, warmly toasting her name. You smile wholeheartedly, giddily. To you, Monica.

Her rage can hardly mask itself beneath her plastered joy. She clinks her wine glass against yours and your father.

Don't worry, sweetie, you think. You can have whatever's left after I'm done. After you're the one left on the hook for billions in lost profit.

You try not to falter with her simmering across the table, forcing your smile to stay in place every time your eyes lock with hers. You just need to keep this act up a little longer.

You toast to the future, to lofty goals, to renewed connections. You pitch ideas to your dad that he's just drunk enough to entertain. The personal chef brings out a tray of chocolate truffles, placing them in front of you. You indulge until your fingers are coated in cocoa powder and your stomach feels ready to burst.

It occurs to you that you're treating this like a last meal of sorts, and in many ways it is. An end to something.

To everything.

Taglist

@bluemerakis

@mystic-writings

@imherefordeanandbones

#billy butcher #billy butcher fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #the boys #the boys fanfic #william butcher #billy butcher x reader #karl urban brainrot go brrr #billy butcher the boys #the boys tv #the boys amazon

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the-fabled-void · 1 day ago

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What’s your opinion on Lust Sans? How do you think the creator could have handled hypersexuality better? Because honestly I don’t think it was handled very well -as a hypersexual anon myself.

I can't really say much about hypersexuality as i have no experience with it, and it's been a while since I read the Underlust comic.

One thing I have to say, I don't think NSFWShamecave probably didn't intent to portray SPECIFICALLY hypersexuality? From my understanding at least it doesn't seem like it.

Despite the way monsters behave being similar to hypersexuality, I believe the creator was trying to portray something that they believed was fictional. (The lore reason being the fact that everyone's injected with an aphrodisiac.)

And that's where a lot of the issues come from.

I will have to say, it was a genuine attempt by someone to make something with serious lore out of an AU with origins that are hard to take seriously. I would blame it on age, but I'm just gonna go on a limb and say someone with the username NSFWShamecave was at least 18 back then.

Regardless, it's not a story that's easy to tell. Even with genuine intentions, their story- you can tell it wasn't made by someone who knows their stuff.

Additionally, it seems like a kind of AU where the creator thought 'designs first, lore after'.

Which isn't a bad thing on it's own! It's interesting to already have a point in the story that the characters are at and think "okay, how did they reach it". But the creator didn't execute it well.

There's also the 'love fixes everything' vibes I remember getting with Papyton with what happened to Mettaton.

The AU itself feels kinda puritan, with Frisk needing to show the monsters true love as if they've never had it before. It feels extremely reminiscent of the internet's culture at the time, especially the Undertale fandom. I remember being very active on Wattpad at the time, and I remember on there... It was treated jokingly, but we did call anything sexual 'sin' and shamed people for being into it (12 year olds like I was SHOULDN'T be into it, but still...)

Not to mention... Chara. Obviously the character who was the fandom's genocide scapegoat, who was seem as evil back then, is gonna be made weirdly lustful. Good thing they aged them up, I'm glad this creator didn't try to dive into child hypersexuality (while it does exist, someone with those views on sexuality would not have handled that very well, and they would have received more scrutiny), but giving them the soul trait of Lust? That was probably not the best way of explaining why everyone is horny.

In short:

The main issues are that the creator was portraying a real issue bad because they didn't know it was real, and that the creator wasn't all that experienced in writing stories (and designed most characters other than Mettaton and Frisk without a story for them in mind).

As for Lust Sans himself, I didn't really answer that question specifically very well, did I?

Firstly, he suffers from what most characters in the story do.

Additionally, as a Sans, I'm gonna have to think about him in the context of the multiverse.

His portrayal is what happens when an already not too well executed idea is brought towards a bunch of kids.

Of course there were older people in the fandom, but I say the majority of us were not the intended demographic for the AU.

And kids, especially in today's day and age, are notorious for wanting to seem mature and therefore portray stuff for adults, but at the end of the day, we weren't and we couldn't.

So Lust, in especially the early fandom's eyes, was reduced to "non-consensual flirt bordering on rapist".

I do have my own version of the AU, slightly altered. So far it's just lore from the AU itself instead of individual characters or story. I wasn't really planning on doing much with it, and I made it before voicing my own criticism, so it doesn't really address more than the Chara sexualization. Feel free to read it if you're curious though!

#undertale au #utmv #underlust #lust sans #lusttale #underlust sans #lusttale sans #my asks

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metalheads-trash-bin · 2 days ago

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Bro was watching with their eyes closed if you can truly saying there was no lore or horror.

Im a writer, artist, and creator. I am OBSESSED with horror and lore like elements. Some of my favorite horror movies are Midsommar and Hereditary. I am PICKY about what I like and don’t. But now you get a ramble because you poked the bear.

POPPY PLAYTIME CHAPTER 4 RANT:

Poppy playtime had a lot of factors that were hinted at through trailers and teasers to be significant, for instance with Pianosaurus who had clips of playing notes and attacking you. He had multiple hints and teasers only to end up getting IMMEDIATELY killed as soon as you see him, no notes, no nothing. That was my first serious issue. First character killed off.

Then as you’re playing (Yarnaby was ALSO meant to be significant based on the MANY teasers and clips) Yarnaby is meant to be chasing you around and causing general problems, and he is in some aspects but for the amount of content posted about him you’d think that he’d be as important as Mommy Longlegs. He isn’t’, he chases you a good bit of the game but the most you get lore wise is the fact that he’s been manipulated and groomed by the doctor via notes and recording. Second Character killed off.

As you proceed on you meet Doey, who murks the fuck out of Pianosaurus. Doey had a lot of aspects I liked at first, but they played too intensely into his “wounded soldier” role which makes you feel borderline conditioned to like him. I like the fact that he has some sort of personality disorder which is evident through his emotion blobs inside his monster mouth. I also like how they handled regression vs aggression through his talking points. But his content (the vcrs, the kid clip, notes) were all so violently pointing at him being a bad person that it left little for your own skepticism. Third character killed off.

The doctor should’ve had a lot more lore attached to him as well, i understand why there was a lot of mystery with him but he genuinely didn’t seem like a semi main antagonist and was moreso just another thing to fight. A lot of that has to do with the way the game set itself up, you’re practically fighting back to back to back without any real rest breaks, there’s some forms of wandering and learning but its overall very lackluster. Fourth character killed off.

They killed off FOUR characters in ONE chapter, that goes against so many logically driven game laws. You bring four new characters in and rapid murder them in the same chapter, and a lot of that aspect made it so you couldn’t get emotionally invested into the situation or characters.

Thats just the first segment as to what I disliked. Onto the next.

The lore..ohhh the lore. How you went from something we have barely seen in games to another setup of disappointment. If you know anything about FNAF security breach + Ruin you know where I’m going.

First off, a lot of the VCRS are just dead images this chapter, making you have to sit there and watch in room that have little to interact with as you do so. A way to fix this would’ve been a cassette tape wrist band and cassettes, which is very possible for the prison to have as the area down below is so huge, so people would want to document what they find and see verbally to be written down. Having a cassette wrist band would’ve made it so the character could still wander and also give a better break between chaotic scenes, but instead you were stuck staring at a still image that pertains to a character. It no longer had a fear factor, it was just..there. Alongside this you have all of these toys and characters that are new but no merch for them on the upper levels? Its like they didn’t logistically plan to have the characters they did, as theres a multitude of merch for characters we NEVER SEE. (Daddy longlegs, catbee, stegosaurus, etc.)

Secondly, the creators were bragging on twitter about the amount of lore they dropped and how it’ll give you “a lot to think about”. It doesnt. A majority of what was dropped (for instance Ollie being the prototype) was already rumored as we saw this WITH FNAF RUINS. Fnaf ruins did the mimic route, fnaf in general did the children stuck in mascots route, it also did an evil dude that practically grooms children route. So much of that was already seen, and this chapter focused way too much on that vs the things that are different between them. It was nice to read more about the experimentation process and the fact that they were practically mutants that mixed with kids and toys but that was also rumored. Overall a majority of the lore here was just confirmations.

As for the horror aspect, there genuinely wasn’t one. There’s a HUGE difference between just having gore and bodies everywhere vs genuinely frightening horror. Chapter Three was a masterpiece in this element alongside lore and world building. The way you know youre being stalked, the unsettling scenes and audio, the hallucinations, etc etc. instead of continuing with a more uncanny valley approach they went full on “heres some bodies and guys chasing you” route. Theres bodies everywhere, okay cool. A guy is obviously implied to be crucified which in itself has lore as crucifixion was typically to ask for forgiveness from god, okay cool. But where was the stalking? The seriously traumatic parts? Where was the genuine unsettlingness? It wasnt there, you wandered around helping out characters and getting murked. But you werent SUCKED IN like you were with chapter three, where you felt genuinely stuck and terrified having something follow you around silently, not to mention how graphic the lore and implications were.

It felt messy and jumbled, especially with the world building it was attempting. There was borderline too much and you hung around certain key areas too little, for instance with Safe Haven there genuinely isnt much to do besides look around and proceed. Its in no way interactive and its moreso just a buffer.

The innerworkings of this chapter were very typical, the prison was definitely a surprise but the corruption, abuse, experimentation, etc were not. And the fact that the characters keep saying “this isnt like anything you saw up above” really made you anticipate much more terrifying aspects. Not bodies everywhere. It made the game boring, especially because of all the anticipation the creators gave, saying this was the most adult chapter yet.

There was just..a lot that was disappointing, especially when compared to the previous chapter which had you constantly on edge. I really hope they pick it up a notch in the final chapter, because this was full of false promise. They should’ve continued with the unsettling factor, gore is good but it needs a stable foundation and true meaning. I read all the documents and listened to all the tapes, and the foundation was still very weak and sooo much of it was already thought about or rumored. Everyone knew Ollie was the prototype, everyone knew that they were some sort of living being put into toys, everyone knew that there mustve been some sort of additional assistance to the prototype to keep things going because he is wayyyy too invested in the mc to keep whatever plan he had (which is now known) going.

Another good horror game that got too lazy with its writing.

Next.

#poppys playtime fandom #poppy playtime chapter three #catnap poppy playtime #poppy playtime catnap #poppy playtime chapter four #poppy playtime #poppy playtime spoilers #poppy playtime chapter 3 #poppy playtime chapter 4 spoilers #rant post #mini rant #game criticism #game critique #horror games #world building

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buckats · 2 days ago

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Jason Todd x Fem!Reader.

Note: this is literally my first time posting on Tumblr. I have no ideia what I'm doing, so give me a break. Tysm! :)

Summary: Loving Jason was never easy. He’s temperamental, impulsive, got a short fuse and some serious trust issues. He gets frustrated over the smallest things when they don’t go his way.

You love him. And even though it doesn’t always feel mutual, it never stops you from staying.

Jason knows—deep down, he always has—that he’s not good for you. Never was, never will be. He tries to push you away, but somehow, you always find your way back. Like a magnet. Or maybe he just doesn’t try that hard to keep you away. Because at the end of the day, he’s the one calling when everything falls apart. And it hurts you both.

Part 01.

I slipped my phone into the left pocket of my jeans as I stepped into the abandoned motel Jason had told me to meet him at. The walls were peeling, revealing layers of gray and beige paint that had long lost their battle against time and neglect.

The air carried a damp, metallic scent mixed with mildew and rust. The floor was smooth gray concrete, stained with grease and dried blood. The sound of my boots echoed in the deafening silence.

“Jason?” I called out, my voice bouncing off the walls, but there was no reply.

Old, dusty furniture was scattered haphazardly around the room. The place was a mess. Empty liquor bottles littered the floor, some rolling to the side with the breeze sneaking in through a half-open window.

Jason had told me he was in room 69 on the third floor, so I made my way up the stairs since the elevator was out of order.

As I climbed the narrow staircase leading to the upper floors, faint groans of pain became audible with each step. I quickened my pace.

At the top of the stairs, I found a tall, heavyset man in glasses leaning against the wall, clutching a black medical bag in his hands. He wore a white coat—Jason's personal doctor. Although, Jason never actually let him do his job.

My eyes landed on the yellowed door to his right. The number 69, etched into worn metal, hung crookedly above it.

“Where’s Jason?” I asked.

The man lifted his gaze to me, straightening up and regaining his usual professional posture. He looked nervous, scared, uneasy. Jason must’ve said or done something to rattle him. Probably one of his typical threats like, “Don’t touch me, or I’ll kill you.”

“In the bathroom, ma’am” the doctor replied. “He caught a stray bullet in the shoulder, but he won’t let me treat him.”

I nodded, offering him a soft, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Freddie.” I gave his shoulder a firm pat. “You can head home if you want. I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure? Mr. Todd said the same thing, but I’m not sure if…”

“It’s fine, really” I cut him off, meeting his worried eyes with a sincere look. “I’ll talk to him.”

I knew how stubborn, arrogant, and impossible Jason could be. The look on the doctor’s face told me everything I needed to know. Jason had likely chewed him out for stepping even an inch out of line.

Finally, the man sighed, giving in.

“Thank you.” He genuinely seemed relieved.

Honestly, I never understood why Jason kept him around if he never actually let the poor man help. All Jason ever did was scare the life out of him.

I watched as the man hurried down the stairs, practically fleeing.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I approached the door, stopping just before touching the handle. It was clear I was about to deal with Jason in one of his terrible moods.

I turned the knob to the right and pushed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest. The room before me was surprisingly tidy, considering the motel’s deplorable condition. However, the walls still bore the same wear and tear—peeling and stained, just like everything else downstairs.

The queen-sized bed was positioned at the center of the room, pushed against the wall. The curtains swayed gently every time the wind blew, and the room was dark. The only light came from the moon reflecting against the closed glass window and the soft yellow glow spilling out from the bathroom.

The only real mess was on the bed: an unloaded pistol rested on the edge of the mattress, next to a bloodstained sheet. Dirty gauze was scattered around, evidence of a clumsy attempt at treatment.

Another muffled groan came from the bathroom, the sound thick with pain and frustration. He was clearly struggling with the bullet.

“Jason?” I called out, my voice low but audible in the quiet room. The space seemed to grow even quieter after my words. “I’m here.”

Taking a few hesitant steps forward, I turned to the left and saw him. Jason was standing in the bathroom doorway, shirtless, staring at me with a rigid, intense expression. His eyes burned in stark contrast to his pale face, his jaw clenched as though he were holding back a storm of anger.

I glanced into the bathroom, taking in the complete mess he had made. There was blood on the floor, mostly around the sink, and discarded gauze and dirty bandages scattered everywhere. The yellowish light flickered intermittently, and the walls were just as worn and weathered as the reception area downstairs.

My eyes shifted back to Jason two seconds after quickly scanning the mess inside. Blood dripped from his left shoulder, trailing down to the floor. His tense muscles were covered in scars and bruises—permanent reminders of everything he had endured. A massive purple bruise stretched from his side to below his abdomen, accompanied by deep cuts and lighter scratches scattered across his skin.

His right eye was swollen and blackened, a fresh cut on his lower lip adding to the collection of old scars, while a red scrape ran along the side of his cheek. He looked battered, exhausted—and yet, he still radiated a raw, untamed intensity.

“Jesus, Jason. Are you okay?” My voice came out soft, sweet, and filled with concern.

“Do I look okay to you?” he snapped, his voice low and rough, hitting like a punch.

"How did this happen?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of setting him off.

Jason let out a sharp breath, running a hand down his face, clearly out of patience.

"Does it matter?" His words were clipped, loaded with frustration. "It wasn’t even supposed to happen" he muttered, his jaw tight.

He turned away, and for a moment, my eyes couldn’t help but trace the scars on his back. There weren’t as many as on his chest, but the deep purple bruise starting near his ribs and stretching down past his abdomen wrapped around to his back.

My stomach twisted. Seeing him like this—marked, battered, hurting—it all made sense why he always seemed so tense about being touched.

"Why did you call me?"

Jason didn’t answer right away. His hands gripped the edge of the blood-streaked sink, knuckles white. For a second, he looked lost, staring at his reflection in the cracked mirror—the hardened lines of his face, the heavy eyes, the scars that held stories he’d never tell.

"Help me stitch it up." His voice was low, rough, but still carried that sharp edge that always seemed to cut through everything.

Was that all he wanted? Probably. It didn’t matter, though. I’d help him. But he’d had someone else here earlier—someone who actually knew what they were doing. Even so, Jason always insisted on handling things himself—or, apparently, dragging me into it.

"Okay" I said quietly, not pushing back.

I stepped closer, trying to ignore the weight of the moment and the tension rolling off him like a storm cloud.

"Sit" I told him, nodding toward the closed toilet lid.

His eyes narrowed in irritation, but he obeyed. His movements were stiff, impatient, like even the act of sitting down was a nuisance.

Jason flinched slightly at my touch. His muscles were taut, tense, as if every fiber of his being was on high alert. He seemed uncomfortable, deliberately avoiding my gaze, and it left me uncertain.

Was it because he was half-dressed? Maybe. I wished I could read his mind, but his expression remained neutral, closed off, completely unreadable. Jason had always been that way—hard to decipher, like a book locked tight and hidden away.

Our faces were almost too close. Sitting down, he was nearly at eye level with me, just a few inches shorter. I kept a careful distance, as though any wrong move could shatter the fragile balance between us. I knew Jason hated being touched, and I’d always respected that.

I picked up the needle and thread with steady hands, ignoring the weight of his gaze as it flicked to them.

“May I?” I asked softly, meeting his eyes for a brief moment.

Jason stared at me in silence, as if weighing whether or not to trust me, before giving a curt, slow nod.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I might mess it up and leave an ugly scar” I said, my voice low and almost hesitant.

He scoffed, a short, ironic laugh with no trace of humor.

“It can’t get any worse.”

And he was right. Even if I made a mistake, any mark would blend seamlessly with the others, just another piece of the story his body already told in silence.

"Besides, I'd rather take a risk with you" he added, a slight teasing tone in his voice.

“Sure” I murmured softly, mostly to myself, as I prepared to begin. "Can you pass me the cotton?"

He turned his head, reaching for the sink and grabbing what I needed. Without saying a word, he handed it to me.

I took a deep breath, then started cleaning around the wound where the blood had dried. It looked nasty, and the worst part was still ahead.

Holding the needle carefully, I sighed again, almost as if this would hurt me more than it would hurt him. I pressed the tip to his skin and got to work, threading carefully through the torn flesh.

Jason flinched noticeably at the first stitch. He lowered his head, letting out a low curse under his breath. His fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white, and his palms flushed red.

"I'll clean this mess up when we're done," I muttered, nodding at the blood on the floor, the sink, and everything else.

Jason looked up at me.

"You're not my maid."

"I'm not your girlfriend, either" I shot back. "Not anymore."

He glanced away, like it still got to him. Which is ironic because he's the one who break up with me first.

“Why even bother having a personal doctor if you won’t let him do his job?” I asked, trying to break the tension—or at least get an answer.

“I didn’t ask for him in the first place” he shot back, his voice sharp with irritation. “Bruce hired him. Now I’m stuck with him.”

I chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it.

"Is this his way of apologizing? I thought you two had already settled things" I joked.

The needle pierced his skin again, and Jason exhaled sharply, the muscles in his arm tensing under my fingers. He didn’t immediately complain, but the sound of his teeth grinding was enough to make me hesitate for a second.

“Stay still, it’ll hurt less” I murmured, trying to focus.

“Just get it over with” he grumbled through clenched teeth, impatience clear in his voice.

I ignored his tone and pushed the needle through again, stitching carefully, but he still flinched, letting out a pained grunt that made my shoulders stiffen.

“Fuck!” he growled, his fist slamming into the edge of the sink. “This hurts as fuck!”

“Stay quiet, I’m almost done!” I snapped back.

I knew getting upset would only make things harder. A possible argument was on the horizon, and I didn’t want that. Not again. All I wanted was a little peace with my boyfriend, but the way he acted made it seem like he didn’t want the same. And it hurt, even if I didn’t admit it.

“I’m just trying to help. And you’re the one who asked me for help in the first place!” I added.

“If I’d known it’d be like this, I would’ve just gone with that damn doctor” he shot back, his tone dripping with contempt.

The way he said that made my stomach turn. The casual insults were so childish coming from him, and for some reason, it disgusted me. I mean, he’d always been like that. Even as Robin. But back then, it was lighter, less malicious. Just rebellious teenage stuff. Now it felt like an adult being a jerk for no reason.

“You don’t have to talk like that.”

His gaze lifted to meet mine, and it was like I’d hit a nerve. Or provoked him. I’m not sure which.

“Why? You don’t like it?” he asked, his voice taking on a challenging tone.

“I don’t like people insulting others for no reason” I replied, straightforward and casual. “Especially good people.”

“Yeah? How do you know he’s a good guy? There are plenty of wolves wearing sheep’s clothing out there.”

“He seemed harmless to me” I countered. “And he was trying to help you. Even after you dismissed him so rudely.”

“Of course he was” he retorted, sarcasm thick in his voice. “He’s getting paid to do it. Hell, I’d do it too.”

Well, yeah, he was right. I’m sure Bruce shelled out a hefty amount of money for him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t put so much effort into helping Jason all the time. Or would he? Maybe spending so much time around Bruce has softened me. No one in this damn city does anything out of the goodness of their heart without expecting something in return.

Focused on finishing the last stitches, my hand faltered for just a second when Jason let out another groan. As I moved the needle, my fingers slipped slightly, and the tip pierced deeper into his flesh than it should have.

“Shit!” Jason snarled, suddenly jerking upright, the abrupt movement nearly knocking me over. “What the hell are you doing? That fucking hurts!”

“I’m sorry! It was an accident!” I blurted out, trying to steady myself.

“I’ll do it myself. Fuck.”

Without warning, he shoved me aside. It wasn’t intentional, but it was still forceful enough to make me stumble back a few steps. My chest tightened at the way he treated me, a pang of sadness surfacing only to be replaced by something stronger: anger.

I wasn’t going to let him do this. Not again. I’ve had enough of playing the cat while he insists on being the dog in this. Screw him!

“What is wrong with you, Jason?” My voice came out loud, firm, and full of indignation. "I am here, reaching out to you, despite everything you've done, and you still can't get out of your own way."

Jason turned to face me, fury etched into every line of his face. His eyes burned with an intensity that almost made me back down.

“God! I feel sorry for you!” I spat, my voice laced with contempt and frustration.

Not waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the bathroom.

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” His voice boomed through the room, deep and furious.

In an instant, his large hand gripped my arm tightly, yanking me back toward him. I nearly stumbled into him, my face brushing lightly against his.

“I should’ve turned my back on you ages ago!” I shouted back, my voice trembling, thick with anger and hurt.

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The tension between us felt like a rope about to snap, every breath feeding the fire that was already out of control. The air between us was heavy, charged. I could hear and feel his ragged breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Then, suddenly, something in his face shifted. The hardness melted into something softer. Almost uncertain. Jason closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, his gaze locked onto mine. Calmer now, but still intense.

He released my wrist slowly, his fingers brushing against my skin as they withdrew. I glanced at the red mark he’d left, and it seemed like he noticed it too. His jaw clenched, and he pressed his lips together, as if silently chastising himself.

With a hesitant motion, Jason brought his hands to mine, holding them with a gentleness that starkly contrasted with the moment before. He lowered his gaze, looking almost ashamed.

“I’m sorry” he whispered, his voice rough and low, as though the words were hard for him to say. “I shouldn't have yelled at you. Or freaked out. I had no right to do it.”

"I'm tired, Jason" I whispered, my voice heavy with the exhaustion that seemed to weigh down every word.

Jason raised his hand to my jaw, tilting my head up so I would look at him. His eyes were deep, filled with regret and a frustration aimed at himself.

"I know. I'm sorry" he whispered, resting his forehead against mine, the closeness bringing an unexpected sense of vulnerability.

"You said things would be different. You promised you’d change." The pain in my words was far from subtle.

I was practically sobbing into his chest, holding back every tear that threatened to fall.

"I'm trying" he replied, his voice laden with a quiet sadness.

As if seeking an anchor, I buried my head against his bare chest, silently asking for understanding, for silence, nestling into his warm body. The strong, steady beat of his heart was both a comfort and a torment.

He wrapped his arms around me, his fingers gently brushing the nape of my neck in a soothing motion, tender and careful, as if trying to calm me.

I needed this—his warmth, his comfort. Rare as it was, it felt like a lifeline, a fleeting solace in the storm.

“Loving you is really hard.”

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, still and silent, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath, his fingers gently stroking my hair as I kept my face buried against his chest. Every movement of his fingers was so delicate, it seemed to contradict the constant chaos he carried inside.

Had I hurt him? Did he feel offended?

His voice broke the silence, rough, deep, and low, like a whisper: “I know.”

Want more? Go on my AO3 account! I'll post the entire fanfic there! ✍🏻

#jason todd #red hood #female reader #jason todd x fem!reader #dc comics #dc universe #arkham knight #eventual smut

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frozenjokes · 2 days ago

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the devil fosters kittens and hires exorbitantly expensive prostitution

ao3 link - this fic is rated mature on ao3. please mind the ao3 tags

Grian stood hunched over the door knob, grip tight enough to crack the handle, shaking, veins bulging. This couldn’t be happening. This could not be happening. Left alone for months- Why now?

Mumbo’s fingers were curled over Grian’s shoulder, grabbing him, shaking him, he was speaking, yelling, but it was long before the words came into focus.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? Grian!”

Did he see it? Did Mumbo understand when Grian turned his head, looked up, did he know Grian’s fear? Had he ever seen Grian this way, petrified, moved to action by fear deeper than instinct, locked in horrible, hopeless infatuation. Grian could not name the feeling; to say romantic felt shallow, not enough, his obsession rooted further in Mumbo’s potential, his creativity, his prowess, the unrelenting love he had to give for the world in which they lived; did no one understand just how much was at stake here? Devastating could not scratch the surface of this loss, Grian could not let Mumbo be surrendered to his heritage, not when it was so clear that every person touched by Mumbo’s light was better for it.

Grian was better for it. Mumbo made him better.

“I’m afraid,” he said, and of course it was true. Because this was a battle Grian was not sure he could win. For all his willpower, he could not make Mumbo reject the call to blood. For all his longing to cover Mumbo’s eyes, take it all away, and bear it himself, this was not Grian’s burden to carry. Mumbo had to make the choice. No amount of setting him up for success could save him from the wrong path.

Grian did not want to kill him. He didn’t believe Mumbo was beyond saving, not yet, but he- he wouldn’t let Mumbo become a puppet, either. If anyone was going to snuff the light, there would be no unnecessary pain. Mumbo was a good man, and that legacy would be preserved.

“I- I know you don’t like the assassination business coming home, Grian,” Mumbo tried, and he was really trying, his own frustrations aside. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to come home to that, but it really wasn’t what it looked like. Cub wasn’t- I was trying to make him leave, I didn’t want him here either, and I promise I have no idea how he found our address, but he was- I don’t know, intoxicated? He was saying all sorts of crazy shit, he was really distressed, and I think I offended him and I couldn’t just send him away. I.. Maybe I should have done it anyway. I kind of panicked. He was genuinely hurt, I think so at least. He asked me to cut his hair and I- I panicked, like I said I just.. did it. I still don’t really know what he wanted, but he wasn’t here to hurt me or you. I really believe that.”

Grian didn’t believe it. He didn’t believe it for a second, not when Cub’s will was tied intrinsically to Scar’s, whether Cub was aware of it or not. Cub was a victim, but not anyone that could be saved, not anymore. The fact that he was here at all was- it was-

But Mumbo didn’t know. There was no way he could have known, and maybe the worst part was that Mumbo was only acting so unapologetically himself, Grian had nothing to blame him for. He took in a stranger. Cut his hair.

If this had not been an act, if a victim was still in there, then this was just another life Mumbo had touched, a life far more unfortunate than his own.

“I’m sorry,” Grian breathed, air coming scarce from his lungs, “I didn’t know. You did a good thing.”

Mumbo released a long breath, one Grian suspected he’d been holding in the lengthy pause between his own words and Grian’s answer. “Is he still there?”

Grian tensed, hand sweating on the handle, but after a few moments hesitation he pulled the door back regardless, just a crack. No one was there. He did not have to report; Mumbo saw it too. Grian closed the door.

“There’s something else I need to tell you. To explain this. I should have told you a lot sooner, but you were really hurt, and the amnesia was so bad for weeks, even with treatment and I-“

“Grian, what is it?” Mumbo’s brow was tight, and Grian pursed his lips in recognition.

“There was another man at the hospital, he came to pick Cub up, insisted he introduce himself to you, do you remember? It’s alright if you don’t.”

Mumbo thought for a moment, but seemed to recognize quickly there was no point. “I don’t really remember anything until a few weeks later.”

“I know,” Grian mumbled, if for no other reason but to acknowledge. Those were.. a really frightening first few days, better in the following weeks, but even now, Mumbo still struggled with his short term memory, and it’s likely he’d carry that for the rest of his life. It hurt, fuck it hurt, that Grian couldn’t prevent an injury so severe so young. It wasn’t fair, not fair to Mumbo, but it took all of Grian’s strength just to keep Mumbo from chasing this horrific assassin fixation. At least five concussions put a stop to that.. for now.

“Well, when I was waiting for you, the man who came for Cub was next to me, and apparently Cub had texted him, told him everything, and he was- I don’t even know if he was angry, but he must have a part in the hits Cub is assigned, because he kept threatening me, threatening you, and I was afraid to move, I thought he might just shoot me right there, I don’t know, I was so scared and he was so quiet, I couldn’t do anything. It’s been such a long time, I just assumed things had blown over, but.. I just freaked out, seeing Cub. I’m still- I’m really freaking out, Mumbo.”

Mumbo blinked a few times in rapid succession, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, fuck. Oh my god, Grian, you should have told me- I’m not mad, I- of course not-“ Mumbo stopped, pulling Grian away from the door and into a firm hug. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know. You did a good thing, Mumbo.”

“I’ll keep a better eye. I promise. I didn’t.. I’m sorry you got dragged into this. I wish- I wanted this to be separate, but I know that’s.. stupid.”

A heavy sadness weighed on Grian’s chest, and he pushed his head into Mumbo’s shoulder, zeroing his focus on his friend’s still-beating heart. “You were upfront with me. I knew what I was getting into.” And he did. God, Mumbo had no idea the extent of it.

“I know,” Mumbo mumbled, resting his chin on Grian’s head. “Guess I just want it all.”

“We’ll get through it, Mumbo. We’ll make it through.” Grian hoped he managed to push an ounce of confidence through, though no facade could keep himself from wavering. Really, he wasn’t fooling anyone. Mumbo knew Grian’s misery as well as his own.

///

Cub thought the couch was a good addition to the cat room in the clownvent; sure, all the fostered kittens were just going to destroy it, but now Cub could experience his depression spiral in new and improved comfort, while Scar went about seeing how many four week old kittens he could stack on Cub’s back. Previous record was twelve, and Scar had set himself up for success by feeding the little bastards before putting them to bed on top of Cub, really coaxing them into sleep after a nice meal. So far, Scar had managed nine; there were fourteen current fosters at the clownvent, so the record was well within reach.

Scar crossed his legs, readjusting the kitten he was bottle feeding in his lap. It didn’t seem to mind at all, much more focused on the bottle it was affixed to and kneading into Scar’s pants.

“You know, the orphans at this age can be such a pain in the ass, especially when there’s this many, but when they’re all grown up, I find myself missing it, you know? I mean look at their itty bitty ears, Cub, they’re so damn cute I just can’t even stand it. Even when it’s the middle of the night and I have a bottle-baby shift and I’m ready to end it all. Good thing Skizz has a thing for clowns, or I think we’d all give up taking in the little ones who can’t eat yet. It gets to you! These little cretins have been a delight though, a delight. Are you sure you don’t want to feed the next one? It’s healing, it really is. You don’t even need two hands, they just sit here like angels!”

“No thanks,” Cub mumbled, turning back to lay face down into the pillow. He kinda wanted to roll over, but then Scar would lose progress on his stacking endeavors. And suddenly, like a divine reminder floating down from the heavens, Cub remembered he did not care.

Scar’s screech was immaculate, the kitten avalanche even better, all nine of them tumbling off him with startled mews and flailing paws. He felt the pinpricks of a set of claws through his shirt, and leaned back to grab it, pulling the startled kitten back into the cave of his body against the back couch cushions. It squirmed a little, alarmed, but by now these things had been manhandled to hell and back, and being scooped up by massive human paws was just a matter of life. It settled on Cub’s new cast, purring.

“Cuuuub! What have you done! They were sound asleep, you monster!”

“So sad..”

“You act like you have no control over yourself! Oohhhh you’re lucky I’ve got a kitten in my lap right now or I’d really be angry. This little monster is having the best meal of his life, and I will not take that away from him.”

“Capital punishment for whoever shat all over the wall. This is what they get.”

“Noooo! You didn’t even have to clean that up, you don’t get a say. I only sent you that picture because I have no idea how they managed it, I’m imagining kitten handstands and diarrhea explosions. They have done nothing wrong.”

“I have a fundamental problem with any shit from any creature being smeared on a perfectly good wall.”

“Well I have a fundamental problem with you!”

“Ditto.”

Scar paused, quiet enough that Cub could hear the kitten in his lap sucking the last dregs of milk from its bottle. “You don’t really mean that though, do you?”

Cub rolled his eyes. “With you being what you are, I never wouldn’t have guessed you to be sensitive.”

“Well I’m just saying, you having a fundamental problem with me would basically be the same as you having a fundamental problem with yourself, so.. checkmate!” Scar released the kitten he was feeding in favor for the next in line, and only noticed Cub craning his neck to Look at him belatedly. Scar’s whole expression dropped, a clear sign he’d gotten the memo, so Cub turned back around.

“Noooo! Cub! Noooooooo!” Suddenly there were a lot more kittens being piled on Cub’s side, crawling all over the place, which, to Scar’s credit, was mildly delightful. “Cub, you’ve always had this grand capacity to care about other people, and it’s a lovely look on you, really, but it makes you so, so sad!”

Cub felt Scar’s hand on his shoulder, and the touch was not unwelcome, but sometimes Cub wondered if this was only a result of their connection. Would he still crave Scar so wholly if he had never descended those stairs?

“It’s a curse, isn’t it. To be human. I wish I could take it away from you, but that’s life, isn’t it.. It’s been a rough couple months, I know, but my hope is that it’ll only be a few more before you’re raring to go again, right? I mean, retirement is an option as well, and maybe you’d thrive away from the action, but in my experience.. Well, you all don’t do so well. Try as I might, humans are just so temporary. I’d just hate to lose you like this. Maybe I’m speaking too soon- concussions are just nasty business! I’ve seen far too many never bounce back. You’ve got alright resistance to going stir crazy though, you might be alright.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me.” Cub couldn’t help but interrupt before he went on and on, he didn’t care, and he didn’t need Scar pretending he did either. “Why- I want to know what you are. What you’re doing here, where you come from. I want to go there.”

Scar was quiet, and Cub could feel the gears in his mind churning, wondering just how many times he could dance around this topic before he finally answered the damn questions.

“I don’t understand your fixation on specific, concrete, concepts. It’s a human impulse, I understand, but you have no need to hold on to it. You have blood to drink and skin to tear, your most important needs are met.”

“Where do you come from?”

“This has always been my home.”

“What are you!?”

Over Cub’s shoulder, he saw the shadow of a cocked head, “I’m Scar.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I’ve always been Scar. I don’t know what else to say. There are other scars, I know that to be true, but they are not me. A symptom of life.”

“If you actually cared, then why’d you let me break myself when you knew I’d escape. I hurt myself, when you could have just told me you wanted me to go to Mumbo’s fucking house and I would have done it. For you. Instead you fucked with my head. You made me go under the guise I had a choice.”

“Ah.” Scar considered Cub for a long moment, eyes boring into his back. Cub said nothing, only curling tighter around his kitten. “Well, I didn’t want you to gallivant off on my behalf. I wanted you to go on yours. It’s no fun being a puppet master, Cub, and you’re not a goon. I can be a guiding thought, but I don’t control where you go with it. Part of the appeal is watching what happens. So no, I did not know you would break your wrist to slip the chain. But I didn’t reinforce the locks on the door. And I did hope you’d act. I did not have to steer you very far, if it’s any reassurance. Just a few nights in your head, and your subconscious did the rest. You may have even gotten there alone with time, but I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you? Besides, the worst of this break should heal in line with your concussions, you haven’t been set back.”

Scar did not hide himself, he never did, not even when Cub was waiting for him to deny what he’d done, poised to snap on his silver tongue and rip it clean off. Scar did not feel shame, or at the very least, Cub didn’t think so. He had less of a semblance of right and wrong and more of a feel for whether or not the thing he was planning on doing was going to piss all his friends off, which, had no impact on Scar’s decision making, only how he reacted to the clapback.

It still. Hurt. Somehow, after eight years of this, it still hurt.

“What’s your endgame. With Mumbo. How do you get your way.”

Scar readjusted, the chair creaking as he leaned back. As far as Scar was concerned, Cub’s outburst was over. The resistance was dealt with. Maybe he was right, too; it’s not like Cub was going to act against him, even now. Especially now.

Scar answered civilly.

“Mumbo is more put together than most. His anchor keeps a short leash, but that’s not necessarily the worst case. Mumbo is deprived. He takes what he wants despite outside influence, which is very good, but whatever charm is keeping him shackled is the biggest problem. That’s not an easy spell to upkeep mind you, and that Grian is weak. He’s tired. Doubt I’d even have to kill the body to break it, I can’t see how Grian has enough energy to maintain himself and control Mumbo as it is- but I don’t want to.”

Scar paused, waiting for input, validation. Cub gave him nothing.

“I want Mumbo to do it! Obviously! I want them both in the ring, and I want Mumbo to rip Grian’s head off his shoulders.” Scar sighed, long and forlorn, “Fuck, he’d have to really snap though, wouldn’t he. I mean, I could push anyone to the brink of madness and let them topple off the edge themselves, but I don’t know if I’m looking to house a berserker right now. Lately, I’ve really been enjoying the company of friends! But I’m not married to any happy ending. Personally, I’d fly to the sun and back to get my claws in that prude. We’ll see.”

“Maybe I want your claws in me instead.” Cub couldn’t help but lift his head, Scar’s eyes meeting his, piercing and smug.

“Can’t stand to hear me yapping so much about anyone else, hm? I see you.”

“You owe me this.”

Scar snorted a short laugh, lurching forward in the next movement, grabbing Cub’s cheek and chin and wrenching his neck painfully to one side. “Someone’s getting a little ahead of himself, isn’t he. I own you. Now I’m going to finish up with these cats, and we can get a move on.”

///

The water was beautiful and endless, dark and blue and infinitely peaceful. Sometimes Grian saw coral reefs, endless fish and color, sometimes he saw orcas or dolphins, sometimes he swam with penguins, blinded by schools of silver fish. He never felt scared here, even when his movements were sluggish, or he couldn’t quite see. He remembered being frustrated, absolutely, but never scared.

It was a little disconcerting when with each passing breath, Grian took in less air. It wasn’t quite noticeable at first, but there was a point where his lungs just weren’t quite full, where the oxygen wasn’t being stolen, just crushed away, little by little. Grian had never drowned before. He pondered that as he floated here, suspended in endless blue. He didn’t particularly want to. He still wasn’t afraid.

Not until he opened his mouth, and the water forced its way in.

Grian gagged, jerking violently into its force when he couldn’t go backward, he couldn’t escape, his eyes shot open, face to face with a looming, dark silhouette. Grian coughed and hacked as the force withdrew, he could have thrown up and wouldn’t have known, spittle and drool coating the hand that clamped over his mouth.

“Shh, shhh, you’re fine. You’re fine, you’re fine, Gri, take a moment won’t you? Breathe. Just breathe.”

Grian tried to scream, but the pressure on his chest was too much, the grip over his mouth too tight. He thrashed, and was not nearly strong enough. Too tired, too disoriented, too weak. This was it. Everything he’d worked for; over.

“Maybe this was my fault..” Scar mused, Grian recognized the thing above him now, his terror only multiplying, “I was just trying to see if I could spot you down there, y’know, I’ve never seen one of you inside your host until I cut you open, and, well, there’s only so many holes you could be hiding! Please calm down, you’re hurting my feelings.”

He hated the whimper that ripped through his sore throat, as well as the pain that followed. Scar’s shape was coming into clearer form as Grian’s eyes adjusted to the dark, strong, calm, and unworried. Mumbo was sleeping in the room across the hall. Had he heard? Grian wished he was here, he needed someone, anyone to take this away. Scar did not move. He never looked away, his attention wholly captured by Grian’s utter terror.

“Can I trust you to be quiet, now? I’d like to let you go, but I don’t want anyone walking in on us, right? You don’t need Mumbo to run to your aid, only for him to find an empty room. Gosh, he’d think you’re crazy!” Scar let him sit with that for a moment, then loosened his grip, a test, before letting Grian’s face go completely.

Grian wiped his mouth. Scar smiled, hard to see, but there, perfectly innocent. How was it he managed to look so kind?

“You are not welcome in this house. You- You stay away. There is nothing for you here.”

“You know, I just don’t agree!” Scar mused, his exclamation whispered. He rocked on Grian’s chest, but stopped when Grian wheezed, as if that had been unintentional. “Such a big bark for someone your size. Does it make you feel better? Like you have more control?”

“I know what you want. Taunt me all you like, but I won’t just roll over and let you take it.”

“I’d hope not!” Scar unfolded his legs, nearly kicking Grian in the face as he rolled off his chest, settling instead beside him and stretching in an exaggerated yawn. “But I think I could really surprise you, y’know. I don’t want you to be so scared, not when we’re just talking, hanging out. I’ve had a thousand Mumbos over my time, and I’ll have a thousand more. You, on the other hand.. Now if we’re talking about things I want..”

“I have terms. What are yours.”

Scar blinked, sitting up as if Grian had zapped him. “What? Seriously?”

“What are your terms.” Grian lurched up, throwing his weight over Scar to straddle his stomach, and pushing the rest of him back down.

“Oh my,” Scar wouldn’t stop blinking, like he wasn’t certain the man above him was real. “You know, this is not what I was talking about, but I’m not uninterested,” Scar hummed, his fingers beginning to trail Grian’s thighs until he slapped them away.

“Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Scar shrank away, but Grian did not miss the small, astonished smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Since you’re so unwilling to tell me what you want, here’s what I’m after. You leave us alone. Forever. And you can have me any way you like. Any time you like, but never here.”

“My, my, you’re expensive, aren’t you? From where I’m sitting, it looks like you want me far too much to be making those high demands.”

Grian scoffed, and he might’ve spat in Scar’s face if he wasn’t so sure Scar would like it, “Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than imagining you waddling home with blue balls and your tail between your legs, rest assured, I’d see more stars than anyone else could punch out of me.”

Scar closed his eyes, relaxing against Grian’s bed with his chin ever so slightly inclined, “You’re not what I expected.”

“Can’t say I feel any differently. You can fidget all you want, I’ll only think you more desperate. Do you really get so little?”

“Not much like you.”

“Then let’s make this exchange final, why don’t we?”

Scar rolled his shoulders, eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a month. No Scar, no anything.”

“A year.”

“Two months.”

“Six months is my final offer; suggest anything else, and I’ll leave you where you’re sat.”

“You drive a devilish bargain.”

“I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you.”

“Go on, then. Just like this. But for six months I don’t expect this to be the only time I’ll be seeing you.”

Grian grabbed Scar’s face, fingers landing hard like a slap, thumb curling around his chin. Grian imagined it sinking inside, just as Scar had done to him, and ripping off his entire jaw. “Be good, and I’ll come find you.”

“I expect you’ll have me screaming.”

“With Mumbo in the next room over, you’d better not.”

“You sure he wouldn’t like to watch?”

“Shut up.” Grian wrenched Scar’s head to the side, his fantasies swirling visions of Scar limp, neck broken and bruised. “You won’t speak unless you’re prompted, and any noise you make will be choked out of you, understand?”

“Please.”

Grian withdrew his hand from Scar’s face only to rid himself of his own shirt, but he quite enjoyed the marks left by his nails. Here’s to many more.

#hermitcraft #hermitfic #hermitshipping #hermitcraft fic #grian #gtws #cubfan135 #mumbo jumbo #cumsassins au #convex #secret third thing grumbo #scarian #waffle duo

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