#if I had to put it in a certain physical aspect I would say it's the eye shape????

[notachair]

I think... this puts to word some of what I felt was kinda of with how handled things. Some anyway. I've been trying to articulate what feels... off. It's rough so bear with me trying to untangle more of it... and I'm so sorry but this is a wall... on your post... tell me if you want me to make my own and just link to this instead.

When it comes to Jayce's little speech there's this line, as an example...

And what got me immediately here is... when have we really been shown that to be true, to "always" be true? I felt like this was an assumption put onto Viktor by the writers. Internalized ableism is a bitch, but I think they're doing a lot here with the implication of "always". Disabled folks all have our own journeys with it, but I don't think moments of falling prey to it- is something that should define his whole historic relationship to his disability. (Also one's allowed to vent about one's experiences with one's disability and the realities of how one's met with in the world, without it being taken as a diminishing of one's own worth.) And as you say, none of that really address the whys of the structural aspects affecting him both physically and mentally. Like (in regards to the internalized ableism) what is it that is constantly trying to make those shards of pain and inadequacy they'd put in him- to expand and consume, despite whatever fight he'd put up against it on either the internal or external front? And then there's also the difference between wanting to manage one's disability and... you know, hoping to cure one's *terminal* illness in fear of death's face.

I won't deny other disabled people feeling any comfort in those words. I do think there's something delicate and meaningful in having someone care for you and remind you of your worth when those shards, unwittingly or not, have spread and festered a wound in your self perception, because people keep saying it should be there and trying to create it if it's not. It's not that it can't be or isn't impactful, but... was that it? The big message? In combination with everything else, it felt more... preachy? And to a certain degree patronizing? The issue is that I felt *talked at* from someone's able-bodied* perspective. *Yes, even if Jayce no longer is non-disabled himself, that current commonality isn't emphasized, and even so- disabilities and disabled experiences aren't 1 = 1 (this applies to me too), never mind the *terminal* aspect, his leg's also an acquired disability.

Okay so what only ever Jayce apparently managed to have Viktor see, was essentially: "only you can show me that perfection perceived is not something worth seeking- an empty reward. There's beauty in imperfections", or something right? And his mode of attack was... that. Idk I am left unimpressed. I understand the point of putting value on perceived "imperfections", and that Viktor (could... actually... I had a whole section on internalized ableism I removed lol. But.)... that his disabilities could be and was perceived as "imperfections" within his new framework (btw, I saw him using the hexcore on his bad leg as a means to test out his chances for curing his terminal illness- 🤔 not really as a "I kinda just really wanted to cure my leg idk", and it would make for the most obvious results if it worked without messing with the vital organs of his torso, though he was only allowed to keep it for so long by that hexcore). But also, the philosophy he presents was more about than just his own disability or actual terminal illness (!!), it's about a flawed perspective on the general human condition, put to the extreme after Viktor became increasingly isolated (despite being surrounded by people mind and body, "we are one") and grew further detached, partly to the nature of his new existence* (*thoughts to be had here though, and also, whatever happened to the build up and clarification of to whatever degree the hexcore itself influenced him?).

Motive: on his desire to help others, emotionality.

A core part of Viktor's character is his desire to help and aid people, particularly those of the Undercity, and with Jayce it becomes about helping people through the science of hextech (a renewable and non-exhaustive energy source, I think there's a Point there) (tho I've gotta say... their presented products in S1Act2... can't say it's impossible for geniuses to be kinda dumb, it wasn't what I expected anyhow lmao). Act 3 Viktor, post-"imperfections of emotions and individual agency leads to pain and strife, as the other inextricably bound side of the coin = humanity's self-corrupting contradiction" conclusion, basically ended up out there trying to calculate himself to solving human suffering on an evolutionary level (truly Singed's apprentice that way), which was just eugenics in the end.

Even if that point of validation, of acceptance, is nice, especially when previously thought something forsaken to you... and despite what some would previously read/portray him within fandom- he DOES care about the interpersonal, like there's a reason he clings onto that goddamn tattered blanket 😭 And he continues to make a point of wanting Jayce by his side again in both act 2 and 3. But I still feel like it misses the "point" when the majority of the focus ends up on "you're doing this because of internalized ableism but I'm telling you that you matter actually, to me". I feel like it simplifies a lot to draw such conclusions of the matter, and make that the most effective point of "attack". I mean- seeing himself and what he was about to make the world into- kinda did after the mask broke a bit. But- other than Viktor's lines of "why do you persist? After everything I've done?", the "you were never broken" ends up defining this important built up scene. And I dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues involved, and basically works as a good-feel band-aid. I dislike the way Viktor's character motivation feels reduced to that point, with that "always" in particular, as well as the "only you" when that was the conviction made. Combating ableism 101.

Like I get he's attacking the personal projections that could drive the conviction, but he sorta kinda didn't hit all the marks there. Uh- not to say that I don't know he's just being sincere here as well, in expressing his care and love for Viktor. But I feel like it works as a deflection that shouldn't have been entirely effective on its own (yes the future-vision, but it's not emphasized in a way I'd like), story-wise anyway. I thought maybe they'd emphasize more on the emotional part, of his overall self-perception and of Viktor hurting (and not just in the "internalized ableism" way) despite however unaffected he might or might not seem (def not all gone). I can see Viktor in his state of upset and alienation of his body (and mind?)... see that hurt (grown from affection) as something, on a personal level, that holds or has held him back from actually follow up on those dreams of helping people (which become *that* in result). And with the access to the power that he has... conveniently think to attempt ridding himself of it, distancing himself, rather than process it. There's a certain... distancing happening just from that nature of having access to the experiences of so many people too, through that hivemind even if it's the most intimate thing as well and would stir a lot of emotion within him. And then there's him getting offed by Jayce in act 2 where he has his whole "two sides of the same coin" moment, and in the end, seeing "the glorious revolution" as a final calculated solution to strife (and- perhaps his own internal strife). There's something too to that "the line" sequence after being rejected in episode 8. But yea, there is a point here that could have been made in terms of valuing "imperfections" of the human condition, but it's... not really being made? "They're part of everything that makes you you, and everything that I admired about you" (paraphrasing), sure, but what about some emphasis on other things idk. He's more than that and all that, but I feel like they ironically made everything about his disabilities instead, and I'm dreading the state of readings and depictions🧍

(Btw on that note of "part of what makes you you", I did like that even the herald still had his braces and ect. fused to his body, and even glowing up in the astral plane. I liked that the ones that were "cured", was not left unmarked by the change. Of note- a lot of those people seemed to have had similar conditions to Viktor, in the sense that they affected the limbs. Pretty sure that one kid who led Jayce was the kid in a wheelchair beside Ekko in ep 7 when watching Heimerdinger's performance)

Also, I would... have liked... more of him taking a side with the Undercity though... and agency, non-agency, death, transformation…go rage some my guy 🔥

Motive: on Piltover / Zaun, the structural.

So on another point... a very important aspect here for Viktor IS that initial dream of theirs WITH the sociopolitical circumstances. Before all of the cult stuff, the main tension between Jayce and Viktor is the matter of the Undercity and how they're dealing with the hextech (I've kinda wanted to make a post about it). And similarly with catvi and the story otherwise, that element does not get as acknowledged, and it suffers for it. Their dynamic and history is not removed from its sociopolitical context. And there... is something to that shard of insecurity impacting him more than he'd thought. But what it comes back to- is the structural injustices he has been faced with both as disabled and a Zaunite/someone of the Undercity. Like his terminal illness was literally fucking because of the damn injustices Piltover inflicted upon them, majorly didn't care to fix and would punish people for protesting. And as I said, their common initial dream, was essentially about helping people through the science of hextech, like- people of the Undercity. Something which they failed to follow up on, and then Viktor was dying, accidentally involved Sky in his own risky business that resulted in her death and him getting suicidal, then- died from Jinx's attack- frankensteined in violation of his agency (!!!)- and then Viktor leaves Jayce *after seeing the hextech weapons plans* (double betrayal). And there really is something to Sky's significance here... But yea, Viktor leaves with a totem to those hopeful dreams, in order to try to help or aid people of the Undercity with the new abilities he had. Like he's not wrong for wanting to do that, I get why he'd just up and leave. His philosophy about things resulting into the idea of a "glorious evolution" to solve human strife and the details of those transformation do essentially just become eugenics in the end though (btw, whatever was their choices with "all those willing" to forceful turning...?).

I think there are ways they could have explored further nuances around all of this, but like with the other things, the journey was cut short and simplified. In a sense I'm glad he had more agency than people were speculating, but at the same time... And I think there is a Choice done in making Viktor's "glorious evolution" the bigger bad (together with Ambessa and whatever she was doing all of that for), AND that it served as a way to override majorly every other conflict by presenting a bigger bad for Zaun and Piltover to "unite against a common enemy" for. If they'd emphasized more on him being a reaction to those injustices, with a hexcore boost, to Piltover's structural injustices against the Undercity (which includes that social model of disability), then maybe it could work more. AND with it having a presence in the Viktor-Jayce confrontation/resolution. But it's more "both sides"-ing the issue, with its favour in Piltover's hands despite it all. And like- "I dreamt about giving magic to the people-" yes, but what was the reason why? I'll give him points for the "now" in "now I only want my partner back" anyhow. Idk, I don't see the disregard of the implicit "wanting to help people" part as a win. Though it's presented through the emphasis of "magic" which has been demonstrated as... sinister to a degree, but also... not? Potentially. But the magic was never THE issue.

Even on just the interpersonal level between the too (which it's not restricted to at all)- I, again, dislike this focus that completely overrides the structural issues, and works as a good-feel band-aid. It needs to extend further, and sure it does in a sense on the individual basis with his choice to stay with Viktor even when he gave him an out. But as an important message moment? It doesn't demonstrate enough to extend outside of it, because we don't see it applied in different contexts, like properly addressing his whys. And with Viktor's one line of "why do you persist? after everything I've done" "because I promised you"... it's not that what Viktor did and was about to do wasn't Fucked Up (and he was having a lot of guilt about accidentally having Sky killed, I can see him getting fixated on trying to "make up for" it somewhat after being brought back to life in his alienated body, and in a sense uh... overcompensating), but idk.. I wish there was something that extended Jayce's way too? That addressed those points of tension in their history? I am not a Jayce-hater, but I don't think he's an uncritical "hero" here. Viktor ends up having little voice at this level despite his speeches (we barely hear him talk after the mask fractured some). And the matter of his forceful transformation, is not really brought up other than potentially with "this chain of events, started with you" in that one council room confrontation. "I never asked for this!"- neither did he <3<3<3. Anyway.

THERE IS SO MUCH TO SAY. But I gotta round it up eventually, so I've cutting off all my other things that found its place on this reblog while I've had it in the drafts.

Agency, disability, biomechanics and transhumanism is a TOPIC though. A topic with many fine lines.

Thank you so much for incredible disability representation!! Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess it's okay that there's no acknowledgement of the social model of disability... Oh, our character's feelings about his body and the treatment he faced aren't really discussed in detail? I guess that's alright. 'You were never broken... there's beauty in imperfection... they made you who you are'? That could be appropriate given context, yeah! Oh, no? Not addressing his pain or the discrimination against him or the fact his disabling factors were preventable?

No acknowledgement of how the world should be made better and safer for people who actually have disabilities? Only a message of 'disabilities don't make you inherently broken' that feels aimed at abled folks? ...Okay.

Anyway... thank you for the incredible disability representation.

[gayspacemonk]

brazilians have spidey sense for other brazilians btw

[purplecoffee13]

NFWMB - part 4

Summary: “Y/N and Harry both attend Sophie’s party, and it doesn’t exactly pan out how Y/N thought it would.”

Wc: 5.6k

Tropes: boxer!harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: physical violence, verbal threats, angst, mention of SA, fluff, jealousy.

A/N: tell a friend to tell a friend… SHE’S BAAACCCKKK!!!! Hi guys, thank you for being so patient. I was literally unable to write for weeks and they were the worst weeks of my life, but I’m finally doing better and my creative juices are flowing! Pray with me that it’ll last🙏

Also THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD sorry I was just too excited to get this out🤭😋

P.S. I recommend you listen to ‘Ice Cream Man’ by RAYE. Not only does it apply to the sorry (warning: SA) but RAYE is also an incredible artist!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N had never observed herself in the mirror for this long. She was certain that at one point she was going to start to look disfigured to herself, but she just needed to make sure that everything was right.

During her childhood, and especially her adolescent years, Y/N had always been told not to be too vain, but to always look good. There were contradictory balances that she's had to sit in the middle of for as long as she could remember, and she was good at it, until tonight.

For some reason, this burgundy dress she was wearing had to be matched perfectly with her shoes, bag and make-up, and right now she was absolutely sure that it didn't.

Instead of throwing her blow dryer at the mirror like she wanted to, Y/N took a deep breath and closed her eyes, hoping her mind would occupy her with a distraction good enough to give a refreshed perspective when she'd open her eyes again. Of course it was him that flashed through her mind the second her eyelids fluttered shut. She should not have been surprised, because wasn't that what this was all about?

Y/N hadn't been able to stop thinking about Harry since... well, actually she couldn't exactly remember since when because that's how long he's been floating around her head for. Seeing him multiple times a week wasn't helping much either, it gave her new material to think about whenever she had a second to spare. It was like a disease, spreading through her entire body, except she didn't mind and the symptoms made her feel more alive than ever.

Just the sole touch of fingers on her waist, or shoulders was worth replaying a million times in her head, as were all the times he'd say something that could even remotely be said in another, less appropriate context. Y/N felt like she had to visit a confessional or something, because it was getting out of hand. But she knew this wasn't bad, and the only thing she was doing by fighting this was stopping herself from getting something she—deep down—felt she didn't deserve.

Despite these pitiful revelations, Y/N still found herself nitpicking at every single aspect of her appearance as she got ready for Sophie's birthday party.

With only five minutes on the clock until her Uber driver would be outside, Y/N decided to accept the black heels she'd put on and the small shoulder bag she'd settled on. A final look in the mirror indeed gave her an epiphany: brown lip liner.

After darkening her lips with the pencil, at last it felt like everything had fallen into place— with the exception of the nerves dwarreling around her lower stomach of course. Even as she sat in the Uber with the nice woman who was talking about her kids as she drove her to the party didn't do one thing to take her mind off the excitement she was feeling.

Y/N tipped her driver before she got out of the car and made her way inside, where she was greeted by an elated—and perhaps already slightly intoxicated—Sophie. The long, dark green dress she wore complimented the blonde shade of her hair, and her make-up was out of this world. Y/N made sure to note that when she congratulated her friend.

It only took five seconds of scanning the room before she spotted him, standing by the bar as he—Y/N could only assume—waited to be served his drink. It felt much like being a magnet to a whiteboard, the way she was so drawn to him. Y/N knew she should've considered herself lucky that another couple came into greeting Sophie, because otherwise she wouldn't have been let off the hook so easily, but that gratefulness was far down on the list of things that took up her thoughts as she made her way to the man at the bar. And when he turned around, she may as well have punched herself then and there, because Harry looked breathtaking.

He always did, of course, but seeing him in a dark grey suit with a soft pink dress shirt, his hair pushed back and all clean shaven... it did something to her.

From the looks of it, Y/N took the guess that her appearance also threw Harry off in some kind of way, since the stutter in his greeting was too apparent to ignore.

"H— hi." He said, mouth slightly agape as his widened eyes took in Y/N. "You look beautiful."

She could have sworn her intestines were being swapped all around inside her because those nerves in her stomach tripled in size as she eyed the floor for a second while heat rose to her cheeks. Y/N had never been good at receiving compliments, mostly because she had been taught that not immediately accepting them was the only way to be worthy of them. Besides, it would make her conceited and rude to just agree.

And yet, all those rules on how to behave flew out the window the second those green eyes were on her, and she didn't care that she jeopardized her worthiness. She just wanted to soak in the words he deliberately told her, and feel good about them. So she didn't argue him on anything, and instead responded:

"Thank you. You clean up good yourself."

The lopsided smirk on Harry's face made Y/N want to jump up and down, for no other reason than that the sight of it just made her really happy. And for a moment she wondered if it couldn't just stay like this forever? Pure, sincere, and not strong enough to be soul crushingly destroyed by anyone, including her own self sabotaging tendencies.

"Oh, this old thing? Just threw it on." Harry shrugged, his eyes fixated on Y/N. She laughed at his ridiculous attempt to be cool. He leaned against the bar, his head tilting a bit. "What are you having?"

His head nodded towards the bar, and Y/N took it as an invitation to get closer to Harry. She stood next to him, just a little closer than necessary, as she hummed and thought about the hundreds of drinks she could possibly order, and totally didn't settle on the same one she always gets.

"I think I'm going to get a cosmopolitan." She answered, and surprised her smile as much as she could as she watched Harry flag down the waiter and order the drink for her. She quite liked this gentleman-like treatment.

"Very fitting, angel." He said lowly as the waiter put down the drink in front of her.

Y/N turned her head to him, a raised brow challenging him slightly. "And why is that?"

Harry moved to lean his entire back against the bar instead of just one side, and shrugged his shoulders as he observed the room before locking his eyes onto her again.

"Because you're just as sweet as that cocktail." The grin that his comment was accompanied by would have been enough to make Y/N's knees buckle right then and there, but the fact that she was holding onto a bar helped a great deal.

The sight of Oscar talking to some other colleagues of hers also helped with that. She could quite literally feel the color drain from her face as she took him in.

It wasn't like it was unexpected; she knew there was a big chance he'd be there. But between Harry, the amount of work she had to do, and all of her self-defense training, she hadn't had much time to think about hypothetical confrontations with Oscar.

"Are you okay?" Harry's gaze darted from the direction in which you were staring back to Y/N. Only when her eyes settled on him again, a part of the worry in his eyes slightly faded. She mustered a smile, nodding her head and hoping it would be enough to convince him. From the look on his face she knew that he wasn't convinced in even the slightest, but she was surprised to hear him switch the topic of the conversation.

"I want you to meet Greg." He said, and Y/N hummed in agreement, grabbing her glasses and following as Harry lead them to her colleague's boyfriend.

"I've already met Greg." She noted, still walking closely next to Harry, whose hand was ghosting over the small of her back.

"Yeah, but I want you to meet him as my best friend."

Y/N was sure that whatever was rattling in her stomach was doing cartwheels as she took in the determination on Harry's face. It didn't seem like he was shying away from what he was implying, and yet she wasn't certain. Because what if he didn't mean it like that at all? Y/N needed to be 100% sure that her suspicions were correct, because the weight of the humiliation that hung over the risk she could take was too great to bear. Besides, she didn't want to jeopardize the self-defense classes. It was a place of safety for her now, she couldn't lose it.

She didn't have much time to dwell on it given that she found herself in front of Greg. Quickly shoving her thoughts away, she conjured a smile and gave the man in front of her a hug.

"How have you been?" Greg asked, grinning widely as he waited on an answer. "Heard you've been taking self-defense classes."

The way he eyed his friend, and the manner in which Harry's eyes glared at Greg, caused a wave of of giddiness to flood over her. This had to mean something, right? Or was she just fishing now?

"Uh, yes, I have. It has helped me a lot." She  answered with rosy cheeks. Greg nodded his head.

"That's great, Y/N. I mean, Harold here is a great teacher, isn't he?"

She snickered, turning to Harry. "That's your full name?"

"No, Greg just likes to be an asshole from time to time." The agonizing smile on his face told her that Harry was a bit on edge, nervous almost? Y/N focused on Greg again.

"Yes, he's amazing." She said, and could feel the blood rush to her ears as she took in her own words. Instead of throwing out a bunch of excuses and rectifications on the construction of her sentence, she zipped her mouth shut, and let the compliment hang in the air. Her heart was racing, and she didn't dare look Harry in the eye, but from the small glance that Greg threw his way, she knew that he'd had some sort of reaction to the compliment.

"Well, stick around and soon you'll be strong enough to take out any man. My Sophie could knock me the fuck out of she needed to, and I'm glad she can." Greg beamed as he mentioned his girlfriend. Y/N was filled with a warm feeling in her chest as she observed Sophie's boyfriend. Her friend was a boss of a woman and to know she was getting the love she deserved was most heartwarming.

The moment was cut short, though, when another person entered the conversation. 

"Harry Styles?!" A joyous shriek—for lack of a more polite word—came from a short blonde woman to Y/N's left. The woman didn't pay any mind to Greg nor her as she headed for Harry, giving him a long, very very long hug. Y/N swallowed.

"Lindsay, I haven't seen you in ages." Harry's voice was kind, he sounded excited even. Maybe it was an old friend, or classmate, or—

"That's because the last time you saw me you broke my heart, hon." She giggled. Harry's brows raised ever so slightly.

An old girlfriend. Right, Y/N should've known that. That just made this entire situation a whole lot more awkward, and if there was one thing Y/N didn't care for it was unpleasantries like these.

So, she decided to do the one thing she was best at: escape. Downing her drink in one go, she wiggled her glass, catching Harry's attention.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom and then get another drink, see you later." Y/N's smile was sweet and full of sincerity, but her legs were heavy as she made her way to the bathroom, as if carrying an invisible ball and chain around each leg. She didn't want to be away from Harry, she wanted to snarl at that ex-girlfriend of his and tell her to back off.

But it was irrational and petty, and not to mention totally inappropriate, so she distanced herself instead. Y/N felt a headache looming, her body fighting her mind for the cowardly attitude it encouraged. She spent way longer in the bathroom than she needed to, eventually only going back after a minute long silent peptalk that she performed to herself in the mirror.

When she returned to the room she saw Harry still talking to his ex, only Greg had now left them and was dancing with Sophie and some others. Y/N thought over her options, and decided to join her friend.

She tried her hardest not to look for Harry in the crowded room, letting the music capture all of her attention. Sophie and Greg were performing all kinds of dance moves that had Y/N throw her head back in laughter, and in that moment everything felt so good.

Simple and good, that was joy. She hadn’t felt that in a long time.

After countless of songs and dance battles on the lit up floor, Y/N decided to take a break and treat herself to another drink. Sauntering over to the bar, she waited her turn order another cosmopolitan, and took a step to the side to let other people order as well.

Y/N was still looking at her fidgeting hands, lost in deep thought, when a familiar scent roamed through her nostrils and stiffened her entire body.

"A Long Island ice tea, please." Oscar's voice sounded from beside her. Y/N didn't dare to look up and stayed focused on her hands instead. She could see his hands from the corner of her eyes, they were desperately clamping onto the bar, knuckles  white.

Without even touching her, Oscar had managed to put a tightening strain on Y/N's chest that felt too uncomfortable to make her move. She was glad to see her cosmopolitan arrive, and was quick to move to the other side of the bar. In the quick second that she glanced at Oscar, she noticed his eyes were following her.

When he started moving closer to where Y/N was standing, the tenseness in her body began to develop into a full-blown panic, and when a set of hands settled on her waist, she couldn't help the hasty gasp that left her mouth before she turned around.

Harry looked surprised when she met his eyes, and she let out a sigh of relief to see that it was only him. Y/N let out a breathy chuckle as she slowly shook her head.

"Gosh, you scared me." It was noticeable in the strain of her voice that the stress hadn't left her body entirely, and Harry seemed to notice that. He raised a brow.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded eagerly, not wanting to steer the conversation this way. "'M fine. What about you?"

"Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed." Harry admitted, and Y/N frowned at the confession. Her head tilted, she asked:

"Why?"

"You told me I wasn't going to get rid of you so easily the other day." He noted, the memory of your conversation brought a smile to your face. "And yet I lost you after about ten minutes."

Y/N chuckled. "I was giving you some space. I didn't want to be rude."

"Angel... in any case, when it comes to Lindsay Holloway, please be rude." The sincerity in Harry's voice made her burst out into giggle.

"I take it you weren't planning on rekindling old flames then." Y/N said, and when Harry confirmed it with a firm nod, she grimaced. "And here I thought I was being a good sport, leaving you alone with her."

"Trust me, angel. She is not the woman I would like be alone with." He leaned forward, his face way too close to Y/N for her to function normally because of it. The overwhelming urge to just— kiss him was almost too great to resist. The way his eyes took her in was so exhilarating, and it didn't make her insecure because she didn't need wonder what he was thinking; it was written all over his face.

"Oh." Was the only sound that Y/N could utter as she processed Harry's words. His eyes flicked from hers to her mouth as he softly pushed her back against the bar, grinning at how her doe-like eyes were observing his every move.

"Aren't you going to ask me who I would like to be alone with?" Harry asked, and it was clear that he was taunting her. But it didn't occur to Y/N to mind, as she immediately obeyed him.

"Who would you like to be alone with, Harry?" She posed the question, watching his jaw clench at his name falling from her lips.

"Y/N!"

Both Y/N and Harry's head whipped to the side where Sophie was standing with a slightly distressed look on her face. Almost out of instinct, it seemed, Harry took a step back. A pang boomed through Y/N's chest.

"I need to talk to you, now." She demanded, not even a hint of a questioning tone in her voice. She meant business. Y/N nodded and slid past Harry, grabbing Sophie's hand and letting her friend lead the both of them outside.

There were some other people outside, smoking cigarettes as they chatted with each other. Every person stopped to greet Sophie with a smile or another 'congratulations' as they walked more towards the alley, where there were less people. Y/N's heart was racing from both the encounter with Harry and the nervousness that had built up thinking of the possible ways that this talk with Sophie could go.

She hadn't expected Sophie to start squealing in excitement, but it was better than anything she could've imagined.

"Oh my god! You and Harry?! For how long has this been going on?" She asked, and Y/N swiftly shook her head.

"There is nothing going on." She replied, the monotony in her voice doing little to hide the frustrations about the truth of that sentence. "I mean, there might have been a start of something going on before we went outside."

Sophie winced. "I'm sorry, I cockblocked you. I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you don't seem like someone who is into casual hook-ups."

Y/N's face twisted in discomfort, and Sophie panicked at the sight of it.

"Not that Harry only does hook-ups! I didn't mean it like that. I just— I hadn't heard you mention him before and I didn't realize you were so close until last week." She instantly began to rant, and Y/N grew defense from her words.

"He offered me some extra training to build more muscle." She shrugged.

“Hmm, sure he is.” Sophie hummed playfully, wiggling her eyebrows and causing a snort to fall from Y/N’s lips. It took a few moments to control their schoolgirl-like giggles, but when they’d managed to pipe down, Sophie’s face turned a bit more serious.

“I just wanted to assure you that Harry is a good guy. You can trust him, you don’t have to hold yourself back.” Her eyes were soft as Sophie spoke, both her hands wrapped around Y/N’s right one. There was a stinging sensation in Y/N’s chest at the mention of the tendencies she thought she concealed quite well, but she was far from offended by it. On the contrary; she was relieved that Sophie could see right through her regarding this topic, because without this confirmation, Y/N would’ve doubted this situation for too long, probably causing Harry to grow bored and leave.

“Soph, we’ve been looking all over for you! We need to do the Photo Booth!” Stacy, another lawyer from the firm suddenly appeared and interrupted the conversation, shrieking in excitement as she hurried over to Sophie and grabbed her arm. She barely paid any mind to Y/N, at least not until Sophie gave her a guilty glance. Stacy conjured a confused smile of her own, her mind clearly battling about the fact that she seemed to recognize Y/N, only she had no idea where from.

“I’m going to borrow her for a little while.” She said, and it was only now that Y/N realized how nasal this Stacy sounded. Sophie had complained about it a dozen times, and now she finally understood the issue.

“Go ahead, have fun, I’ll find you later Soph.” Y/N said, smiling as she watched Stacy and Sophie walk back inside. She took the moment alone outside as an opportunity to clear her mind. To assure herself, that she had the confirmation that Harry liked her as well, and to just take the leap.

“Cigarette?”

Y/N’s head snapped towards Oscar, who was standing only standing a few feet away from her. She glanced at the other people smoking outside; at least she wasn’t alone. She turned her attention back to Oscar, and shook her head.

It stayed silent between the two, and since Y/N didn’t want anything to do with Oscar, she slowly started to walk away. But then, a sentence left Oscar’s mouth that had her frozen where she stood.

“Are you going to accuse him of assaulting you too?”

Y/N lost her breath. Did he really just say that? She pressed down the immense wave of nausea that threatened her to puke all over her pretty dress, and focused on her breathing before she turned around to face him.

“What did you just say to me?” Her tone was sharp, laced with a feeling of injustice. She tried to steady herself as much as she could, but she could feel her hands trembling from the adrenaline.

“I should probably warn him. Who knows what you’ll do to his life.” He sneered, his tone smothered in resentment. Y/N hadn’t even told anyone about what Oscar had done to her, and here he was, accusing her of ruining people’s lives.

“You need to leave me alone…” She growled, balling up her fists to channel her frustration into anything else than the wall or his face.

“Or what? You’re going to tell on me? Seriously, you don’t think that two men with a stellar reputation would make for a more believable story than a self-pitying gold digger?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“What? Mad I’m right? You do only target successful men right, don’t you?” He asked. The amusement in his eyes was disgusting and it made Y/N take a step back. She was seething with rage over Oscar’s words.

“Stay the hell away from me, Oscar.” Y/N fumed, turning around to walk inside, and when she felt a hand around her wrist, she couldn’t help the instinct that caused her to plant her fist in Oscar’s face. Just the way she had been taught.

It was with way more force than she’d ever managed to do before, and she was pretty sure she heard something crack—although she couldn’t make out whether that was Oscar’s nose or his knees as he fell to the ground.

It was like she could finally breathe, seeing him lay on the floor, groaning in pain. She’d been strong enough to defend herself from danger. Pride filled her chest, although it was vague in comparison to the rage that had overtaken the rest of her body.

Y/N flinched when she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders, but calmed down at the sight of Lindsay, Harry’s old girlfriend, standing beside her. She looked quite worried as Y/N let her guide her to the rest of the people who were still smoking outside. They all began to ask variations of the same questions: ‘are you okay?’ ‘Did he hurt you?’. Y/N frowned upon noticing Lindsay hurry back inside, but she didn’t pay much mind to it anymore when the guy next to her offered a cigarette. She shook her head, a bit taken aback by the timing of the action, and was just about to answer the question of the woman in front of her, when the huddled up group opened up and Harry appeared in front of her.

Crouching down, his eyes roamed over her entire body before settling on her knuckles that had already begun to turn red. His gaze met Y/N’s.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded.

“What happened?”

It only then occurred to Y/N that Oscar was probably still laying there, and the quick glance she shot to her left was enough for Harry to know what was going on. He stood up and walked over to Oscar, who had gotten up himself and met him in the middle.

“What the fuck did you do to her?” Harry asked. His voice was stone cold, everything about him was, actually. Not one hint of emotion could be traced in his tone, posture or really anything else. It would’ve been scary, had Y/N had the ability to feel scared of Harry. But she just couldn’t; he made her feel safe.

“Listen man, you need to avoid that girl. She’s fucking crazy. She already tried to ruin my life, don’t let her threaten you to ruin yours.”

All the pent up anger that had seemed to subside slightly once having socked Oscar in the face raced back all at once as the words registered in Y/N’s brain. But before she could get back up to her feet, Harry struck a punch, bringing Oscar to the ground once again.

Leaning forward, he grabbed him by his collar and pulled him up far enough so he could hear him when he said:

“If I ever hear you talking about her like that— better yet, if you come near her again I swear to god I’ll kick out every last one of your teeth… to start with.” Harry warned before letting go of Oscar’s collar with a shove that made a couple of people take a physical step back, and even made one person behind her gasp. Harry didn’t seem to care about any of that as he turned around; he just headed straight for Y/N.

Nor did he didn’t even so much as acknowledge Lindsay, who thanked him, but Y/N made sure to send a grateful smile her way as Harry wrapped his arm around her and led her inside. He didn’t say a word as they entered the room again and walked towards Sophie and Greg.

At first, Sophie was smiling at the sight of Y/N and Harry, but upon spotting her friend’s pale face, the corners of her mouth lowered into a thin line.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Her hands were on Y/N immediately, fixing her hair and brushing her fingers against her pale cheek. Y/N knew that she probably looked like she had seen a ghost.

“I’m going to take her home.” Harry announced, and relief washed over Y/N because she didn’t really know what to say right now. Faking a smile, she tried to assure Sophie that it was alright, but her friend was already nodding before Harry had finished speaking.

Throwing her arms around her, Sophie hugged Y/N so tightly that she nearly lost her breath. When she finally let go, the look on her face was determined.

“I love you, have a good night. If you need anything, call me.” She said. Y/N nodded.

“I love you, have a great night.” She turned to Greg. “Watch her.”

The weak joke still managed to make the couple chuckle—probably out of pity—and Greg nodded dutifully, wishing her a good night with that playful wink of his. When Y/N turned back to Harry, he held out her jacket. Her face settled into a confused frown; how did he manage to get their coats so quickly. Was he a wizard or something?

Harry bid the couple farewell as well and soon they were on their way back to the car. Y/N was tense about going outside again, but her shoulders relaxed upon seeing an empty street. Oscar had left, thank god.

The car ride was mostly silent, aside from a few questions about the AC, and an attempt of Harry’s to casually ask for her address again, only to have it at the top of his search list on Google Maps. Y/N had to hold back her giggle.

The rest of it consisted of listening and moving their heads along to whatever song was on. It was mainly rap songs, and Harry knew them all, which was logical considering it was his playlist. There was something attractive about Harry knowing all these songs, it made him look a bit more… intimidating.

Y/N really needed to figure out what deep rooted issue caused her to like that.

She had to admit she was slightly disappointed when he pulled up in front of her apartment complex, so she took her time to turn her head to him, the hint of a smile on her face still. Y/N couldn’t help it; he just made her comfortable. She unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned towards the middle of the vehicle, closer to Harry.

“Thank you, for dropping me off.” She said in a near whisper. The corners of Harry’s mouth tugged up, and he—in turn—closed the distance between even more, their faces only a few inches apart now. Y/N’s hands began to sweat.

“Anything for you, angel.” His voice was raspy, and despite the cockiness he radiated, there was still concern behind it.

But it was over— for Y/N it was over. Her self-control, an entity of its own, seemed to exit her body leaving her with nothing but him. All that adrenaline had channeled into a pressing urge to put her lips on his, to touch him, feel him all around. It was over.

Nothing held her back, not even her own stubborn mind, as she leaped forward and kissed Harry.

While she had expected him to maybe be surprised about her action, the way his mouth welcomed her—invited her, even—was enough proof that he had been ready for her.

Kissing Harry was like jumping off a cliff and diving deeper into the ocean. For once, she didn’t feel like to love was to drown. No, she submerged herself into the water and felt more at home than she had ever felt at the surface. Was it possible to feel at home in someone’s arms?

With a hand on her jaw, Harry lured Y/N forward further, challenging her by pulling back a bit. Needing his lips like it was her own source of oxygen, Y/N didn’t hesitate to lean further, and in all her desperation, climbed right onto his lap.

The short dress didn’t leave much restrictions for her heat as she automatically began to grind her hips. Only when Harry let out a pained groan that shot straight to her core, she’d realized what she was doing— what they were doing.

Pulling away in a flash, a gasp left Y/N. Her lips felt all puffy, much like Harry’s looked.

“S— sorry, I didn’t know what came over me.” Y/N shot in her defensive mode, but Harry only shook his head.

“Don’t say sorry, angel. I—” he cut himself off, and met her eyes. “I don’t think we should do this right now, because—”

Shit, no, shit, shit!

“Oh, yeah, no of course, no problem. I mean, you’re right.” Y/N began to rant, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. How could she ever do such a stupid thing. She was quick to lean over and grab her bag. “But thank you, for bringing me home, and I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Before Harry could even get a word in, she opened the door on the driver’s seat and climbed out of the car, smashing the door shut harsher than she intended to. She winced at the sound, but kept walking. This rejection was humiliating enough as it was, she didn’t need Harry to elaborate on all the reasons he didn’t want her.

She heard the car door open, but by then, Y/N had already entered her building. In the chaos of it all, she decided to sprint up the stairs, wanting to get away from the situation as fast as possible, and in that process forgetting that she lived on the sixth floor.

She was out of breath when she finally reached her apartment, but not as out of breath as she would have been a month ago. Damn Harry, those classes were really working.

Once inside, Y/N leaned against the door, dramatically letting herself slip to the ground as she buried her head in her arms and let out a frustrated groan. Why was every next step she took on the aspect of love always destined to be her most embarrassing one yet?

She huffed, massaging her temples as she soaked in the shame and slowly felt it wither away. She knew the mortification would wane, but the sudden awareness of that ache between her legs, she knew that wouldn’t just go away. With a sigh, Y/N hoisted herself up and got ready for bed before lying down and digging into her nightstand’s drawer to grab the only thing that could cure the ache down there.

Her racing mind was a reminder that getting this out of her system wasn’t going to be done very easily…

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno @inkedskin @fangirl509east @mellamolayla @lizsogolden @prettydelilah @harry2121 @babegoals @hermionelove @kierramcduffie

[heartpascal]

i was born waiting

▹— joel miller x daughter!reader

▹— summary: you’ve been looking for your dad for as long as you can remember, is this really him?

▹— a/n: hi! i started writing this september ‘23, so it has. it’s been a WHILE. so if this seems jumpy / not consistent then that is why! sorry!!! i have done my best!!!

▹— warnings: canon-typical violence and themes, weapons, parental death, witnessing parental death, aka insane amounts of trauma, death in general, she/her pronouns, reader is biologically related to joel but no mentions of appearance, no mention of her bio mother’s appearance either, fantasising about being dead (sorry), all hurt zero comfort, attempted murder, unrealistic expectations of someone you never met — please let me know if ive missed anything!

▹— taglist: @rhymingtree @sleepygraves @wnstice (everything), @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915  @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @rvjaa @sunflowersdrop @definitely-not-a-seagull-i-swear @miss-celestial-being @hqkon

MASTERLIST

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

There are certain things from your childhood that you can remember vividly. Though, really, childhood is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it? It’s hard to find the right word to encompass the way you had grown up, because you didn’t have much of a chance to actually grow.

From the moment you had been born, your life was a battle of staying alive to see another day.

That’s not to say that your mother didn’t do her best for you, obviously. But it was hard to raise a child as a child in the midst of a global apocalypse. You were bound to end up the way you did — moulded and hardened by the world around you, by having to pick up a gun at seven years old and use it to protect your mother. By never putting that gun back down.

For the past few years, you had known your mother was suffering. The world had been anything but kind to her, and age was hitting her harder than she had expected. More than the physical aspect, you knew it had been destroying her, the fact that you were now the one protecting her and not the other way around.

But what choice did you have? Her aging body had left her fragile, prone to falling and breaking even more frail bones. You could see the strain on her muscles, as they slowly decayed and shrunk, until they were barely there at all. You couldn’t let her carry the burden for you anymore, because you knew her body couldn’t handle it.

You had been preparing yourself for that moment, though. Making sure that you were ready, that you were strong enough for the both of you, strong enough to shoulder the burden she had been carrying for years.

When you were growing up, your mother had told you tales of your father.

She had told you all about how strong he had been, how he had been the best man she had ever known. She told you how he had cared for his daughter before you, how he had been the best father to that girl. When you were old enough to comprehend these things, you’d asked what had happened to him. “Is dad dead?” You had asked her, watching the way her face fell.

“I don’t know, honey. I hope not.” She had responded, smiling sadly at you, and patting her hand against your cheek.

It was hard for you to let go of that.

The uncertainty had haunted you for the rest of your life since that very moment, leaving you wondering for hours at a time where he could possibly be, why he would ever leave your mother to carry this responsibility alone. And in your more selfish moments, you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t here to care for you as he had his daughter before you.

For a long time, you had convinced yourself that he was dead, despite what your mother hoped. And sure, you felt that loss, something like mourning weighing you down, but it was the only way you felt you could accept his absence. He had to be dead, because otherwise, why wasn’t he here?

But as you grew up, getting taller, stronger, you felt like you could rationalise his absence even if he wasn’t dead. After all, the apocalypse wasn’t exactly family friendly. You figured that if your mother didn’t know whether or not your dad was alive, that the same could go for him. He might just think that you and your mom died, years ago. After all, how many pregnant women survived the end of the world?

You have a feeling that the answer would have to be not many.

So, really, you and your mother being alive by now was nothing short of a miracle. It was a testament to your mother’s strength, her ability. She had succeeded where so many others had failed, and she had managed to keep both herself and you alive.

It’s a bitter kind of irony that you can’t do the same.

The last dredges of autumn fall away, leading into the coldest and harshest part of the year. Winter is hard — it’s full to the brim with fresh Infected, the ones not yet frozen solid, and resources are more scarce than ever. And this winter feels like something tangible, something which sends unending waves of dread through you.

Your mother gets weaker by the day, spending more time resting than moving, and you spend as much time as you can keeping her warm, finding food and water and pain relief for her broken arm that didn’t heal right. She’s exhausted, you can see it in her face, in her every movement. And you’re pretty sure it’s not just from the lack of rest. She watches you with dulled eyes, something like heartbreak reflecting in them.

For a long time, you pretend not to notice.

You pretend that you don’t see the way she lags behind, just watching you move away from her with speed she can’t quite manage any longer. You pretend that you don’t see the way she hesitates before taking her painkillers, or her food, or the last sip of water.

This year, the winter brings something worse than the cold. A bug, spreading across the state in a way that was familiar to so many. Not quite the Infection, but still able to take out people with ease.

When your mother catches it, you physically felt your heart clench in your chest. You felt it squeezing all of the blood around your body so quickly that you became dizzy with it. There’s a panic so deep that you can’t climb your way out of it. For days, weeks, you’re certain that you’ve lost her. That after everything, everything you’ve done, everything the two of you have been through, a cold would be the end of it all.

But then, she gets better.

The little strength she had before the sickness returns to her, bringing some colour back to her skin, some ease back to her breathing.

Religion wasn’t a thing in the apocalypse. Not really. But if you had believed in God, you would’ve thanked every one that might’ve existed for giving you this. This miracle. This small mercy.

The two of you are in an abandoned barn when it happens.

You’re dozing away, not quite asleep, but not awake either, when you hear the sound of old hay crunching underneath boots. If you weren’t so familiar with the lightness of your mother’s footsteps, you might’ve passed it off as her wandering. But these boots are heavy. They’re purposeful.

The gun in your hand means nothing when you jerk upwards, eyes snapping open and squinting through the light let into the barn by the rising winter sun. It’s an image that has since been ingrained into the back of your skull, replaying each time you close your eyes.

There, right in front of you, is your mother.

Behind her, a man, a gun pressed to the back of her skull.

Your stomach lurched suddenly in that moment, the small rationed dinner you had before dozing off trying to rise to the back of your throat, trying to race the rapid beating of your heart to see which would kill you first.

“Put down the gun.” He said, voice cold, throat dry from the winter air. The sound of his voice is printed in the base of your brain, echoing every time things around you still, go quiet.

He could be bluffing, you thought in the moment. His gun could be unloaded. It didn’t take you long to notice that the safety was off, but in those few moments, he had pressed the end of it harder into your mother’s head. You dropped the gun to the floor without another moment of thought.

You were nauseous, waiting to wake up, to realise this was all some twisted nightmare.

But you could see a look in your mother’s eyes. Acceptance. Defeat. It was almost familiar to you, so closely related to the look she had been giving you for months.

All this time, she had just been waiting to die. Waiting for something to come along and kill her off, to free you from having to take care of her. She knew that if it was up to you, that you would look after her for the rest of your goddamn life. If she lived any longer, she might just live long enough to see you die.

“Slide it over.”

You barely registered the cold pinch of metal against your palm as you pushed the gun away from you, sending it skittering over the rough ground and into the side of an old hay bale.

“Now your pack.”

There was a numbness to you as you gripped the backpack you had been leaning against, and chucked it towards where he stood behind your mother. It hit the front of his boot, but his eyes didn’t stray from where he stared at you.

“Turn around.”

You stared at him, teeth gritted together.

“No.”

There was a beat where both him and your mother just watched you. And then the surprise flickered across his face, apparently not expecting any resistance from you.

“Turn. Around.” He told you, firmer this time.

“No.”

“Okay then,” He relented, after a moment of consideration. His eyes drifted down towards your mother, who stared forwards at you. “This your daughter?” He asked, jerking his head towards you despite knowing your mother couldn’t see the movement.

“Yes, she is,” Your mother said, voice shaking, her breath clouding in front of her face as it reached the cold air. “Please, just let her be.”

He hummed, dropping his free hand down to rest heavily on your mother’s shoulder, his fingers clamping around it and not helping the way she trembled.

“So, your momma, huh?” He asked you, a smirk drawing up his face, showing smile lines around his murky blue eyes. His hair rustled in the wind, a piece falling down across his forehead. He stared at you, and you stared at him, not daring to say a word, still hoping that this whole thing was a dream. Muscles in his cheek twitched, pulling his skin taut and showing a scar across his left cheekbone. “Good.”

There was a moment where the sound didn’t register. A moment where you didn’t even realise it was your mother when the body slumped forwards. A mere moment where you didn’t think about it being her blood that splattered across your face.

The moments after that though, become blurry, hazed over, and you’re not sure it actually ever hit you that the body before you was your mother.

You’ve always had a hard time remembering that bodies were once people, that they once had lives and loved ones and thoughts and feelings. That they weren’t just bodies. So seeing her like that, as a body, not her, was wrong on so many levels. It didn’t feel real. Nothing did.

You heard the second gunshot, just a moment later, followed by a snickering laugh that you would never forget, before the pain bloomed in you.

It was buried by the shock, the complete disbelief, and you only felt the pain for mere seconds.

His gun — the one that killed your mother — was whacked across the side of your head a moment after, and that was the end of that.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Three months passed by, judging by the way the seasons turned, and you were on your own.

It was a strange feeling, really. Throughout the entirety of your life, you had never actually been alone. At least, not really. Your mother was always a small ways away, a mere shout from running to you. There had never been any true distance between the two of you until that day.

A sort of ache claws your throat each day, when you realise that it’s easier like this.

The only back you have to watch is your own, the only life you have to worry about belongs to you, and you have nothing to lose in this world. There was no terrible outcome if you were caught. Nobody else would be hurt, or suffer because of it. And you’re less likely to be caught now, when you don’t have your mother slowing you down. You don’t have to stop for the frequent rest breaks she needed, you can try to outrun Infected without worrying about someone lagging behind, and you only have yourself to feed.

If your mother had known how much easier survival was when alone, you hope that she would’ve abandoned you at birth. Because perhaps, without the burden of you upon her shoulders, she wouldn’t have fallen apart so quickly.

Sometimes, you like to think of a world where she was spared all of this. Never pregnant with you, for a start. So when the infection broke out, she would’ve only had herself to worry about. You think that maybe, one day, she would’ve been able to reunite with your father. If she hadn’t been carrying a child, she would’ve been able to manage the journey to where she believed him to be. You look at the picture that had been in the pocket of her coat for your whole life, the papers folded and clipped to the back of it, one word underlined: Boston.

You had reached a store in the weeks after that day, and when you found a map, it wasn’t difficult to notice that the direction the two of you had been heading in was to that very city.

It’s a long shot. More than a long shot, really, but you find yourself continuing in that direction regardless. You don’t know what you hope to find in Boston, whether it was your dad, or the man who had killed your mother, or perhaps just somewhere to take shelter for a while. You try not to hope for anything. You try not to focus on the fact that you might not even make it that far.

It keeps you up for days.

The uncertainty of it. The unknown. The fact that you’re walking your way to a city you know nothing about, almost certain that your mother’s killer was already there, and more than that, consumed by a fever that might kill you regardless of the where the journey took you.

The only sleep you get results in fever dreams, rippling, warping images that make your perception falter, feeling all too real until you notice that it’s not. And when you do wake up from them, it’s as if you haven’t slept at all. An exhaustion weighs heavily upon you, and your shoulders hunch over with it. There’s almost nothing you wouldn’t do to get rid of that endless feeling.

You hope—or wish, maybe— that if you reach Boston, the journey there will have tired you out so much that your body will have no choice but to rest. It’s a distant thought in your mind, though. You’re almost certain you won’t make it that far, because if the fever doesn’t get you, surely the Infected will.

It’s not as though you’re trying to get killed. But there is a kind of peace that comes with the thought. There’s an idea of rest behind it, hiding within the shadowy depths that make you scared. Would not having to fight in order to survive really be so terrible? You have this image in mind, of a never ending blackness, a void, somewhere that your thoughts and worries can just fizzle away. The small part of your fever-fried brain that has retained its rationality reminds you of the unknown. It reminds you that death could be worse than this.

You don’t like the thought. Not after that day. It’s a shuddering feeling, wondering if your mother is in some kind of unreachable hell.

By the time you’re even close to Boston, a few hours out at most, you’re out of ammo in the gun you’d found along the way. Out of food rations. No knife, no resources. You’re barely standing on two legs, kept up by the adrenaline, the knowledge alone that you’re this close.

When the tall walls of the QZ finally come into view, you start to feel some amount of hope. Which is a dangerous thing, but especially in a situation as dire as your own. You couldn’t afford any adrenaline fading, couldn’t afford to lose your cautious nature. You couldn’t make a mistake. One wrong move, one slight misstep, and you’d be as dead as your mother. Or worse, infected. Though this close to a QZ, you had some amount of relief at the knowledge that they should’ve cleared out any nearby infected. Runners, and clickers alike.

Your steps don’t falter for a moment. Partly because of your worry about the fever taking you out, but mostly because you’re certain that the FEDRA guards on watch on top of the wall will have spotted you, and you don’t want them to think you’re Infected, just because of your sickly appearance, and shoot on sight. Though, with FEDRA’s track record, it wouldn’t surprise you if they just shot you down regardless.

For a while, you’re not sure if you’re even awake, or if perhaps you were stuck in yet another fever dream. Everything felt so real and so not real simultaneously, it felt impossible to believe that you had actually made it.

Soldiers met you on your approach, calling out for you to get on the ground with your hands up. You called back some sort of response as you did so, practically collapsing to your knees and squeezing your eyes shut at the pain that followed. But despite all of it, despite the pain and the rough hands that grabbed you and pulled you forwards, through the gates and straight into a building, you had made it to Boston.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It was maybe three weeks into being a resident of the Boston QZ that you caught wind of him for the first time. Or, at the very least, somebody who might be him. You didn’t know how common the surname Miller was, being a child of the apocalypse, but you kind of hoped the answer was uncommon.

“Goddamn Miller, again.” A man had muttered as you walked through the trading market. You paused almost instantly, pretending to peruse the feeble amount of clothes a woman had to trade. “Said we gotta go through him and Tess if we want anything, as if we gotta listen to them.” He practically spat out, glaring around as he spoke to the woman beside him.

“They’re the most well established smugglers in the whole goddamn QZ. Don’t have to tell you how, do I?” She asked, sounding more annoyed with her companion than she was with whoever Miller and Tess were. “Joel is as nasty as they come, Darren. Don’t get on the wrong side of him.”

Your heart practically stuttered to a stop in your chest, and you had to remind yourself to keep breathing. Could it possibly be a coincidence? Could there be another Joel Miller? One who wasn’t your father? Sure, it was possible. Plausible, even, considering the fact that you had absolutely no idea if he was here. Not any concrete idea, anyway. Your mother had believed as much, but who was to say she was right?

Besides, whoever this Joel Miller was didn’t sound like the man your mother had told you about. As nasty as they come didn’t have any relation to the heroic and kind and amazing father and man your mother always spoke about. Though, you knew as well as anyone what the apocalypse could do to people.

Darren didn’t say anything else to his companion. So, after a few more moments, you continued on your way, making the journey to the tiny box apartment that FEDRA had elected to you.

But even as you got there, sitting down on the poor excuse of a mattress, you couldn’t shake the conversation out of your mind. After everything you had been through to get here, what was it all for? Could you really make this journey and just never try to find Joel Miller? Your father? You could still remember the anxiety that had come when you first arrived, when you were strapped into a chair and scanned for the fungus that had taken over so many. You didn’t know what you were more scared of: the idea that it would flash red, and you’d be killed, or the idea that it would be clear, and you’d be sent out into the QZ, where you may just find the other half of your DNA.

You don’t even know if you want to find out anything about him. Don’t know if you could face that, especially after losing your mother. That’s been the hardest thing since being here, since having your own place, the fact that you’ve gotten it all without her. It feels… empty. For your whole life, she had been there at your side, making every short stay at whatever accommodation you could find feel like home.

Plus, even if you did consider trying to find him, and if it was him those people were talking about, then who the hell was Tess? What if she got upset at your appearance, your claim as Joel Miller’s surviving child? You’re not sure you can lose another parent.

Sure — Joel Miller wasn’t exactly your dad, he couldn’t be classed as a parent in the way that your mother was, but if you never met him, that could’ve been for any number of reasons. He could be dead. He could’ve thought you and your mother were dead, all these years. You didn’t want to face a reality where you met him, and he wasn’t present for you and your mother because he didn’t want to be. You’d rather live your whole life thinking him six feet under, than know he was out there, and just didn’t care about you.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that Boston was a mistake.

It would all be different if your mother was alive. If she had brought you here, if she had been the one to hear the chatter about Joel Miller, if she had been the one to seek him out. But she was dead, and the only living connection you had to Joel was, too. Hypothetically, if you did seek him out, you didn’t know enough about him to prove your claim as his child, and without your mother, how could you make him believe you?

They had been a family, once. They being Joel, your mother, and your deceased half sister. You’d heard the tale of how Joel and your mother had met, of how it took months for him to finally feel comfortable introducing her to his little girl. Hell, you had heard almost as much about Sarah as you had about Joel. Your mother had certainly adored his daughter, and you’re somewhat sure that they had planned to have you, despite Sarah already being a teenager.

You don’t want to have to mourn a family you had never actually had. Perhaps, Joel and Sarah were out there, living their lives certain that you and your mother were dead, just as you and your mother had done.

Not that any of this even mattered — you didn’t even know for sure if it was the same Joel Miller! And even if it was, it’s not like Boston QZ was small. There’s absolutely no chance you run into the man who might just be your dad. No way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

You find someone else, before you hear anything more about Joel Miller, and it immediately sends the thought of your biological dad to the very back of your mind.

After all, it’s not every day you see the man who murdered your mother.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. You had guessed that this was the place he was heading, all those moons ago. But to actually see him, here, in the flesh, alive and well despite all of the pain and heartache and devastation he had caused you? It was surreal. You had to practically pinch your skin from your body to make yourself believe he was real.

And it only really hits you now, that this man killed your mother. You had been so focused on surviving, on living to see another day, on healing and moving and getting away from her body, buried in shallow dirt outside of some abandoned barn. You can vividly remember the strength it had taken to pry the frozen dirt from the ground.

Sure, you had felt the guilt over it, the guilt over the ease that came with surviving without her, guilt over your very existence, but you’re not sure you had ever actually grieved over her. Not sure if you had ever let yourself be sad, be angry, be anything about what had happened.

But now, seeing him, you feel… almost too much.

All of the rage and grief you had squashed in favour of surviving another day, all of the sadness and fear, all of it. It all comes rushing towards you at once, hitting you in the chest, winding you. You gasp for breath on the street, ducking away for a moment, gripping your chest like you could physically hold your heart steady.

When you look back out at the street, you see him as he nears the corner. Panic grips you at the thought of losing him, of never seeing him again, of failing to avenge your mother. You follow after him before you can think better of it.

It’s strangely easy. You fall back into the life of a hunter like it’s the most natural thing you’ve ever known — and maybe it is. You’re healed up, by now, or about as healed as anybody gets in this world, and your shoulder only bothers you when you move it too much. Even with that, you’re pretty sure that you could take the man on. Now that you’re not hazy with sleep, caught off guard, held back by any sort of earthly tether.

You’re strong. And despite FEDRA’s harsh reign, their dire consequences for rule-breaking, you have a switchblade stuffed into your shoe. You could do it. You could kill him.

There’s no question about it in your mind, especially as you follow him from a distance, and he remains none the wiser. He takes a left, and a moment later, so do you. He’s clueless. It’s almost painful that he was the one who managed to get the jump on you. How could you have let this man kill your mother?

He skids to a stop outside of a doorway, so you slide down the wall of the building opposite and listen. He pays you no mind as he knocks twice on the door.

“What d’you want, Colin?” The man who opened the door asked gruffly, seemingly inconvenienced by the man. He sounded tired, or out of it, maybe.

“I need the supply.” Colin answered, and the sound of his voice sent a shiver down the back of your neck. It echoed in your ears, the words he said that day. Good. Everything in you itched, like thousands of critters had dug into you and made a home scuttling around your insides. You wanted to kill him. You wanted to end his life, and you wanted to make it slow. Brutal. Painful. Even if it meant you were hung by FEDRA tomorrow morning. It’d be worth it.

The man at the door sighed, as if deeply bothered by getting Colin what he needed, and disappeared inside. He emerged a moment later, empty handed. “I’m all out. You’ll have to go across town tomorrow.” The man said flatly, saying nothing as Colin swore, before stepping away.

You ducked your head down as Colin passed, all too aware of the man in the doorway watching you suspiciously. After a moment, he sighed again, and retreated inside, slamming the door after himself. It took almost no time at all for you to push yourself back to your feet, and take off after the man who had left.

Despite your pounding footsteps against cracked concrete, he didn’t pay you any mind as you caught up to him. He seemed focused on getting to wherever it was that he was unknowingly leading you to, glancing up at the darkening sky every other step. FEDRA’s curfew would be coming into play soon enough.

To your disappointment, he walked into an apartment building, about three blocks away from your own. It seemed that, unless you were willing to risk being caught and stopped, today wasn’t the day you would be avenging your mother. You vowed that tomorrow you would do it. You would kill Colin. No matter what got in your way.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

By the time curfew was lifted, you had been waiting by the exit of your building for an hour.

The switchblade in your shoe felt heavy with every step you took towards the home of your mother’s killer. It weighed almost as much as the picture in your pocket. All of it was heavy. But you acted as normally as you could manage, passing by patrolling FEDRA guards without them so much as glancing towards you.

You were waiting by his building when the door opened, when he stepped out, and headed determinedly in the opposite direction from which you had come. You followed without a moment of hesitation.

He made his way around town, trading with a few people on the side of the streets, handing them small wads of ration cards in favour of various items. Nothing dangerous, though. Not to you. He clearly was oblivious to your loitering figure, standing a few metres away, like some omen of death. Despite your shadow reaching for his shoes as the sun rose, he didn’t flinch.

It was irritating you, just how easy this was. You had been following the man for two days now, and he hadn’t even noticed. How had he gotten the drop on you? How had he managed to kill your mother? How had you allowed him the opportunity to do so?

There was nothing remotely special about him — no reason that he should have survived over your mother, no reason that he should have been granted mercy over the last twenty years. He didn’t deserve it. Not like your mother had. She had done the best she could, for years, for the only daughter in her care. And she had done it all alone. This man, Colin, he was alone, and he had no reason to hurt her. You were going to make sure he regretted it.

You loomed at the entrance of an alleyway as he walked down it, finally stopping at a dead end, leaning against the brick wall as if he was waiting for something. Or someone. You knew it wasn’t you he was waiting for, so you bided your time, cautious of someone happening upon the two of you. If they had business with him, they would care. If they didn’t, then nobody but FEDRA would care.

By the time you finally decided to move, almost an hour had passed, and Colin was facing away from you at the entrance of the alley, head pressed to the bricks.

It was strange, what the innate desire to hunt and kill could bring out in you, that it could make you move silently without thinking about it. It could make you reach for the blade in your shoe, without so much as a rustle of your clothes.

With a final glance back at the entrance of the alleyway, you grew impatient, and you attacked.

From an outside perspective, you probably looked like some kind of wild animal. You jumped at him, tackling him, pushing him sideways and landing on his back as his shoulder smacked the asphalt, and he howled in pain. It was like seeing a cheetah hunt an antelope, the way you bored down on him. If you could have widened your jaws, and ripped out his insides, you think you would have.

But without that ability, you could only press the cold metal blade to his throat, and feel him go still.

“Do you remember me?” You asked, voice flat and still, despite the way your heart felt as though it would beat out of your chest, and splatter down in front of his face. You were quieter than you had expected, too. You thought that the words would burst out of you, vicious and unending, but they were quiet. Calm.

Colin shook his head, as much as he could with the side of his face pressed to the ground, and a blade to the soft skin of his neck.

“Think about it.”

His eyes strained to try and get a look at you, and they widened as you leant sideways slightly, allowing him to gaze at your blank face. “Oh, shit,” He said, mouth fumbling around the words.

“Yeah, shit.” You repeated, waiting for satisfaction to seep into your chest cavity, waiting for the grief to fade away.

It didn’t.

Nothing changed, even as you pressed the blade closer to his throat, even as you watched his eyes dart back and forth, as you watched him try and formulate a plan to survive. “Listen, kid—” He started, throat bobbing against the knife, drawing the tiniest line of blood. You watched him bleed, and expected to feel more than numb.

He threw your weight backwards, sacrificing more skin on his throat to your knife. You went flying off of him, but you flung yourself forward faster than he could stagger up, and dug the knife into his calf as he tried to stand. His yell pierced the air, louder than any of the commotion yet, and likely drawing attention of people out on the street. You just hoped, distantly, that FEDRA wasn’t around.

His flesh and muscle moved as you pulled the blade free, and you didn’t flinch at the squelch of blood that left him alongside it.

Colin fell back to the floor, resulting in crawling along the asphalt without care for how the small stones cut into his palms, leaving streaks of blood. “You don’t gotta do this, man, chill out!” His voice had more emotion in it than it had back when he killed your mother, which was infuriating. “It wasn’t personal!” He insisted, crawling further as you got to your feet, prowling after him similarly to the wild animal you felt like.

You’d disagree with his statement, though.

He already had your pack, you had already relinquished your gun — the only thing you refused to do was turn so you could be executed. If you were going to be killed, you were going to look your murderer in the eye. Instead of that, though, Colin had decided to make it personal. He had decided to kill your mother, to spread her brains out on the ground in front of you, to cover you in her blood, rather than spare her. And then, worse, he had let you live.

That seemed pretty personal.

“You killed my mom.” You stated, getting closer as he turned so he was facing you, watching you get closer. “D’you remember what you said to me?”

He shook his head.

“You said good. You were glad that it was my mother. Admit it, Colin. Tell the world all about how not-personal it was.”

More than anything, you wanted to feel satisfaction for how badly he was trembling beneath you, for how scared you were making him. But you just didn’t. Fear wasn’t enough. Not for what this man had done to you.

“I’m—I’m sorry.” He said, shaking, still shying away from you,

“No, you’re not. You’re sorry that I’m here, that you’re going to die. And that isn’t something to be sorry for.”

“Pl—Please, I have a daughter—a son, you don’t need to do this.” He begged, tearing up as he watched your grip on the switchblade tighten, watched you continue to approach. He was pathetic. Everything about him was pathetic.

“She had a daughter, too.”

His eyes widened as you leaped at him once again, digging your knife as deep as you could get it into his shoulder, feeling it graze bone as you pushed the hilt firmly against his skin, until you could practically hear the blood vessels breaking. He howled, a wounded animal, prey. And he did nothing as your fist descended against his face, once, twice, a third time.

It was just as you were losing count that somebody grabbed you, hauling you up and away from the body sprawled out on the floor, the puddle of blood slowly expanding beneath him. His chest was stuttering, but he had stopped groaning minutes ago.

“Well, shit.” A woman’s voice said, not sounding particularly authoritarian, so you figured she wasn’t FEDRA.

The hands grasping onto your arms released them shortly after, and you dropped to the asphalt, watching Colin’s chest closely, waiting for his breathing to stop. It didn’t seem to be slowing much, and you could feel that unending wave of rage coming back to you, overruling the numbness, and enhancing your need to have him dead.

You moved the slightest bit, about to launch yourself at him, but as soon as your foot was pushing you from your spot on the ground, the hands wrapped around your arms again.

“Fuck! Get off of me!”

“We can’t let you kill the guy, for fuck’s sake. We got business with him!” The woman spoke again, sounding increasingly irate as she moved to get between you and your mother’s murderer.

“He deserves to die. He deserves to be killed. Get off!” You practically roared, resorting to a state not unlike a feral cat, spitting and hissing, spine curling, trying to claw at the hands holding onto you. They stayed steady, even when you managed to scratch one of them deep enough to break skin.

The woman swore again, “Everybody deserves to die, get a hold of yourself!”

“Tess, ‘s probably best if we get him out of here.” The man gripping you said, voice straining slightly as he focused on keeping you restrained. He couldn’t do anything but hold on to you and watch as Tess dragged the guy, by his ankle, down the alley slightly, banging on a side door that you hadn’t even noticed. It opened, and the man inside swore before helping Tess grab the guy and haul him inside.

As soon as the door was safely shut, the man released you.

You walked to the end of the alley, gripping at the back of your head, swearing the whole way. You were probably screaming, given the way your throat was grating on every word, but the sound didn’t register.

“Joel, you’d better get in here.” Tess called, poking her head out of the door. You could hear the irritation in her voice, but it was immediately sent to the back of your mind as you realised what she had actually just said. You whirled around.

He wasn’t exactly what you were expecting.

But he was… familiar.

You couldn’t help it — you laughed, almost hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” You said, voice strained with laughter, “You are Joel? Miller?” You asked, wanting him to say no and be done with it all so badly, but you knew that he wouldn’t say that. It was ingrained in your blood, in your very DNA.

He stared uncomprehendingly at you, as if expecting a spark of recognition to go through him, but it didn’t happen. You saw Tess step cautiously out of the building, apparently prepared to have Joel’s back, no matter what your next move was.

“Who are you?” Joel asked, instead of answering your question, or even making a move towards where you had begun to cry. If only he fucking knew — he had just saved the man who had murdered your mother, who had murdered the woman who was, once upon a time, his wife.

You reached into your pocket, uncaring of the way they both reached for what you assumed were weapons, and pulled out the photo. The moment you unfolded it, revealing him stood next to your mother, it was certain. This man was your father. You held the photo out towards him.

“Joel—” Tess warned, as he stepped forward, but he dismissed her with a look, clearly communicating that he could handle himself. He wasn’t worried, despite the state Colin had been in when they had arrived.

He stared at the photo, brows creasing, face drawing blank, before he reached out and took it. His finger ran across the image of your mother, her bright smile, not a slither of grey to be seen in her hair. “How did you get this?” He asked, clearly in disbelief, denial, maybe.

You pointed to the woman in the picture. “That’s—was my mom.”

It could’ve been funny, months, maybe years ago, the way his eyes flickered between you and the image of her, as if trying to put together how much of the statement was true. You vaguely noticed Tess shift uneasily behind him, before approaching.

“Was?” Joel decided to ask, eventually, instead of whatever else was going through his head. He said nothing to Tess as she took in the photograph he was still holding onto.

“That man, he—he killed her. A few months ago.” You said, smiling, because you couldn’t do anything else. This was all too much. First, your mother is killed. And then when you finally find somewhere potentially safe, you hear about your father. And then before you could do anything about that, you see her killer! And then, before you could finish the job, your biological dad, Joel Miller, saved his life. It wasn’t funny, but you didn’t know how else to react.

You stepped back, sliding down the brick wall behind you until you were sat on the asphalt, and could hang your head between your knees.

“Oh fuck,” Tess said, connecting the dots as she looked between you and Joel rapidly, brows furrowed as she became increasingly concerned. “Don’t tell me that she’s—” She shook her head, turning away from the photo and Joel and you, running a hand through her greasy hair.

Joel was still processing, or at least that’s what it looked like to you. He was staring at the photo, strangely still, seeming blank of any and all emotions.

Tess paced for a moment more, before releasing a heavy breath. She walked past Joel, over to you. “Okay, c’mon.” She said, holding out a hand for you. When you hesitated, she waved her hand and barely refrained from putting it in your face. “C’mon, we’ve gotta get you out of here before Colin goes to FEDRA.” You take her hand, surprised by her strength as she hauls you to your feet in an instant, releasing you immediately. She shook her head again. “Joel, time to go.”

He looked at her, and then towards you, nodding once. You said nothing when he put the picture in his own pocket, instead of handing it back. You hesitantly followed after Tess, wondering what your next move should be, and Joel followed after the two of you, looking stricken.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

None of you had said anything, the entire time Tess had hurried you through borders and to what you assumed was their apartment. It felt like it was miles away from your own.

The wallpaper was yellowed with age, slowly drooping down the walls, peeling away at corners, but it wasn’t the worst state it could’ve been in. The floral pattern didn’t really lend itself to the vibes of the apocalypse, though. Nor did it match either Tess or Joel’s stoic and tough demeanours.

You had no idea what to expect from this.

For as long as you could remember, your mother had told you tales of your father, of the great man he was, the great father he was. But here, on the other side of a worldwide outbreak of infection, you couldn’t quite match the image in front of you to the man in those stories. You had spent so long thinking of him as being dead, unable to do anything to find you or your mother from a grave, that to learn he was alive, and with Tess, it was a shock to your system.

Where was Sarah? Where was the half-sister you had heard so much about from your mother?

Despite Joel matching the name, and the photo that your mother had kept, it just didn’t feel like he was the man you had been imagining as your father. He didn’t seem kind or caring, he didn’t look like he had any love left in him. And maybe, you could have accepted that, if he had other aspects to him, if he hadn’t let your mother’s killer live.

“What happened the day of the outbreak?” You asked, finally, despite the way you ached to run away and cry, for your mother, for yourself, for the father you would never have. Joel just looked at you, rarely blinking as if you were a figment of his imagination, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“No, we are asking you questions.” Tess responded, clearly taking the lead on the situation, despite having no connection to you. It really shouldn’t have been her business. You scoffed. “Where did you come from?” She asked you, unblinking in the face of your disbelief.

You shook your head, “How is that even relevant?”

“Because I said it is.”

“I don’t care what you say. He’s my dad. You’re not my mom.” You replied, roughly, angrily, and you’re only more irritated when Tess doesn’t even react. You become furious when Joel says nothing. “Are you going to say anything?”

Tess went to speak, but you spoke again before she could utter a word.

“Not even about how you let my mother’s killer go? You don’t have anything to say about that?” You questioned, stepping towards him where he had taken a seat on the couch in front of that god-forsaken wallpaper.

There was an awkward lull in the room, each of you waiting for Joel to speak. He seemed unsure if he was going to speak at all, his brows furrowing further, and he pulled the photo out of his pocket to look at once again.

“She died, years ago. My—my kids…” Joel swallowed, and shook his head. He placed the photo down beside him. The photo meant nothing. You could’ve been to his house, and brought it here with you, never having met the woman he hadn’t seen since the day the world fell apart.

“Did you even look for us?” You asked him, head tilting, eyes stinging, wanting desperately for him to say yes, to say he scoured the world but missed you somehow. But looking at him, covered with scars, you could see he was nothing like the man your mother remembered. He didn’t care, not like she thought he had. The man in front of you wasn’t your father — he was a disappointment. He was your father’s shell.

Joel didn’t speak, swallowing harshly, seemingly unable to form any words.

“You’re nothing like she said you were.” You told him quietly, shaking your head, reaching by his side and taking the picture. You wanted to rip his half off, throw it at him, denounce him, tell him he wasn’t your father, that he was never worthy of your mother, but you couldn’t. It was the only thing that you would ever have of the father you should’ve had. The man your mother had loved. She’d already had so much taken from her, you couldn’t, even after her death, take Joel away too. He could live on in the memory. In pictures.

They didn’t say anything when you turned your back on them, shoving the picture in your pocket, and walking out of their door. You slammed it behind you, felt the walls of their apartment tremble with the force, and kept walking.

Part of you, a big part, wished that Joel Miller would have stayed dead. At least that way, you could have kept pretending.

[sirenscriptures]

primarchs + fantasies (2)

anonymous asked: Can I like. Beg you to do another of the primarch fantasies. But including Angron and Peter Turbo. Don't care too much about who else you go for if you do it but please there's so little content for them 😭😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

notes: you ask and you shall receive my sweet anon <3 if you want more primarchs for this series of hcs do let me know!! i decided to include my fav emo ankle biting bat and pretty goth raven man along with your lovely choices. (mdni banner is by arlerts-angel!)

warnings: pretty much gender neutral ! reader. size difference. touch starved primarch time. possessiveness. some bondage. body worship mentioned. depictions of fear play + predator/prey + slight stalking on konrad’s part. the primarchs not knowing how to deal with intimate feelings (shocker!!)

perturabo

for one so cold such as perturabo, it’s a safe assumption that any type of fantasy—even if fleeting—is an utter waste of time. and to no one’s surprise, wasted time is one of his many irritants.

in general, primarchs aren’t recognized as being the greatest with intimacy, yet there are certainly ones who are better at handling it than others, and perturabo is not within that group, at least not yet. shall we say…he would be low-ranked on the intimacy scale compared to some of his brothers.

though, in his slow-building foundation of trust with you, various facets of the massive primarch began to reveal themselves.

it started small, really—fleeting thoughts in your absence of how you watched with a bright curiosity at how he spent so many hours repairing and creating countless devices at his workbench, looping even the smallest of interactions you were able to have in your limited time together within his head during his alone time, the feeling of your prolonged absence beginning to drive an even emptier pit within his chest that made it impossible to focus on anything…

at a certain point, the initial waves of these new urges made perturabo’s already thin patience begin to melt away completely, making him more prone to snapping at everyone around him, even toward you at times—which he of course would come to regret.

but other than his immense frustration due to his inability to recognize and fully confront his deeper desires, he would find himself giving into these “wastes of time” he’d resented so much before.

specifically, desires to explore every part of your delicate body. desires that made him, perturabo of all souls, yearn for physical contact from only you. even if it meant splaying you out on his workbench or hooking you into one of his large contraptions so you had nowhere to flee, he’d do it.

just envisioning how your fragile skin would be stained with marks from metal straps and contraptions digging into your soft flesh, how warm and tight you would be even with his thick cock barely inside of you, and how addictive your noises would be to him as he’d let himself finally have the privilege of getting completely lost in pleasure instead of his own monumental ego…it was enough to drive even someone as stone cold as him mad.

yet, there was more to these thoughts. perturabo had no interest in simply pleasuring you, or getting his pleasure from you. even though pleasure in this sense was fundamental, the aspect that enthralled him the most was being able to call you “his”. not that just your body was his, but that you belonged to him. and he had no means of forgetting to remind you. physically, emotionally, mentally, he wanted to let you know that you belonged to no one else but him.

the more he entertained these thoughts, the more he couldn’t even really recognize himself anymore. you had somehow managed to completely rewire his way of thinking. whether this was good or bad was to be determined…maybe after he did what he did best: putting his ideas into action.

angron

although angron is one of the primarchs who struggles with intimacy the most, that doesn’t mean he is immune from having the same thoughts and desires as his brothers. the only thing that truly “prevents” these thoughts are—you guessed it—the nails.

due to the amount of pain he was in at almost every waking moment, angron had essentially written off any other feeling than his anger. after all, he had no choice. the way he was engineered made this unfortunate truth evermore present, especially when you started growing on him.

he couldn’t even fathom how it was possible that he’d started growing attached to you. of course he had care for certain folk around him, like his sons and certain siblings, of course. but when it came to you, it was completely different. not even the nails could drive hard enough into his brain tissue to convince him that it wasn’t. yet, any time he wished to explore the sensations you gave him, the anger would always wash over him even more than the last time.

anyone that even knew slightly of the primarch knew that his fury was unmatched. his rage boiled like no other, even out of the deepest pits of the immaterium; and the way he fought and shed others' blood displayed that clearly. and though his exterior would never let you know it, he did have the capacity to worry despite the pain.

the truth was that these desires were possibly even stronger than his own potent rage. but angron knew, with that same bitter taste in his mouth, that even if he were able to, letting himself release onto you would only end up hurting you; but more likely killing you. though he could be bloodthirsty and careless of the lives he tossed away, you were different to him than others. his trust was not easy to gain by just anybody, but your gentle nature and genuine kindness even despite his own temperament had gradually surrendered it to you.

though it’s immensely painful for him, sometimes he can’t help but to think of you. there are so many times where he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his. times where he can feel you in every aspect, from the taste of your lips to how it feels pushing inside you. the pain he’s so used to feeling doesn’t stop him from envisioning how hypnotizing you’d look pushing yourself down onto his shaft, head throwing back as your entire body trembled at the feeling of his length stretching you from the inside.

he knew it could never truly happen because of these feelings, but a part of him wanted so badly to feel you with his own hands. as battered and scarred as they were, you’d always looked so soft to him. the attraction angron had to you seemed to only fester when he had these thoughts, causing even more pain for him.

envisioning a position where he can have you in his possession and feel every single part of you without any pain feels like it could be the closest feeling to euphoria he could ever feel. even if it’s just a sliver of the sensation, the pain feels worth it in some form. even if you have to restrain him until he has fresh scars, it would all be worth it for you. at least, some part of him felt that.

corvus corax

like many of his brothers, corvus is extremely complicated. there are many cold and immovable aspects to his personality, yet there is still the glimmer of humanity in him. there are also aspects of vulnerability that you don’t get to see too often, at least as a human surrounded primarily by legionaries.

even as a human who never got much interaction with him, corvus knew there was something about you worth exploring. while it was never too common for primarchs to interact so personally with humans in or outside of their legions, he wasn’t the type to be concerned about any raised eyebrows or whispers.

the more alone time he spends with you, while limited at first, only makes this curiosity within him grow. every visit with you makes him want to know even more about you than the last, even when your conversations expand from only mere minutes to hours.

while it only seems like a harmless interest of his in the early stages, corvus slowly begins to realize just how much of an impact you leave on him, and it eats away at him in your absence. there is something desperate within him when thinking of you. it doesn’t make sense at first due to how new these sensations are to the primarch, but it comes together eventually.

maybe it was how deeply he’d gotten to know you that drew him closer. even just the sight of your face or sound of your voice could pull him from even the darkest of ruminations that plagued his mind so often. the first time he’d ever heard you sincerely smile and laugh without any worry of formality made something in him feel more alive than ever.

his thoughts of you were fond, but they had so much more depth now. because of you, his mind no longer felt so dark and clouded.

the desperation he felt for you was connected to the deep longing for your touch. though he could never let you know that, corvus still ached to feel you. his thoughts of you were full of admiration not only for your character and personality, but also for your body.

if he let himself slip too much into the thought, it would make him wonder what it would be like exploring your body. you were so delicate, so gentle that he’d have to almost “train” himself to handle you properly and with care. your body was so fascinating to him entirely. in his mind, there wasn’t any other way to make you know that than to worship it entirely.

so many thoughts and wonders of feeling you and noting which parts of you were most sensitive, so many visions of your back arching and body squirming, so many questions of whether you felt similar to him.

of course, he has to pull himself away from these thoughts, which is a battle against himself every time. though, there are still so many questions in his mind that remain. even when he’s gotten to know so much about you, there is always a deeper yearning in the raven guard primarch to display how much he desires you as a whole. for now, he can only hope that these fantasies don’t just exist as such forever.

konrad curze

curze is another one of those special cases, in that most if not all of his fantasies involve invoking fear in some way. yet, his fantasies about you are quite different from his fantasies of how he sheds others’ blood.

in true primarch nature, it takes him quite a while to properly acknowledge these thoughts and urges. having these types of feelings for a human was the last thing he’d ever expected in his lifetime. he never would have found his mind capable of ever having these feelings for really anyone.

for a being so centered on generating fear and violence wherever he is, it’s like the world he’d always known was shattering around him. the discovery of his feelings and desires for you feel like konrad’s biggest loss yet an amazing revelation at the exact same time.

before, you were such an insignificant face in his mind. just an innocent stranger, almost like the rest of them. almost. that was the part that had stuck out in his mind: you were clearly different in the way he’d spared you from death. yet, he never understood why.

these feelings are almost unbearable to him, like a sickness of some kind. it’s almost like feeling this way changes him physically in some form, because it seems to take a toll on his health and stature for a while. yet somehow, it feels good…and he doesn’t want the overwhelming sensations to stop.

though he manages to hide it from you when you’re present, it comes to a point where even the mere scent of you fires off a million of these sensations at once: head spinning, vision almost completely blurred, feelings of that same drunken sickness mixed with an intense, unquenchable thirst for more blinding all rational thoughts…

yet, it somehow only intensifies. he can’t help but think of how beautiful you’d look underneath him, eyes glassy with that familiar fear he’d evoked in so many. even if it’s only an image in his mind, konrad can feel how soft your lips are, how delicate your neck is with his massive hand engulfing it, and how desperately you writhe beneath his body, both in fear and arousal.

the mere thought of you eventually becomes insatiable to him. he needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as he possibly can, even if that means lurking wherever you are. he really doesn’t care whether you see or not, though he has quite a talent for slipping right away from your vision before you can even turn your head.

it doesn’t matter how much he tries to fight the visions away. once his mind was set on you, an endless spiral drove deeper into his mind with each passing moment. even if he would never fully understand why he’d felt this way, or how this had ever come to be, konrad knew that there was far too much enjoyment to be had in this little game of chase with you to really care.

even if there was a very small part of him that did truly wonder of the deeper parts of yourself other than your mixed fear and interest within him, he’d never truly let that be known. at least, not in a direct way. but who knows? maybe one day you’d see that mask slip accidentally. but until then, he would still keep so many secrets from you, even in his own fantasies of you.

written by sirenscriptures. do not copy, repost, rewrite, translate, use, or post on to any other site.

[bestiesenpai]

sukuna bridgerton au pt3

It’s honeymoon time! Someone suggested jealous Sukuna and I wanted to put it in here but I think I’ll save it for the next installment.

Content warning that there will be infidelity(mentions of past and then a current scenario), attempted noncon(very short and not graphic)!

Bold indicates a different language used in conversation

Femme reader, i did include one line of a physical descriptor(hair)

part one --- part two -- part four

Traveling to your honeymoon made you almost as sick as Sukuna on your wedding night, something which you thought couldn’t be outdone. The man had spent all night in the restroom being nursed by his valets while you lay in another wing of the villa sleeping peacefully with the help of another spiced drink from your lady's maid.

“You’ll get used to the ship, I promise!” Sukuna chuckled as he walked into your bed quarters to see you laying face down on the bed. It was only your first day and while you’d be on the ship barely three days you weren’t sure how you would fare.

“Please, not now.” Turning your head slightly, you glared at Sukuna.

“Come with me, I know something that may help.” He held out his hand, laughing again when you refused to move even an inch. “If it doesn’t work I’ll carry you back here personally.” It took several minutes for you to muster up the strength to get up and follow him, gripping his bicep to keep yourself steady as the ship rocked back and forth. “I wish I had known this was going to be your first time on a ship, Your Grace. I would have prepared more for you!”

“N-not everyone can travel the world like you.” Coming to the upper deck you groaned at the sudden gust of air that blew into you. The water was thankfully calm and the weather was beautiful and you cursed yourself for not being able to properly enjoy it.

“This way.” Leading you to the front of the ship, Sukuna had you sit on a small bench overlooking the ocean. Handing you a glass of peppermint tea, he stood by your side and pointed out to the horizon. “Just look that way and I promise you’ll settle in no time.”

“Whatever you say.” You didn’t have a reason to question him, Sukuna was a sailor at one point for his country's navy and he even joked about putting on his old uniform for the journey. Sipping the tea slowly, the sound of the water slapping against the boat and the sails rustling became merely background noise and not something grating against your ears.

“How do you feel?” Sukuna asked, daring to put a hand on your shoulder.

“Better.” Taking a breath, you took stock of your body. There was still a lingering nausea but the dreadful feeling from before was gone and you could take looks away from the horizon from time to time. Sukuna slid his hand from your shoulder, letting it rest at his side before he excused himself.

Dinner on the ship was uneventful but what was to come after had your nerves on edge. Your mother had briefly talked about this aspect of married life but you knew it wasn’t enough to prepare you. Some of your already married girl friends spoke on it as well but you knew experiencing it for yourself would be something else entirely.

“Do you wish to be together tonight, Miss?” Sukuna spoke once the meal was over, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Although I must warn you, once a woman has laid with me she falls in love.” Gone was the mystique you had and back was the memory of Sukuna the first time you saw him, wrapped up with another woman that you were certain wasn’t enjoying herself in the slightest.

“I’ve seen how you treat women in that way and I wish to do no such thing with you.”

“What? You can’t be serious.” He rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively at you. “That woman was nothing more than a whore.”

“Do not say such things!” You shouted back, anger quickly rising in you.

“Do you not hear me? I’m saying you’re different!”

“I do not believe you. Who’s to stop you from being cruel to me?”

“It is our wedding night!” Standing abruptly, the chair clattered to the ground as Sukuna rounded the table. “I am your husband!” Grabbing onto your jaw roughly, Sukuna ignored your screams of protest and your attempt to hit him away. “And you would do good to listen to me.”

“Get off of me!” Wrestling out of the chair, you attempted to push Sukuna to the side so you could leave but the man didn’t budge. Raising your hand to strike him didn’t work either as he caught both of your wrists and another struggle ensued.

“You should be grateful I haven’t done anything already!”

“Let me go!”

“You should be thanking me for protecting you against Naoya!”

“I’d rather him than you!” In a last ditch effort you brought your knee up, hitting Sukuna right between the legs. It gave you enough time to stomp on his foot and shove him to the ground. Looking down at him with tears streaming down your face, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything and instead fled from the room.

Rushing into the bedroom, you slammed the door closed and locked it, going so far as to push the chest of drawers in front of the door as well. There was no doubt that the servants aboard had heard everything and would certainly talk about the spectacle but hopefully none of them would say anything once you reached land.

The next two days at sea you avoided Sukuna like the plague, only leaving the bedroom to use the restroom and get a breath of air as soon as the sun began to rise. Sometimes you could hear him outside your room pacing and on occasion the maid will ask if you have anything you’d like to say to him but you decline every time.

“Finally, land!” Sukuna announced once the ship docked. This was the first time you were seeing each other since the first night and you know you looked worse for wear. You could hardly sleep the whole time, worried that Sukuna would force his way into the bedroom. Rushing off of the ship as soon as possible, you took in the city before you. It was certainly old and you could see a tall cathedral in the distance and smoking chimneys dotted the landscape around it.

Climbing into the carriage, you were grateful Sukuna rode separately. There was no doubt you’d start crying if you were in such a tight space with him. Riding through the city, you marveled at the different clothing you saw and the language you heard was something you’d been studying for a while now.

Riding to the city outskirts, the chateau you’d be staying at came into view. There was tasteful ivy and wisteria growing on the front and you had to ride over a bridge to get to it, with the river below sparkling in the sun. Many trees dotted the landscape and a garden sprawled out behind the property.

“Please show me to my room.” You made a beeline for the head maid of the estate once the carriage stopped, not wanting to be caught with Sukuna for even a moment. Her mouth opened to question you but thought better of it and stepped aside, gesturing you to follow her.

“Princess!” Sukuna called after you but you didn’t turn around.

“Please, walk faster.” You urged, making the maid nearly run to get to your room.

“N-now Your Highness, will you and the Prince be sharing a room or-”

“I want to be nowhere near him. Thank you.” Closing the door quickly, you could hear approaching footsteps and made sure to lock the door.

“Princess, open the door.” Sukuna knocked loudly, causing you to jump.

���Go away.” You replied with a shaky voice.

“Let me see you. I wish to apologize.”

“I do not wish to hear it.” You countered immediately, backing away from the door.

“But I-”

“Leave! Now!” The shrillness of your voice surprised even you and you could only imagine what Sukunas expression was.

“Fine.” He stormed away, a crash and something shattering an indication he was very upset.

June 3

My worst fears of marriage have come true. Sukuna is a monster, an absolute and irredeemable creature. I thought he could at least respect my wishes yet the way he attacked me on the ship says otherwise. I do not want to be alone with him although that will certainly cause people to talk about the state of our marriage.

If possible, I will make sure I always have a maid present on this honeymoon for my own peace of mind. I heard some servants mention a festival being held in our honor down at the city center at the end of this week, maybe by then my reservations about being with Sukuna will have changed.

What a way to start a marriage, is it not?

XX

Two days went by before your paths crossed again. Sukuna was usually out of the home riding or greeting acquaintances and you took the time to explore the chateau and get a tour from the head maid. Finding a quiet place to sit under a tree near the rivers edge, you settled into a small picnic and a book you’d gotten as a gift from one of your siblings.

The calmness of the water, the heat of the sun and the shade of the tree all helped to draw you so into your book you lost track of your surroundings. You paid no mind to the snapping of twigs or a rustle here and there, though you wished you had when you finally took a break and looked up and over your shoulder.

There Sukuna was, leaning against the tree trunk and watching you. He was in a black vest, no cravat to decorate his neck and you could see a small patch of skin from where his shirt was unbuttoned. He donned his familiar boots once more and his pants had many creases in them. Seeing your frightened expression, he raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m merely here to apologize.” He pushed himself away from the tree and took a few steps forward, stopping when he saw you visibly recoil. “Please, do not run away.” You held your tongue, fearing you’d either say something mean or scream.

“I let my emotions get the better of me on the ship and I should know better than to treat a lady in such a way.” Looking at the river, he sighed; Sukuna was not one for apologies, he simply ignored the issue until it blew over or had a valet do it for him. “I…apologize, Princess. I will not let such a thing happen again between us.”

You let the words sink in as you looked at him. His expression did appear genuine and you didn’t want to live in this discomfort forever.

“You are forgiven.” Your eyes dropped down to his lapel as you took a deep breath. “But the trust between us will need to be rebuilt.” Not that there had been a great deal in the first place, but what was there would need to be mended.

“Of course. I shall start by having the cook prepare your favorite meal for supper, it’s only right we dine together and discuss what our plans for this honeymoon should be.”

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, Princess.” If Sukuna was honest, he was terribly uncomfortable right now. Being vulnerable in this way and apologizing was a foreign feeling to him that he did not want to dwell in any longer. Bowing his head, Sukuna turned and began to walk away and got a few feet away before he turned back. “Princess?”

“Yes?”

“What…what is your favorite meal?”

At supper that evening, the conversation flowed much better than either of you expected. It was still stilted and paused in some places with neither of you knowing what to say next, but overall the mood was amicable and you even chuckled at something he said.

With your relationship slowly getting better, you both retired to the drawing room for the evening where you played a song on the harp and Sukuna read a newspaper from the town and sipped on an evening cocktail.

“My Lady, I’m sure the servants have told you about the festival to be held this week?” He spoke without looking after you finished the song.

“I’ve heard about it, yes. It’ll be held in Vauxhall Gardens if I’m not mistaken.” You looked at him hopefully, you desperately wanted to go. It was to be held in your honor after all and if you didn’t go it would surely sour the city's impression of you.

“You do not need to look at me like that, of course we will be in attendance.” Rolling his eyes playfully, he set the newspaper down and finally looked at you. “As if I would miss a chance to show off to the simple minded people of this city.” Ignoring the jab at the citizens, your mind raced with what you would wear and what all would be at the gardens.

As the evening came to an end, you and Sukuna parted ways to go to your separate bedrooms. He had started to follow you to your room but stopped at the look you gave him, slinking away to the room he’d been occupying. It would likely take a while for you to be comfortable enough for him to see you in complete undress and in your nightclothes.

The days leading up to the festival had you buzzing with excitement; you had a local guide take you around the city and you got to practice your language skills with the locals, many of whom were taken by the new Princess in their presence. You even met with some high trade merchants and their families with some going as far as to ask you to bless their children with good fortune.

The night of the festival, you and Sukuna donned clothing familiar to the area; forgoing your gloves, you slipped on a golden bracelet a merchant had given you and sat back as a silky bandana was tied around your head, holding some of your hair back as you’d seen other women do in the market you visited.

Coming to the foyer, you saw Sukuna was in linen pants and a dark red shirt with the sleeves done up around his elbows to expose his forearms. This was the first time you were seeing such a show of skin from a man and you were unable to draw your eyes away. You completely ignored the black vest and ornate lapel pin he had on, or the ascot he had on that was a similar pattern to your bandana.

“Princess, staring is rude.” Sukuna teased, snapping his finger in front of your face. Jumping out of your daydreams, a hot flush enveloped your cheeks and you clutched your reticule and fan to your chest.

“Let us depart.” You responded and nearly ran to the barouche. Sukuna’s laughter followed you out and he quickly joined you, settling into his seat as the hot summer air enveloped the two of you as you rode. Getting closer to the pleasure garden, you saw people of all social standing making their way as well with most tipping their hats or curtseying as you drove by.

“My Lady.” Sukuna made a show of getting out first and helping you out of the carriage and a small crowd formed off to the side to witness it. Smiling politely to them, you followed Sukunas lead and headed into the garden where a host of trumpets played upon your arrival.

“Oh my!” Right away, you spotted someone breathing fire and another swallowing swords. Making your way further in, there were many statues to behold and there was even a hot-air balloon exhibition that you stopped to marvel at for a time. “This is marvelous, Your Highness.”

“It truly is.” Nodding dumbly, Sukuna couldn’t take his eyes off the hot-air balloon and was about to offer to take you on it when a voice interrupted him.

“Your Highness!” A man's voice cut through the crowd and you both turned to see a few merchants with their wives. Curtsying slightly at them, you noticed how Sukuna had shifted to partially stand in front of you.

“Your Highness.” He said again to you, bowing deeply. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Edward, and behind me are Lord Phillip and Lord Willoughby.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You responded with a polite smile, looking at everyone in the group. The wives of these merchants were all trying their best not to stare at you but even you knew you’d find it quite difficult in the presence of royalty not to stare.

“To what do we owe this pleasure?” Sukuna asked with a very slight edge to his tone.

“We merely wish to congratulate the happy couple.” Lord Phillip spoke up, wringing his hands nervously as he did so.

“When we heard you would be taking your honeymoon in our city, we were overjoyed.” Lord Willoughby's wife took a few steps toward you in an attempt to engage in conversation. Taking a quick glance at Sukuna, he gave you no disparaging looks so you accepted the advance.

“And what a beautiful city it is!” You gushed, allowing the woman to bring you into the fray of wives. As your new group began to walk again, you fell into step with the women and walked a bit slower to truly engage in conversation.

Stopping to look at a tightrope walker, you nearly fainted at seeing them walk across so graciously and with confidence you could never muster if you were up that high. As the spectacle went on, you couldn’t help but catch wind of the conversation in front of you.

“Your Highness, will we be seeing you later tonight at the parlor? There are a few…ladies wishing to see you again.”

“Rest assured gentlemen, I shall give them what they so desire.” Chuckling at the thought, Sukuna made a show of brushing off his vest. “They’ll be begging for more until the sun rises.” The conversation was certainly not for your ears and you tried in vain to ignore it and the way the men laughed amongst themselves.

“Do not let this sully your good mood, Your Highness.” One of the women whispered to you, fanning your face in an attempt to dry the tears you didn’t know had fallen. “It is something that comes with married life in every class.” Quickly pulling out your handkerchief, you fought hard to keep your breathing even.

“E-excuse me a moment.” Making a hasty retreat, you didn’t dare turn to look and see if Sukuna had noticed. It was foolish of you to think you could truly be happy in this marriage and that there could be a sense of trust between the two of you. Your first conversation with Sukuna flashed into your head, one where he specifically stated he would not belong to just one woman.

“Oh, please excuse me, Miss.” As a consequence of you not watching where you were going, you ended up running right into someone and nearly falling. With their arm outstretched you managed to right yourself before any mishap happened.

“Please forgive me, I wasn’t watching where I was going.” You replied, looking at the man you had bumped into. He wore a darker version of what Sukuna had on, black on black clothing making it almost impossible to distinguish him from the night sky if it weren’t for the lamps lighting the garden. Upon making eye contact, the man gasped and bowed immediately.

“My apologies, Your Highness! I did not realize it was you. I am Lord Megumi Fushiguro, I am a merchant that deals in the high trade of wine.” He did not stand back up as he spoke, making sure to keep his head lower than yours. “I do hope you are enjoying the festival, my warehouse supplied all of the refreshments tonight.”

“I…I am.” Raising your hand, you motioned for him to stand at his full height once more. Megumi had spiky black hair that went in all directions even though you could tell he desperately wished it to be slicked down with the way he kept petting at it. He had a lapel pin of a jeweled raven, something that immediately caught your eye along with his striking features.

“If I may be so forward, Your Highness, do you wish to walk with me? I see you are unattended and a lady of your stature should not be walking alone.” 

“I would enjoy that.” With a gentle smile on your face, you fell into step with Megumi. He didn’t speak much at all, instead walking with his hands behind his back and taking in the sights of the festival. With the silence he provided, you tried to comfort yourself.

“Your Highness, is everything alright? Your expression is most troubled.” Megumi asked, stopping to grab you a ratafia and some zeppole. Taking a sip of the drink, your brows rose high upon your face at tasting how strong it was. Megumi couldn’t help the chuckle that came out upon seeing it.

“I do not wish to delve too deep but it seems…” You hesitated and looked around you and at Megumi's face. You weren’t sure how much - if anything - to divulge to this man and how much would be heard by others. “The Prince and I have had a disagreement tonight.” Pursing your lips after you took another sip, you were glad that all Megumi did was nod at that information.

“Very well. Let us not dwell on this and let it tarnish the night. Come, shall we see the zoo?” He began to walk and you followed, grateful for his willingness to change the topic of conversation.

“These animals are amazing!” You’d never seen a collection such as this before, there were animals here that you’d only read about. Elephants and ostriches, flamingos and snakes - and you were even allowed to touch some of them. Glancing over at Megumi, there were a few times you caught him looking at you fondly and when one of the zookeepers went to put a snake on your arm he held you gingerly at the elbow.

You found conversation to be easy with Megumi even though you could tell he preferred not to say much. Any questions you had were answered, like how many siblings he had - one sister, Your Highness. Did he enjoy the arts - horrible at drawing but I love to read, Your Highness. What his favorite color was - sorry to say it’s black, Your Highness, I know it is quite drab. If he was on the marriage market or not - I suppose I am, though my efforts are more spent on getting my sister a match, Your Highness.

“Lord Fushiguro, I thank you so very much for being my company for tonight.” Your words slurred just the slightest as you spoke and although you wouldn’t dare hang onto him for support, you wished you could put your arm in Megumis and let him help keep you upright. Recounting the drinks you had, it didn’t feel like you should have been this drunk; but you chalked it up to the country’s alcohol just naturally being stronger than you were used to.

“It is truly my pleasure, Your Highness.” Even though Megumi had the same amount of alcohol as you did he appeared completely unaffected, walking with his head held high. As the two of you went, you realized that the area had become less populated and the buzz of the festival was beginning to dull.

“It seems we have wandered a bit too far.” Looking around, you realized you were in a more wooded area of the park, something your mother always forbade you to do. A dark walk in that part of the park will leave your reputation in tatters. “Let us turn back now.”

But turning to Megumi, you saw the look in his eyes had shifted. Taking a step back, you gasped at feeling your back hit a tree and Megumi’s hand planted itself right near your head.

“Your Highness, I enjoyed our time together so much I fear I do not want it to end.” His voice had dropped lower and he dared to bring his face closer to yours. Turning your head away, you felt your nerves prick and you brought your fan up to your face to try and shield yourself.

“Y-yes but-”

“There is no need to be shy, not here.” Megumi attempted to remove your fan but you held strong and he did not push it; something you were grateful for. If it had been Sukuna, you know much more would have happened already. “I know how he treats you, Your Highness.” That admittance made you snap to attention.

“Please, do not say anything.” You pleaded, lowering your fan slightly.

“I would never do anything to hurt you, you must understand. It is deplorable how the Prince treats his new wife and I do not stand for it.” Megumi tried again to remove your fan and you let him, let him tuck it into your reticule. He linked the tips of your fingers together and you gasped; this was the first time you were touching the bare hand of a man that you weren’t related to and it sent shivers up your spine.

“Your Highness, will you allow me to show you how I would treat you?” Megumi’s voice was now a whisper against your lips and you barely whispered a yes before he was kissing you. It was gentle and slow, allowing you to ease into the feeling of your second kiss.

You slowly brought your other hand up to rest on Megumi’s shoulder as he deepened the kiss, his unoccupied hand daring to grip your waist through your dress. Tilting your head to the side you let him kiss down your neck and to the middle of your chest. Megumi let out a soft groan when your fingers slowly tangled into his hair and he shifted, daring to start lifting up the skirt of your dress.

“Tell me to stop, Your Highness. Tell me and I will.” Megumi half begged, his lips desperate against yours. You shook your head in response - you weren’t sure you could say anything at the moment. Palming over your undergarments, Megumi’s hand was quickly reaching the apex of your thighs, something that was lighting your skin on fire.

“Lord Fushiguro…” You sighed quietly and subtly shifted your legs a bit farther apart for him. Just as his fingers began to inch further towards your heat, Megumi was ripped away from you with a shout.

“You fucking bastard!” Even in the dim light you could tell it was Sukuna who had caught you and was now gripping Megumi by the collar as they tustled on the ground.

“Y-Your Highness, run away!” Megumi yelled, rolling over and managing to hold Sukuna off from punching him.

“Stop!” You cried, daring to get closer to try and pull them apart.

“Leave!” Megumi shouted once more, enraging Sukuna now that he could understand.

“You tried to take advantage of her, you devil!” He yelled and the pair quickly dissolved into another wrestling match on the ground. You could see both landed a few hits on the other and you couldn’t bear to see either of them hurt.

“Lord Fushiguro!” You fell to your knees at the sigh of Sukuna landing a punch square on the man’s jaw, knocking him senseless. Sukunas breathing was labored as he stood above the man, brushing off the dirt he’d accumulated.

“You. Never- never see again.” His words in the language were broken and he glanced at you for a moment. “You, never go again.” Ignoring the threatening words, you tried to go to Megumi to assess his injuries.

“Let me see him.” You fought against Sukuna, the way he held you back so easily frustrated you. “Let me see him!” Reaching out an arm, you groaned as Sukuna hugged your arms to your chest.

“Your Highness.” Megumi raised his head slightly, giving you a pained smile while a purple bruise was blooming on his face. “Please, do not be upset.” In any other situation you’d find Megumi’s accent delightfully charming and wish to hear it a hundred times over. “Go home and rest.”

“Silence.” Sukuna growled, spitting on Megumi as he walked by with you in tow. It was difficult to compose yourself enough to get through the gardens and back to the barouche but somehow you managed with only the grace the Queen's diamond could summon.

The ride back to the chateau was disgusting with the tension that filled the space. The air had cooled now, helping to dry the sweat that had collected on both of you during your outing. As soon as you stepped foot inside, Sukuna cornered you against the wall.

“Explain to me what happened.” He ordered, not being gentle as he shoved you to stop you from escaping.

“Do not handle me in such a manner.” You bit back with a shove of your own. The two of you stared at each other, eyes dripping with venom and it was you that broke the tension first. “I am merely playing the part of a royal, am I not?”

“Be quiet.”

“No! It was you that told me this is how royalty does it! You that said you would never be faithful to me.” Your face was uncomfortably hot and your shouting pushed Sukuna back some. “You set the tone for this marriage and I am simply following your lead.” Sniffling back angry tears, the vision of Megumi beaten and bloody on the ground flashed in front of your eyes. “You have no right to be angry when it was you who made the rules we are to follow.”

Sukuna sighed angrily, running a hand through his hair. What you said was true no matter how much he wanted to deny it. It was he that told you how your married life would be and although he expected you to be upset, he didn’t expect for you to also do the same to him.

“You will never see him again, I hope you understand that.” Was what he said in response. You merely shook your head in disagreement, pulling your fan out to cool yourself.

“You have no right to say that when you will surely go to that parlor tonight as you have done every other night since our arrival.”

“I am your husband-”

“And I am your wife!” You countered, tossing your fan to the ground. “Or does that mean nothing to you? Am I merely just the Queens diamond that you were so happy to pluck and place upon a shelf?”

Both of your breathing was labored and you could practically see steam rolling off Sukuna as he tried to think of what to say next. His hands curled and uncurled, his shoulders rolled and that was when you finally took notice of the bloody lip and blossoming bruise on the side of his neck. With a cut above the eyebrow and remnants of a bloody nose, he looked much like a young boy that had been caught in a fight and not a regal crown prince.

“I do not have to explain myself to you.” His eyes were trained on the floor and he dared not move them. “You are right, it was indeed I that said I would never be faithful. But I see now that those words have hurt us both and…and I wish for that all to stop now.” Finding the courage to look at your face, makeup ruined by all the tears and your face scrunched up in disbelief, Sukuna sighed again. “I do not want to break your heart.” That earned him a slap on the face, something that shocked him so terribly he stumbled back and knocked into a table in the foyer.

“Heartbreak is one thing, my ego is another.” Shaking off your stinging hand, you picked up your discarded fan. “If what you say is true, then I accept it. I do not want this partnership to continue in such a way.” Fixing your clothes, you froze at what Sukuna said next.

“You know Princess, I quite liked you slapping me like that.” He chuckled and raised his brow, biting his lip as you made eye contact. You stammered to make a response but found no words were coming forward and that made Sukuna laugh even more. “Go get ready for bed, Princess. I’d like for us to go out to the country tomorrow.”

[lyvhie]

after last night | dong sicheng

actor!sicheng x actress!reader (+18 mdni)

summary: acting alongside your rival was supposed to be just another one of the competitions you play out in your mind, but after a brief heated moment between the two of you, you began to question your true feelings toward him.

a/n: @winwintea..... i'm finally here, pookie.... im like, so so so so so sorry it took sooooo long for me to finally finish this. but i put a lot of love care blood sweat and tears on it, i hope you like it, if you dont, then ill disappear from earth and no one will ever see me again 😫

cw: smut, fluff, more of one-sided rivals to situationship, alcohol mention and consumption, fingering, edging, unprotected sex.

with a frustrated huff, you sank into the chair, allowing the makeup artist to work their magic. the studio was filled with an almost tangible tension, as everyone seemed to expect a blow-out fight between you and sicheng at any moment.

it’s been a constant issue since the start of filming this drama. working on the same project as your long-time rival sicheng has made every day stressful, the constant tension and friction have made filming the drama a more difficult and uncomfortable experience for everyone involved.

the undeniable chemistry between you and sicheng on camera despite the constant tension backstage has led to the difficulty of finding another pair to match your on-screen chemistry. as the main characters of the drama, the romantic aspect of the show requires a certain level of connection and synchronization that only you two seem to possess, as ironic as it may sound.

but today, the prolonged shoot further strained everyone on the set, not only due to the physical exhaustion, but also the weight of the tense atmosphere that loomed over everyone. the frustration and fatigue were palpable, and the constant back and forth between you and sicheng only added to the mounting pressure.

the problem was the dreaded kissing scene. despite everyone’s expectations, you and sicheng can’t do it — and unfortunately, you’re the only one to blame. every time the distance between your faces closes, you instinctively pull away, much to everyone’s frustration.

“um, excuse me,” the staff member poked her head into the dressing room and announced, "the director said it's getting late, and it would be best to continue tomorrow, so… everyone is dismissed for today,” she gave a small, apologetic smile before closing the door gently.

"of course this would happen," you mutter under your breath, trying to contain your frustration. you dismiss the makeup artist with a polite nod, then tilt your head back in irritation as you let out a heavy sigh.

“can you please calm down a little, boss?” your assistant, haneul, places a cup of hot chocolate in front of you and steps into your view, her voice gentle as she pleads with you.

you glare at her and snap, "don't ask me to calm down when i’m perfectly calm, haneul,” grabbing the drink, you take a big sip before continuing. "dong sicheng is such an idiot.”

haneul lets out a deep sigh, rolling her eyes at your response. "he might be an idiot, but you're not much better when you act like this all the time," she says, crossing her arms. "just suck it up, get the scene done, and then you can go back to hating each other."

her firm words cause you to flinch, and you allow your shoulders to drop, acknowledging her point. you're aware that you've been more irritating than usual lately, and her straightforward approach hits home.

you sigh, slumping into the chair and admit, "i know, i know. i'm sorry. i'm just in a really bad mood today. everything is going wrong, and sicheng... i just want to punch that annoying face of his so bad.”

haneul couldn't help but chuckle, her eyes crinkling in amusement as they watched you scrunch your face like you had just tasted something sour.

"you two should get a room," her tone was playful, yet there was an underlying suggestion in her voice that betrayed her mischievous thoughts.

"what?!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with disbelief and shock, you were offended even. the mere thought of having something like that with sicheng gave you the creeps.

haneul continued with a sly smile on her face, her tone now tinged with a hint of amusement, "i’m just saying," she began, "that we can all see the tension between you two. it's like you're just waiting for the moment to pounce on each other."

"is that your way of asking to be fired, huh?" your eyebrows raising slightly out of disbelief. "cut the nonsense – where the hell did you even get that idea?" you shook your head, dismissing the absurd thought, clearly annoyed by your friend's outlandish assumption.

haneul just laughed even more, enjoying the reaction from you. she had always assumed that deep down, you were only pretending to hate sicheng, because she could sense that there was secretly something more than just dislike. the imaginary game you played in your mind, of trying to outshine each other, was something she thought had made the actual attraction to him more intense.

"yeah, you can keep telling yourself that, boss," she placed her hands on your shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. "but your bad mood would improve a lot if you just let him hit it.”

haneul was caught off guard as you suddenly grabbed the pillow from your lap, not having enough time to react. she grunted as the pillow hit her face with a soft thud. she stumbled back, rubbing her face where the pillow made contact, failing to hide her giggle and act offended.

she was about to continue with her tease when the sound of the door opening interrupted her, as if a greater force was saving her from provoking your wrath even further.

"sorry to interrupt," sicheng's deep voice reached your ears, his gaze fixing on you with a small raise of his eyebrows. he was the last person you wanted to see. "are you free right now?"

“for you?”

“mhm.”

“then no.”

sicheng let out a deep sigh in response, already expecting this reply from you. your name came out of his lips with a different, pleading tone compared to the annoyed one he had used for you all day.

"i’m serious," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of sincerity. "we need to talk, please?"

you were usually a stubborn person, but perhaps today you were simply too drained and the memory of haneul's words from before suddenly echoed in your mind, reminding you that maybe making things difficult wasn't always the right way to go, you knew you had already caused enough trouble.

so with a reluctant sigh, you relented, “fine,” your tone slightly annoyed. “what is it?” you gestured for haneul to give you some space alone with him and she immediately made her way to the door, despite her curiosity about what you would talk.

sicheng moved closer, taking a seat in front of you. you expected him to bring up the topic of the messed-up records and give you his usual sweet and annoying words of reassurance, mentally prepared to roll your eyes and respond with snark.

"i've noticed how stressful it was for you today," he started, his tone sympathetic. "and since this is your first romantic role, i've been thinking about what i could do to make this process easier for you. then, i realized the solution was right in front of us.”

you raised an eyebrow skeptically, not liking where this was going.

“we just need to practice,” he smiled.

"you're saying we should practice... kissing?"

“exactly!”

“absolutely not.”

his smile faded away instantly.

he let out a slight whine, trying to persuade you to comply. "oh, come on," he pleaded, "don't be like that now.”

“i said no. this is so stupid, sicheng,” you crossed your arms, looking away from him.

“why are you making such a big deal out of this?" even though he already knew that acting like this was part of your nature, he still asked.

you felt overwhelmed at the thought of having to kiss him on set even more, let alone practicing it multiple times. it was already a challenge for you, and you were unsure if you could handle it.

you responded with a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay it. "i’m not making a big deal out of it," you said dismissively. "i just think this idea is stupid. that’s all."

"have you thought about something better then?" he asked, his tone tinged with a slight annoyance. “there's no way we can keep going with the show if you don't overcome this problem." his eyebrows furrowed as he continued, "you know we'll have to perform even more 'spicy' scenes in the future, right?”

ugh... of course you know. you were already starting to regret your stupid decision to accept a show for a mature audience just to compete with sicheng.

“and i fear they might replace you for this scene," he continued, his tone serious. "not that it's a problem per se, but i know you don't like stunts.”

his words made you flinch a little. it’s not that you dislike stunts themselves, you actually think they are pretty cool and that their work is impressive. you just don't like the idea of not seeming capable of doing your own work, and feeling inadequate when you know you're so skilled in it. it leaves you feeling disconcerting.

overwhelmed? unsure if you could handle it? regretting your role choice? replaced by a stunt double? bullshit! you were a top-notch actress, and a simple kiss wouldn't change that. you had the skills and confidence to tackle any role thrown your way.

sicheng knew he had struck a chord as he observed your expression. he knew well that bringing out your competitive side would effectively motivate you. the slight frown that appeared on your face, coupled with the defeated sigh and the rolled eyes, only confirmed his assumption that he had achieved his goal.

“okay, let's do that.”

hah.

he got you.

haneul couldn't resist making suggestive remarks toward you upon hearing that she could leave first because you had things to do with sicheng. it wasn't until you played the "threaten-her-paycheck" card that she finally decided it was time to head home.

now it was just you and sicheng in the studio. as you stood leaning against the table set for the scene, your eyes briefly skimmed over the script once more. you knew that it wasn't to ensure you did it right, but rather to prolong the inevitable moment of kissing him.

“are you done?” sicheng's voice cut through your thoughts, prompting you to lift your head and meet his gaze. he stood a short distance away, his arms crossed in a manner that signaled his patient but slightly impatient attitude.

as you cleared your throat, a subtle attempt to buy a little more time, you glanced back down at the script. "almost," you replied, keeping your gaze fixed on the paper. "i just need to read through it one more time."

but contrary to what you insisted on saying, sicheng wasn’t an idiot.

a flicker of surprise crossed your face as sicheng abruptly grabbed the papers from your hands and tossed them aside. the unexpected move caught you off guard, and before you could react, he had placed his hands on either side of the table, effectively cornering you.

“what are you doing?” your frown deepened as he leaned closer, his body nearly touching yours. the proximity making it difficult to ignore the rapid thuds of your heart and keep your feigned annoyance.

“you needed time," he said, "and i think i've given you enough."

"don't be an idiot," you scoffed. “we need to re—”

“we're not here to rehearse the lines," he interrupted you quickly. "we both know you can recite this backward by now."

you couldn't argue with sicheng's words, he was right; there wasn't a need to play the entire scene when you could easily jump straight to the main part.

you had been attempting to buy time, and sicheng had allowed you some grace in doing so. but he had finally reached a point where enough was enough. there was no escape now.

"alright," you responded with a confident gaze, your expression indicating a readiness to proceed. sicheng's brow twitched slightly at your response, a subtle sign that he was either surprised or intrigued by your sudden change.

his agreement followed swiftly:

"great."

“great.”

with those simple lines, the stage was set.

you were in the correct position, just as the script dictated. in this moment, the male lead had devised a plan to kiss the girl, saying that her wishes would only come true if she kissed him, and he had locked her in the exact position where sicheng was holding you now.

all it needed was the pivotal moment — the kiss.

sicheng's hand cupped your face once more, replicating the same intimate gesture as before. the familiar sensation of his thumb on your cheek triggered the erratic beating of your heart.

you reassured yourself, attributing the sudden rush to the invested nature of your role. easy now, easy, you thought, repeating the mantra in your mind. it was only natural for your heart to race in this moment due to the intimacy required by the character you were portraying — that’s all.

as he leaned even closer, your instinct to push him away resurfaced once more. yet, you resisted the urge, your hands tightly grasping the edge of the table instead.

sicheng's eyes roamed over your lips, and you caught yourself replicating the action unknowingly. those plump lips of his were undeniably inviting, and it was challenging to deny the magnetic attraction you felt.

his lips caressed yours gently and softly, their subtle touch sending a shiver down your spine. the script called for a quick, chaste kiss, and that's precisely what you received as his lips pressed against yours. it was a brief moment, but it was enough to make your legs tremble in response.

ok, first part done. now comes the rest.

with a swift, fluid motion, sicheng leaned in for a second kiss, his hands cupping your face as his thumb subtly guided your chin downwards. you felt your lips part instinctively, granting him access to explore the depths of your mouth with his warm, skilled tongue.

you know, there's no such thing as a "technical kiss" in acting.

you either kiss, or you kiss.

it has to be real.

that's why you were so reluctant before because, right now, only god knows how much you are enjoying this. and no matter how much you triy to deny it, the way your tongue move against his is proof enough.

you found your hands reaching out to grasp his shirt, pulling him closer as you responded to the kiss with a new sense of eagerness.

sicheng was surprised. this wasn't in the script at all. now it seemed like you were just... making out.

not that he's complaining. he likes it.

he very, very much likes it.

as if they had a life of their own, his hands found the hem of your shirt, playing with the cloth for a few moments before sliding them under your clothes. his fingers came into contact with your skin, caressing it gently and making you shiver slightly.

and then, walking a little further, his hand trailed down to the waistband of your pants, sneaking into your panties. the gasp that escaped your lips served as a jolt to your consciousness. quickly, you broke the kiss and grasped his wrist, preventing any further advancements from him.

you locked eyes with sicheng, both of you panting. his hooded eyes, slightly flushed face, and his swollen, reddened lips were a sight to behold.

sicheng's voice, soft and low, echoed softly, asking, "what?" just as he leaned in for another kiss. you almost, almost gave in, your lips yearning to meet his, but you fought the urge, tilting your head back to avoid it.

you pushed him away quickly, fixing your slightly disheveled clothing while attempting to regain composure. your voice trembled a little as you speak.

"i think we did pretty good already. it's getting late too." you hastily handed him the studio keys before adding, "um, thank you for the practice. you can close up. see you tomorrow!" with those words, you hurriedly made your way towards the exit.

things happened so fast that sicheng barely seemed to process what was going on.

"hold on, wait!" his voice rushed after you, trying to catch up. "calm down," he called out, his words coming out quickly. "you didn't come by car today, did you? let me drive you home, i just need to—”

"no! it's fine,” you shook your head adamantly, cutting him off. "i can catch a taxi. thanks anyway.”

and just like that, you left, running away like a cat while closing the door in sicheng's face. the man let his shoulders fall and sighed loudly as he looked at the closed door in front of him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“cute”.

you haven't slept a wink all night.

the scene from the previous night replaying in your mind along with haenul's damned words like a broken record.

no. you do not want to fuck dong sicheng.

this is what you've been repeating in your mind since the moment you got up from your bed until the entire drive to the studio.

he's a bad kisser.

he's terrible.

that was the worst kiss you've ever had.

learning how to kiss with an orange would be better than this.

that's what you repeated in your mind as he kissed you again, but this time in front of the cameras. and you still had to tell yourself that it was your character who was enjoying it, not you. you definitely don't want to take him to a secluded place and make out until your mouth are sore. no.

"and... cut!" the director's voice rang out, followed by a chorus of applause. everyone on set was thrilled with how effortlessly the scene had come together, a stark contrast to the tension-filled atmosphere that had enveloped it lately. the air was charged with positivity, making it clear that this was the best mood the set had experienced since the project's inception.

despite the apparent positive change in the atmosphere, it was clear that there was something... different going on, for lack of a better word, between you and sicheng.

suddenly, you weren't bickering anymore and were even being uncharacteristically polite, thanking and apologizing for the smallest minor matters, which wasn't like your usual self at all.

everyone noticed this, but decided to just accept it as a positive development in the co-workers' feelings between you. at least, it was better than all that tension from before.

as haenul handed you a bottle of water, her words echoed with admiration. "wow," she exclaimed, "that was like, the best kiss scene i’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“oh, really?” you laughed a little awkwardly, your eyes briefly darted towards sicheng, who stood on the opposite side of the room. as your gaze met his, you hastily averted your eyes, taking a sip of water.

"of course! this episode will be an absolute banger; everyone has been waiting for this!" she nodded fiercely and continued. "i've been checking the social media, and..." her words were met with your inattentiveness, as if your mind was preoccupied elsewhere. "and you're not listening to me!" she furrowed.

"oh, sorry about that," you shook your head, snapping back to attention. "i got distracted for a moment. you were saying…?”

haenul's eyes narrowed as she scrutinized you momentarily, following your gaze to where sicheng stood on the other side of the room.

"did you and sicheng finally hook up last night?"

you nearly choked on your water, coughing as you fumbled with the bottle in your hand. your assistant quickly patted your back, trying to help you recover.

once you were fine again, you glanced around nervously to check if anyone had overheard, then turned back to haenul with a sharp glare.

“can you stop blurting stuff like that?!” you hissed at her.

haenul gasped dramatically. “oh my god! you totally did it!”

“i did not!” you snapped, lightly smacking her arm.

“but something happened between you two!” she insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear after the scolding. “you’re acting all weird around him. if it wasn’t sex, then what was it?”

“is that seriously the only reason you can think of?” you replied, your tone edged with disbelief. “when did you turn into such a pervert?”

“i mean, you were obviously kissing for real earlier, and now we’re finishing the day without your usual sulking. after spending the night alone with him, what else am i supposed to think?”

you frowned at her explanation. “well, maybe that we’ve become, i don’t know… friends?” haneul looked at you as if you’d just told her the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “pff. yeah, right. friends. sure,” she said, shaking her head.

before you could even attempt to explain that she was partially wrong, everyone’s attention shifted to the director as she clapped her hands to speak.

“since we’ve successfully wrapped up the first part of our series — thanks to everyone here in the studio who made it happen, especially our two stars,” she gestured toward you and sicheng, “doesn’t this call for a celebration? drinks on me for everyone!”

her words were met with cheers from the crew, and even you felt a sense of relief. a good dose of alcohol might help clear your mind, especially since you knew sicheng wasn’t exactly a fan of these kinds of social gatherings.

“we’re going, right, boss?” haneul asked, clasping her hands together in mock prayer. “please, please, it’s the weekend!”

“yes, haneul, we are,” you said, rolling your eyes with a chuckle. “but don’t overdo it, okay? i’m not in the mood to hear you sobbing your heart out while singing sad songs on karaoke again.”

“yes, boss! I’ll treat it like a work meeting,” she replied with a playful salute. “i’ll grab your things so we can head out!” she added enthusiastically before dashing out of sight.

you took a deep breath, relishing the brief moment of solitude. sometimes, it felt hard to breathe with haneul’s constant energy. she could be... intense. but the peace didn’t last long.

“i didn’t know you drink,” sicheng’s voice came from behind, making you turn to face him. “you used to hate the taste of alcohol.”

honestly, you were tired of seeing his face and hearing his voice more than usual. you didn’t like the way it made you feel, not after what happened. it was as if you were suddenly too aware of the strange, tangled emotions brewing inside you.

“well, a lot has changed since our younger days,” you shrugged, your voice casual. you didn’t feel like diving into it any further. “now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to socialize,” you said, turning on your heels, eager to escape the uncomfortable moment.

“i agree. let’s not keep them waiting,” he replied, his footsteps closing in behind you. you froze in your tracks, his sudden presence unsettling.

“you’re coming too?” you asked, confused.

“of course,” he said with a soft chuckle. “you heard the director, can't have the stars missing out."

“but… you don’t like social events,” you said, your tone almost questioning, as if you were trying to figure him out.

“well,” he said with a small smile, “a lot has changed since our younger days.”

it was awful.

you had been hoping for some space from sicheng, but it seemed like life had other plans. you tried to find a seat as far away from him as possible, but he followed, completely at ease, as if he had no intention of leaving your side. and of course, the table quickly filled up, leaving you both sitting side by side, while you anxiously awaited the drinks.

the mood at the table was light, everyone chatting away. haneul took a seat on the other side, eager to be closer to the staff she was interested in, which meant you wouldn’t be on her radar for a while.

you turned your attention to sicheng as he exchanged a few words with the director, and suddenly, it hit you: why were you freaking out about him? it was just a kiss. a brief, heated moment between two adults that didn’t mean a thing. there was no reason for you to keep acting so weird about it all day. after all, he was still sicheng, your rival. you just happened to kiss him.

sure, a few other things almost happened, too, but... it didn’t mean anything. you were just practicing, after all. yeah. you weren’t affected by it. not even a little. mhm.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you made these sharp observations, feeling a bit more at ease.

“why are you looking at me like that?” sicheng raised an eyebrow, noticing the way you were smiling at him, as if you were staring at someone who’d just failed a basic math test.

“nothing, it’s just too much for your mind to handle,” you waved your hand dismissively, taking a sip of your drink that had just arrived. your words, along with the casual shrug, made him smile and shake his head.

“oh, i’m actually curious about something,” one of the co-actors began, snapping his fingers at you and the man beside you. “do you two really know each other from high school?"

sicheng’s face lit up at the question, clearly happy. then he looked at you, who wasn’t exactly sharing his enthusiasm, and his smile grew even wider. “yes! yes, we do. we were inseparable back then.”

you furrowed your brows at his words. “you mean you followed me around.”

“isn’t that basically the same thing?”

“it’s not."

“anyways,” he shrugged, “it was because of her that I started to get into theater.”

“and i’ve been regretting that ever since,” you added with a smirk.

a few giggles spread through the table at your playful banter, the lighthearted atmosphere catching everyone off guard. it was clear they were starting to see you both in a new light.

“so, all this time you were actually friends? and here we thought you didn’t get along when it’s just your way of showing friendship,” one colleague commented, raising a curious eyebrow.

“no, that’s not—”

“right? that explains why they have such great chemistry!” another colleague cut you off. “i mean, the kiss scene? that must’ve been awkward with a friend, but it probably makes it easier too, doesn’t it?”

“oh, it’s not that,” sicheng began. “it’s because last night we—”

a loud thud echoed as sicheng’s knee slammed into the table, his words cut off mid-sentence. he turned to you, confused, after you had stomped on his foot under the table.

“oops, how clumsy of me,” you said with a saccharine smile, your voice light but your eyes burning into his. “sorry about that.”

he blinked, clearly perplexed, but nodded slowly and turned back to the group. “anyway, as i was saying, we had a—”

this time, you pressed your heel down on his foot with deliberate force. he hissed in pain, snapping his head back toward you. but you didn’t even flinch, your gaze fixed ahead as if you were entirely innocent.

he narrowed his eyes slightly, then leaned closer, sliding a hand onto your thigh. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to stop you from trying anything else. the sudden contact made you tense, and your head snapped toward him, your wide, confused eyes locking with his.

“we just had a little talk and came to an agreement,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and convincing.

“oh, that makes sense,” one of your colleagues hummed, nodding as if it all clicked. “that’s why everything worked out so well in the end. you should have done it since the beginning tho!”

sicheng’s words were deliberate, as if he’d sensed your discomfort from the start and had chosen his lie to protect the fragile truth you wanted to hide. but you couldn’t even focus on what he was saying anymore.

your mind was too preoccupied with his hand placement. his thumb was now tracing slow, deliberate circles on your thigh, hidden under the table. your stomach tightened at the warmth spreading through you, that annoying, fluttery feeling you wished you could suppress.

without a word, you picked up your drink and took a long, steady sip, as if the alcohol could somehow cool the heat in your chest.

god, this was going to be a long night.

oh, you were right.

after managing to wrangle sicheng into the passenger seat of your car, you slammed the door shut and made your way to the driver’s side.

sliding into your seat, you shot him an annoyed look, letting out a long, exasperated sigh.

driving a drunk sicheng home was definitely not part of your plans for the night. but somehow, the crew had unanimously decided to throw him at you because, apparently, the two of you were now best friends. all because you shared some ancient history, and probably because he’d grown unusually clingy after a few too many drinks.

you tried to refuse, insisted that you didn’t want to be responsible for him, but they’d waved you off with the ultimate argument: you were the only one who knew his address.

fantastic.

“you stupid idiot,” you hissed, leaning over to fasten his seatbelt. “if you can’t handle alcohol, why did you even come?”

his eyes, half-closed and heavy with sleep, fluttered open as he turned his head toward you. “because you were coming too,” he slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. “i wanted to be with you.”

you froze, his words catching you completely off guard. your surprised gaze met his drunken one, and you hated how fast your heart was racing. this was absurd.

a small, lazy smile tugged at his lips as he murmured your name, so soft it almost sounded tender.

“you’re so pretty,” he mumbled, his head lolling slightly as he leaned closer. “i want to kiss you.”

to say you were malfunctioning from all this sudden talk was an understatement. the way he said it — soft, unguarded — made it far too tempting to close the small gap between you. for a split second, you almost gave in again. almost.

but with a sharp shake of your head, you snapped yourself out of it. instead of letting your lips meet his, you shoved your hand against his mouth and pushed him back firmly.

“as if i’d do something like that,” you scoffed, leaning back into your seat and starting the car.

from the corner of your eye, you caught the way he pouted, looking like a sulky child.

“you’re always so mean to me,” he mumbled, his voice muffled but unmistakably petulant.

“it’s your fault for being like that,” you shot back, your eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. “now shut up. i can’t focus on driving with your annoying voice in my head.”

“yes, ma’am,” he murmured softly, his tone almost obedient. he didn’t even try to argue, instead leaning back against the seat and drifting off to sleep. the car fell into silence, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the erratic pounding of your heart.

“god, i must be crazy,” you muttered under your breath, gripping the steering wheel tighter as if it could steady your own thoughts.

the peaceful silence during the drive to his house was doing wonders to calm your racing thoughts and your heart. you kept repeating to yourself that he was just drunk, that his words didn’t mean anything. even you, who hadn’t had much to drink, were clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol.

that was the only explanation you could cling to, the only thing that brought you any comfort in the moment.

a relieved sigh escaped your lips as you parked in front of his apartment. the street was quiet, the dim glow of the streetlights casting soft shadows over the building. turning to him, you called out in a firm, loud voice.

“we’re here. wake up.”

no reaction. not even a flinch.

“sicheng,” you tried again, leaning over to tap his shoulder. still nothing.

“come on,” you grumbled, grabbing his shoulder and giving him a light shake. “wake up!”

absolutely no response.

with a growing sense of irritation, you grabbed both of his shoulders and shook him with all the frustration of someone at the end of their rope. “WAKE UP!”

but it was pointless. he remained blissfully asleep, the alcohol rendering him completely oblivious. you let out a defeated sigh, releasing him as he slumped back into his seat, and pinched the bridge of your nose.

this night just kept getting better.

you couldn’t just leave him passed out on the street — though you seriously considered the idea for a good few seconds. but, in the end, you had no choice but to do something you absolutely didn’t want to do.

“dong sicheng, you better be ready for your death sentence tomorrow,” you muttered through gritted teeth, adjusting his limp body onto your back. he was surprisingly heavy, and you were giving it everything you had to carry him while he, of course, enjoyed the sleep of his life, his soft breaths tickling the back of your neck.

staggering inside the building as quickly as you could, you headed straight for the elevator. you only knew exactly where he lived because, back when you were hunting for a new apartment, you’d toured this building. of course, you’d had the misfortune of running into him that day. sicheng had happily joined your tour, turning it into his personal showcase of his apartment. at least it made it easy to cross this building off your list.

reaching the elevator, you pressed the button, only to stop cold when you noticed the maintenance notice taped to the door.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, staring at the sign like it might change its mind.

sicheng lived on the 11th floor.

this was going to be a nightmare.

to sum up the nigh, believe it or not, you actually climbed the stairs to the 11th floor with sicheng slumped over your back. every step felt like a herculean effort, but you kept telling yourself this was the fastest way to be rid of him.

when you finally reached his door, breathless and drenched in sweat, life decided to have one last laugh at your expense. a keypad lock blinked back at you mockingly.

you stared at it, utterly defeated.

after a moment of recovery, you tried every password you could think of: his birthday, his acting debut date, his mom’s birthday, even your birthday. nothing worked. each failed attempt pushed you closer to a breakdown.

which is how you ended up here: sicheng sprawled out comfortably on your bed, snoring softly, while you stood there, glaring at him with the fury of someone who had well and truly hit their limit.

getting mad wouldn’t do you any good right now. it wasn’t like you could argue with someone who was completely knocked out. all you could do was accept the situation and leave it for the morning, when he’d hopefully be conscious enough to face the consequences.

taking a deep, calming breath, you laid down beside him. there was no way you were sleeping on the couch. too uncomfortable. and besides, the only reason he was in your bed to begin with was because the living room felt like it was miles away, and you absolutely refused to carry him any farther than you already had.

so here you were, stuck sharing a bed with dong sicheng.

“unbelievable,” you muttered, turning your back to him as if that would help you ignore the fact that he was there at all.

but it didn't take long for you to turn to look him, letting your eyes linger on his sleeping face. his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and his hair fell messily across his forehead, brushing against his soft features. you had to admit, he was ridiculously handsome. there was a princely air about him, something in the elegance of his delicate features that always seemed to catch your attention no matter how hard you tried to look away.

your gaze wandered, tracing the curve of his nose, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint lashes resting against his cheek. and then your eyes stopped on his lips, plump, rosy, and slightly parted.

you swallowed hard.

okay. maybe you wanted to kiss him again.

and maybe, just maybe, you could finally admit that the kiss had affected you far more than you’d been willing to let yourself believe.

your gaze drifted lower, trailing down the curve of his neck. the first few buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, teasing you with a glimpse of his collarbone and the faint rise and fall of his chest. your eyes wandered further, catching on his hands, broad and elegant, resting lazily by his side.

your brows furrowed slightly as your mind betrayed you, flashing back to the feeling of those hands on your skin.

okay. maybe you wanted to fuck him too.

you quickly looked away, dragging a hand over your face before resting your arm across your eyes, as if that would block out the whirlwind of thoughts spiraling in your mind.

“god,” you muttered under your breath, “i must really be losing it.”

the shrill sound of your phone alarm jolted you awake, your face twisting in irritation as you blindly slapped around the bed. after a few failed attempts, your hand finally found the device buried under your pillow, and you silenced it with a hiss.

groaning, you kept your eyes shut and your head buried in the mattress, hoping to reclaim the comfort of sleep, but it was useless. letting out a defeated sigh, you blinked your eyes open and... froze.

the bed was empty.

you shot upright, the sudden absence snapping you fully awake. your eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of life. nothing. quickly, you got up and began pacing through your house.

sicheng was gone.

“you stupid bastard,” you hissed, gritting your teeth as a wave of disbelief hit you. “i even carried his dead weight all night for him to leave without so much as a thank you?!” your fists clenched as you let out an incredulous scoff. “dong sicheng, you are so damned.”

a small, frustrated scream left your lips as you stomped toward the bathroom. a nice, scalding shower, it was the only thing that could save both your sanity and sicheng's life at this point.

but, contrary to what you imagined, the bath only cleared your mind enough to make you even more irritated with the situation. it was an affront, an insult! you were going to make sicheng pay for this humiliation! a great outrage! you could already see your hands wrapped around his neck and—

a knock on the door cut through your murderous thoughts. taking a deep breath, you walked over to open it, only for your eyes to widen at the sight of the man you’d been cursing standing there with that infuriating smile.

freshly dressed and looking nothing like the disaster he’d been before, sicheng radiated ease. but you couldn’t care less about his annoyingly perfect face right now.

“i’m gonna kill you with my own two hands, so get ready,” you growled, stalking closer with your fingers curled as if ready to strangle him.

“hey, hey, calm down,” he said, laughing softly as he caught your wrists in his hands, his touch warm and steady. his smile grew wider, completely unfazed by your murderous intent.

"are you seriously asking me to calm down?" you snapped, attempting to push forward again, but he held your wrists tighter, his grip firm yet gentle.

"i know you're mad," he said softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your wrist. the warmth of his lips brushing your skin sent a jolt through you, your resolve faltering. disoriented, you found yourself staring at him, momentarily forgetting why you were even angry. "and i'm here to apologize, of course," he added, his tone dripping with sincerity, though that playful glint in his eyes made you suspicious.

"i climbed up and down eleven floors with you on my back," you managed to say, your voice carrying a hint of annoyance despite your disoriented state. his surprised expression told you everything: he didn’t remember half of what happened last night. "an 'i'm sorry' isn't enough to save your ass."

"i know," he nodded, resisting the urge to ask for a full recap. "which is why i already reserved a table for us at your favorite restaurant."

"what?" you blinked, confused. "how do you even know what my favorite restaurant is?"

"because i’m interested in you," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "any other reason would just be an excuse, don’t you think?"

your jaw nearly dropped. this was exactly what you liked and hated about him: he was always unapologetically sincere.

you stood there, at a loss for words, unsure of how to respond. but he, of course, didn't miss a beat and took your silence as an answer.

“then it’s settled!” he said with that all-too-confident smile. “let’s go.”

and once again, your silly heart betrayed you, too caught up in the moment to resist.

the place was near your house. it wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had its own charm. cozy, inviting, warm, it felt almost like a safe haven for you. a perfect find for your new place, tucked away from prying eyes.

“and that’s everything you put me through,” you finished recounting the events of last night to him, carefully omitting a few details, like the part where he said he wanted to kiss you or when you accidentally knocked his head on the door frame while trying to get him into your bedroom.

sicheng’s face turned a deep shade of red as he fanned himself with one hand, the other clutching his glass of water. he avoided your gaze for a moment, clearly embarrassed, before stealing a quick sip.

he only remembered bits and pieces of last night, but from what you described, it was worse than he had imagined. guilt settled heavily on his shoulders as he listened.

“i’m really so sorry,” he said, his voice soft and genuine, his wide, puppy-like eyes locking onto yours. “i’m not usually like this. i overdid it yesterday, and i caused you so much trouble. i’m sorry.”

you finished your meal, casually listening to his concerned words. honestly, seeing that guilty, almost childlike expression on his face was oddly satisfying. if you were being fair, dealing with him drunk wasn’t that bad, he was mostly well-behaved. but it was part of your nature to make a big deal out of things, especially when it came to him. besides, a free lunch at your favorite spot had done wonders to smooth over your irritation.

“you’re lucky i’m a very nice person,” you said, shrugging with a mock air of superiority. “i’ll accept all that and forgive you… this time.”

his shoulders relaxed, the tension visibly draining from his body. since the moment he woke up and found you sleeping soundly against his chest, he knew he had messed up. the guilt had weighed heavily on him, and he’d spent the entire morning running through a million different ways to make it up to you. seeing you willing to forgive him so easily was a relief he hadn’t expected.

“thank you,” he said softly, his gaze warm and sincere. “i promise i’ll be more careful next time.”

you raised an eyebrow, your tone teasing. “next time? you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “okay, bad choice of words.”

you chuckled at his words, resting your chin on your palm as you leaned closer, a curious glint in your eyes.

“by the way,” you began casually, “you said a couple of funny things last night too.”

“hmm, really?” he raised his brows slightly, feigning ignorance while signaling the waiter for a dessert. “like what?”

“like going to the meeting just because i was going,” you replied, narrowing your eyes slightly, testing if his drunk words held any truth.

“oh, yeah,” he nodded nonchalantly, turning his attention back to you. “i heard you mention it, so i thought it’d be fun to tag along.”

“saying you're interested in me all of a sudden, still following me around like a lost puppy…” you trailed off, lips curling into a faint smirk. “do you have a crush on me or something?”

“what do you think?” he shot back, mimicking your posture as he leaned in, resting his chin on his palm, a teasing smile playing on his lips.

“you know it’s stupid to answer a question with another question, right?” you gave him a bored look, but your tone was far from serious. “but if you do like me, i can only assume you��re a masochist.”

his laughter bubbled up before he could stop it, bright and genuine “what? i’m not a masochist! where is that coming from?”

“well, I’m not exactly nice to you,” you shrugged, feigning indifference. “like, I kinda hate you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“you do not hate me.”

“yes, i do?”

“no, you don’t.”

“yes, i do.”

“do you kiss everyone you hate?”

your smugness evaporated in an instant, replaced by embarrassment. “shut up,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair, refusing to meet his eyes as he grinned victoriously.

“now that this came up,” he tilted his head, studying you intently, “we never really talked about that, did we? you’ve been avoiding it all day, then i had that little… drunken incident, and we just never addressed it.”

“well, that’s because there’s nothing to talk about,” you shrugged, doing your best to sound casual and unaffected, even as your grip tightened slightly on your glass.

“hmm, is that so?” he clicked his tongue, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his tone turned teasing. “going through all that trouble to get me home safe, kissing me, sleeping all cuddled up on me… you know, i’m starting to think you’re the one who likes me.”

your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “excuse me?”

“oh, don’t look so shocked,” he chuckled, leaning forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand again. “i mean, actions speak louder than words, don’t they? and your actions…” he trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air as his grin widened.

“first of all, and most importantly, i did not sleep cuddling you,” you said, your tone sharp as if he’d just told you the worst joke of the century.

“oh? but you did,” he replied smoothly, nodding with absolute confidence. “when i woke up, you were hugging me like i was your favorite teddy bear or something.”

“i would never—”

“oh, our dessert, finally!” he interrupted, his face lighting up as the waiter placed the sweet tart on the table. “it looks delicious,” he added, completely shifting gears, as if your denial wasn’t the least bit convincing.

“are you seriously gonna end things like that?” you asked, disbelief heavy in your voice.

“here, say ‘aah,’” he said, raising a spoonful of pie toward your mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“i'm not doing it.”

“say aah.”

“i said i'm not.”

he didn’t budge, just kept looking at you with that infuriatingly cute and bright smile that you couldn’t seem to resist. with an exasperated sigh, you crossed your arms and rolled your eyes, turning your head away. but, of course, you leaned in slightly, opening your mouth just enough for him to slide the spoon past your lips.

your frown quickly softened into an expression of pure delight as the flavors burst on your tongue. the bittersweet tang of the strawberry, the velvety richness of the custard, and the flaky crust of the tart all mingled perfectly. you couldn’t help but sigh and hum in satisfaction. it was that good.

“now that’s a great reaction,” sicheng said, amusement dancing in his voice.

you raised a brow at him, narrowing your eyes slightly.

“besides the faces you make when you’re acting, this has to be one of the most charming expressions i’ve ever seen you make. and those little sounds you’re making? delightful,” he added with a teasing grin.

you nearly choked. “what is wrong with you?”

“i’m just being honest,” he chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction. “i want to see it again,” he said, holding out the spoon toward you. “open your mouth for me.”

“…no.”

“oh, really?” he raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “do you really not want to?”

you couldn’t help but think that maybe you were the one with something wrong, because before you even realized it, you silently opened your mouth again, earning a satisfied smirk from him.

“hmm, so greedy.”

“by the way,” you glanced at him, who was walking beside you as you both made your way to your place. “why did you go home so early?”

“why? were you upset that my face wasn’t the first thing you saw in the morning?”

“forget i ever asked anything and just die for all i care.”

sicheng laughed at your annoyed expression. “it’s nothing much,” he shrugged. “i just couldn’t take you on a date smelling like alcohol, right? i wanted to apologize in nice clothes, at least.”

“this was not a date,” you said quickly, hoping to shut him down.

“yes, it was.”

“don’t even start,” you lifted a hand to stop him from going any further, making him laugh once again.

“here we are, safe and sound,” he said as you both stopped in front of your door.

you cursed yourself when you suddenly felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of the moment with him coming to an end. you wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with him, to be honest…

“finally, this infernal time beside you is over,” your words were at odds with your feelings as you looked at him.

“whatever you say, sweetie,” he responded with a fond smile.

it should be illegal for someone to look at you like that, your chest tightening at the soft, affectionate smile he gave you. you hated it. hated how his gaze made everything inside you stir, how it made your heart skip a beat against your will. you wanted to be angry, to push him away, but all you could do was stand there, feeling something you didn’t want to feel.

“you’ll burn a hole into me if you keep staring like that,” he teased, tilting his chin slightly as if silently telling you to come inside, and only then would he head home.

you couldn’t quite understand what had gotten into you when you cupped his face and pulled him in for a kiss. you just wanted to feel his lips again, even if just for a moment, just one more time, that would be enough.

sicheng was caught off guard, but didn’t pull away, letting you lead. you froze, eyes wide, your gaze meeting his.

“i-i’m sorry,” you muttered, suddenly feeling foolish. why had you kissed him just like that?

as you tried to step back, his hands locked around you, holding you steady. he gripped your waist, his eyes burning with desire.

“if you cling to me like this, all i can do is kiss you,” his voice was low, soft. “and that’s fine… if all you want is kisses,” he gave you a meaningful look.

if only kisses were enough to throw your mind and body into disarray… maybe you were greedy, as he’d said, but you weren’t satisfied.

“i want more…” you whispered, barely audible.

that was all he needed to hear before pulling you into another kiss, his tongue urgently invading your mouth as you responded with equal intensity.

you fumbled with the door handle, trying to opem it, while sicheng pushed you inside, never breaking the kiss. he closed the door behind you, his hands guiding you toward your room without hesitation, already knowing the way.

you both nearly stumbled as you hurriedly kicked off your shoes, chuckling against each other's lips. With a quick movement, sicheng laid you down on your bed, his lips trailing kisses from your jaw down to your collarbone. his hands slipped under your shirt, gently caressing your skin.

"i can't believe we're doing this," you murmured, a soft whimper escaping you.

“i told you," he mumbled back, his lips sucking lightly on your skin, peppering the area with soft kisses to soothe you. “you like me.”

well, it's not like you're in any position to argue right now.

he wasted no time in pulling your shirt over your head, exposing your bare torso. “fuck, you're so hot,” he hissed, sucking on his bottom lip as he couldn't help but admire the sight of your hardened nipples, feeling his cock twitch inside his pants.

“stop staring and do something,” your needy voice snapped him out of his thoughts and he was quick to obey your words.

sicheng leaned down to wrap his lips around your breast, his warm, wet tongue swirling around your nipples and sucking hard. your toes curled at the sensation and you moaned softly as you closed your eyes, your fingers tangling in his hair.

as he continued his ministrations on your breasts, his hands found the waistband of your pants. you lifted your hips a little to help him pull them down along your lacy panties, kicking them to somewhere else.

you opened your eyes to look at him, feeling even wetter as you watched him sucking on your tits like he was having a feast. you held his face and made him release your breast, a soft 'pop' sound was heard as he pulled away, looking at you with half lidded eyes.

you shiver slightly as you feel the cool breeze hit your wet breasts, already missing the feeling of his warm tongue on you, but you really wanted to kiss him even more and that's exactly what you did as you pulled him up to attack his lips.

“you taste so good,” he groaned into your mouth, his hand caressing your inner thigh and squeezing it lightly to emphasize his words. his fingers moved up to find yoyr dripping pussy, sliding along your slit and coating his fingers with your juices. “so wet already, you were really waiting for this, huh?” he buried his face in your neck, smoothing your skin with kisses.

it was too embarrassing to admit it and it wasn't like you needed to since your body had been betraying you enough for quite some time now, so all you could do was move your hips down, trying to get his fingers inside you.

“oh, eager, aren’t we?” he teased, lifting his head to meet your gaze, his smirk growing as he noticed the way you bit your lip, your brows furrowed, and your breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“please, don’t start teasing now,” you murmured, your voice soft but edged with a hint of urgency. you held back from saying anything too daring, not wanting to give him more fuel to prolong his playful torment.

he only chuckled softly, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before capturing your lips again. this time, he didn’t hold back, finally giving you what you wanted.

a sharp intake of breath escaped your lips as he slid two fingers inside you, thrusting them steadily. he could feel your tight, warm heat clasping around his digits, letting him even more anxious to bury his cock deep inside you.

he began to rub soft circles on your clit with his thumb as he took your breast into his mouth again, the combined actions making you squirm beneath him and moan louder.

he curled and scissored his fingers inside you, soon feeling the way you clenched around them. "close already?" he asked as he raised his eyebrows, and your response was just a fierce nod followed by soft whimpers.

your confirmation made him withdraw his fingers and you whined almost in despair, feeling empty and unsatisfied as he wouldn't let you finish.

"calm down, princess," he lightly slapped your thigh. "i want you to cum on my cock, hm?" he kissed the tip of your nose as he finally got rid of his own clothes and quickly positioned himself between your legs. he collected some of your fluids to spread along his shaft, hard as a rock, twitching with need. "i'm gonna fill this pussy up so good,” he was as impatient as you, so he only teased your entrace with his tip and entered you slowly, grinding against your sensitive clit.

your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you felt him stretching you, filling up any remaining space in your pussy, while he groaned and closed his eyes, enjoying the way your pussy gripped him tightly as if it never wanted to let him go.

"god, you feel so good," he began to thrust his hips against your pelvis slowly, he could feel your tight heat enveloping him, pulling him deeper. one of his hands gripped your hip, holding you in place as he fucked you. "that's it, taking me so well," he encouraged, his pace slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of him.

he’s played with you a lot already, so it didn’t take long for you to feel your climax building again, and he seemed to notice it as he picked up the pace, leaning down to bury his face in your neck.

“cum for me, baby,” he bites you gently and pull away from your neck to watch your face, using his fingers to pinch your clit and bring you to the edge. wrapping your legs around his waist, your breath hitched in your throat as you clenched around him, feeling the knot in your stomach unravel as you creamed his cock.

he wasn’t that far behind you, the whole intense moment was enough to bring him to the edge too, he kept pounding into you and pulled out just in time to empty himself, covering your stomach with his release.

you looked so hot like that that he had to hold back the urge to bury himself inside you again immediately. he let a bit more of his weight press against you, his lips finding yours once more in a lingering kiss.

"okay," you murmured against his lips, slightly breathless, making him chuckle softly. "maybe I like you... just a little bit now."

"just a little?" he teased, nibbling your lower lip with a playful smirk. "didn't seem like 'just a little' to me."

you tilted your head, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "i think we need to try it all over again so i can decide for sure.”

[allzelemonz]

Settle: Merle Dixon X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: Slurs (homophobic), Merle Dixon is his own warning, mention of Merle’s SS symbol, typical southern prejudice/homophobia, neck kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, cockwarming, hand job, cuddling, top Merle and bottom Reader Summary: After striking out with every woman in camp, Merle turns to you and ignores the gay aspect of sleeping with another man in favor of getting laid. A/N: Imagine my lack of surprise but utter disappointment in finding no male reader shit for Merle. Written out of spite. Enjoy.

After a third pill and a third strikeout, Merle is almost certain he’ll have to handle himself tonight. No woman in the whole damn camp wants any action, even with a touch of good ol’ Southern charm Merle attempted. Not a bite from anyone. So Merle stumbled through the cluster of tents, only half as high as he’d like to be and blue balls stiff between his legs. Just as he’s about to turn a corner towards his tent on the outskirts with his brother’s, he catches a pretty sight.

Not that Merle is gay. Of course not. But the man is asleep with his tent partly unzipped, shirt off and back arched like a damn whore. How could Merle not stare just a little. His eyes trail over your back, bare and just fuzzied by the drugs in his system that he may mistake things enough to ignore the dick between your legs.

So he kicks your foot, waking you up.

Your hand goes to your knife first, then you turn to see it’s not something dead behind you. “What, Merle?”

“Ya a queer?”

You squint at him, off put by the way he says it. “Why’re you asking?”

He shrugs. “Fella can’t be curious.”

“Not with that Nazi symbol on your bike you can’t.” You close your hand around your knife. “Go away.”

Merle chuckles, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Woah, woah, there… I was just askin’.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Fine. Yeah, I like men. I’m a queer. Are we done here?”

Merle bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the right words. “Ya let me fuck ya?”

“What?” You ask, sitting up to look at him properly.

Merle scoffs. “Ya heard me. Would ya?”

“Why would you-“

“Ladies ‘round here bein’ stingy.” Merle shrugs. “Hole’s a hole.”

“You’re joking.” You say in disbelief.

“Ain’t like I never fucked an ass before. It’s the same shit.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Aw, come on, I’ll be quick.” Merle attempts a pout. “Ain’t no trouble.”

You sigh, shaking your head because you know it’s a dumb idea somewhere deep down. “Fine.”

Merle grins. “Atta boy.”

“Get on with it then.” You sigh, watching Merle step inside. “Zipper.”

Merle turns and zips the tent closed behind him, fumbling with it for longer than any regular person would. When he turns his hands go straight to his belt.

You watch his fingers move for a second. “You ever fucked another man before.”

Merle snorts. “Course not. I ain’t a queer.”

“It’s a little different, you know.”

“What?” Merle sneers. “I gotta play with yer pecker er somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. But you have to stick your fingers in for a while and stretch things out.”

“Yer just picky.”

“Maybe. Just do it, asshole, or I’m not gonna let you fuck anything.”

Merle pulls his belt free. “Fine. Pants off then, sweetheart.”

You huff, annoyed at Merle already, but it’s been far too long since you’ve had this chance. You pull your pants off, ignoring Merle’s eyes on your legs and turn around to lay on your stomach.

“Alright.” Merle grins, shuffling up behind you and nudging your legs apart. “What am I doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You turn your head back, half wanting to see the sight. “Put your fingers in your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Spit’s the only lube we have.” You mutter. “Just do it.”

Merle glares slightly, but does as he’s told and presses three fingers past his lips. He sucks on them, his other hand already going to your hip. It’s clear he’s never been the type to do this with any of the women he’s been with either. Without prompting, he drops the hand down and traces until he finds your rim.

“Ya ready for Merle’s magic fingers, boy?”

“Shut up.”

Merle chuckles, circling his finger around before slowly pushing inside. “Whew…” Merle exclaims. “Tight little thing, ain’t ya?”

You open your mouth to speak but Merle’s finger drags against your prostate and all you can manage is a groan as you bury your face down into your pillow.

He leans over you, his hand moving up to grip at the bare skin of your chest. “I find somethin’ good?”

You nod, mindlessly pushing back into him. “Fuck, Merle…”

He repeats the drag, his fingers moving quickly to fuck whatever sounds he can get out of you. You don’t expect much more, but he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. He trails sloppy kisses over your skin, his fingers fully thrusting into you at a quick pace.

“You want me?” Merle murmurs next to your ear. “Want Merle to fuck ya better than some fairy ever could, don’t ya?”

“Yeah…” You answer, spreading your legs as much as you can. “Why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Merle grins against your skin. “You just be a good boy. You’re good at that.”

He sits back up, removing his fingers and positioning himself properly behind you. His hands fix on your waist, pulling you back and propping you up on your widespread knees. You feel his tip press against you for just a second before he presses inside. There certainly isn’t enough lubrication or preparation, so the stretch of being entered hurts just enough to make a few whines form in your throat. Merle pushes all the same, stretching you open and filling you up with everything he has.

He groans as he bottoms out, running a hand over your spine. “You feel so damn good, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip slightly. “Might turn me gay…”

Before you can think much about that, Merle begins to piston his hips at a quick pace. Both of his hands grip tightly at your hips and the force of his thrusts presses you forward into your pillow, only held up at the waist for Merle to fuck into you properly. You let him, relaxing into the hold and letting him use you because the slide of his dick hitting your prostate feels better than anything else. Merle pushes you down to lay flat, leaning over you and rocking into you as his head dips against your shoulder. The sleeping bag below you rubs at your dick with every thrust Merle gives you.

“Knew I liked you.” Merle mutters, half to himself. “Better than any damn woman… shit, sweetheart.”

Merle’s hips stutter and he groans as he releases, burying himself as deep as he can into you. You take heavy breaths as Merle relaxes on top of you, trying to ignore the squirming feeling of not having finished. Then Merle’s hand snakes under you, pumping furiously fast and gripping hard until you mutter his name and your vision blurs for a moment as you spurt cum onto your sleeping bag.

His hand slows to a massaging tempo and you can hear him inhaling strongly. “Ya gotta let me do that again sometime, boy.” He murmurs. “God, yer making me inta a queer.”

“Happy to help.” You mutter, still catching your breath.

Merle chuckles, letting both arms encircle you as he fully lets himself relax on top of you. “So ya liked my dick in ya?”

You bury your head into your pillow, avoiding his annoying question.

Merle chuckles. “Lemme sleep here?”

“Whatever.”

“Can I fuck ya in the mornin’?”

“If you want.”

He grins, settling his lips right next to your ear. “Ya gonna help keep little Merle warm all night too?”

You groan as he pushes against you, his soft dick still filling you and linking the both of you together. “Just sleep, jackass.”

He chuckles again. “Whatever you say, queer.”

[fatkish]

I was wondering if I could get Tenya with a friend reader that has verbally and physically abusive parents (and if it could end with him helping reader leave, that would be great!)? Thank you for considering!

Tenya Iida x Reader Drabble

Your parents weren’t the best. They are physically and verbally abusive towards you. You have a mutant quirk that gives you dragonfly wings, pointed ears compound eyes similar to that of an insect and a lizard like tail. You’re able to breath fire and are impervious to flames. But your parents aren’t mutants so they think certain aspects of your appearance are ugly, even though you’re covered in iridescent, shiny (f/c) scales.

You are a student of class 1A and are in seat 21 and are ranked 7/21 academically. Quirk-wise, you’re ranked 10/21 for your overall quirk performance in Aizawa quirk apprehension test. You were transferred to UA due to your parents insistence, your teachers at your previous school knew about your parents treatment of you and tried to help you but they failed. When they sent over your student transcripts, they alerted UA about it secretly, needless to say, UA accepted you after seeing how well you used your quirk and the fact that you were among the recommended students.

It was a weekend day when you unintentionally met Iida. You and Iida had become friends over the early school year and became study buddies. You had been out getting groceries after studying at the library and were running late getting home that afternoon when you ran across Iida. Being the responsible young man that he is, he insisted he help you with your errands and to avoid suspicion, you agreed to let him help.

You both had finished your shopping and were headed towards your house. You tried to insist that you didn’t need any help bringing everything in but he persisted. So you unlocked your front door and let the two of you in. You both walked into the kitchen and you began to put the groceries away with Iida’s help. You had been putting the vegetables away when your mother walked in and eyed Iida.

“(Y/n), who is this? I don’t recall saying you could bring anyone over.” Your mother chided in a sugary sweet tone that you knew meant you were in trouble.

“Ah! Hello, my name is Tenya Iida and I humbly apologize for entering your house unexpectedly, I merely wanted to assist my friend (y/n) with their chores since we happened to meet at the store. Please accept my most sincere apologies” Iida deeply bowed as he spoke to your mother.

Unknown to Iida, your mother was the worse of your parents and would never pass up a chance to ridicule you. Knowing that nothing good could come from this interaction, you kept your head down as your mother invited Tenya to stay for dinner. As your mother talked to Iida in the living room, you were stuck in the kitchen making dinner, which consisted of chicken Katsu curry, sesame spinach salad and miso soup. For dessert you made Sakura rice cakes and Sakura mochi.

It was 5:00 pm when your dad got home and you had just finished making dinner when you mom walked in with Iida and your father. After greeting your father, Tenya and your parents sit down for dinner while you serve everyone. Iida can somewhat sense the tension but he doesn’t know what the reason for it is. As you sit down and you all begin to eat your mother begins to talk.

“So Iida dear, I hear you go to school at UA, how is it?”

“Well, the teachers are among Japan’s finest and we learn very valuable lessons from them.”

“You seem like a very smart and accomplished young man”

“Why thank you Mrs. (l/n)

“It’s too bad our (y/n) can’t be more like you. I mean, they can cook well at least, but that’s not enough to get them anywhere. I just fear for their future ya know, with the way they look, it’s not like anyone is going to be attracted to them. Our little (y/n) will be alone for their entire life”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe it’s right for you to say such things about (y/n), they’re incredibly smart and talented and are one of the top students in our class. I don’t think there’s any need to fear for their future”

Iida tried to reason and defend you but your mother persisted with her cruel words. You tried to get Iida to stop but he continued to defend you. After a few more harsh words left your mother’s lips, Iida had had enough.

“I think it’s time I went home, thank you for your hospitality. It is late and I should be heading home.” You had walked Iida to your door and that was when you both heard your mother call you a freak. You hung your head as you said goodbye to Iida. As he left you went back inside and closed the front door only to be smacked across the face by your mother.

Your mother began to berate you and scold you for inviting a ‘friend’ over. She continued to hit you as you just let her hit you, knowing that fighting back would only make it worse. It was when she used her heat quirk to burn you that the front door opened and Iida pushed your mother back. He quickly had you gather your things as he called the police on your mother for abuse.

When the police came and arrested your mother, Iida offered for you to come and stay with him and his family. You tried to deny his offer but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He brought you to his house, which was huge by the way, and explained to his mother what had happened and that you needed a place to stay. When his mother heard what your mother did to you she told you to stay as long as you needed.

His family was so kind and you got to meet his older brother Tensei. His family welcomed you and treated you nicely and it made you realize how much better things could be. Eventually Iida’s family became your found family and you loved having dinner with them. Your parents had lost custody of you and the Iida’s happily adopted you and you officially became part of the family.

[yannaryartside]

Tragicomedy

Okay I am gonna add my opinion that nobody asked for to the “is a comedy?” Debate. Is not like I know what reason they used to classify it in awards (and there is some part of me that thought they did that because the Bear is considerably modest in budget in comparison to the most resent winners in the drama category and they wanted a fighting chance).

But there is an outlet for them to be in this category…

The tone

Now, I studied film, there are plenty of definitions for what a comedy is…some of them have to do with duration/format/overall mood. If you go on a count of quantity of jokes or mood the Bear is definitely not that.

For some people, the defining aspect of a comedy is that there is a element of “fantasy” to it, in the sense that nothing that you do will have a logic, real world consequence, like those movies where you can throw a guy from a roof for comedic effect and not suffer real consequences like criminal charges or mortal injuries. The Bear is not like that.

But there is also something called a tragicomedy, a genre that is normally used in theater. Is a gender that explores the absurdity inside tragedy and humor and hope in the face of adversity. Some of this pieces will ridicule suffering and others will have a happy bittersweet ending. At some levels you could say the Bear is like that.

I would have put it in the category of drama because I am more of a “mood overall makes the essence of the story” kind of person. If drama and consequence are more powerful in the mood that the humor (such as s3) you should be a drama. You could say the bear is a drama and a tragicomedy, there is no mutual exclusion in writing.

If you think of “themes” and using the “absurdity/irony of suffering” (how we are our own worst enemy) it technically is comedy and can be judged in that aspect because is not “just a drama”

(and they decided to be judge as a comedy to have a chance imo).

Shameless was also a tragicomedy that made the spectator think they were watching a “suffering porn” kind of show where the struggle and absurdity of situations was the norm. There is precedent, so…

The performances

A little bit of a tangent, this is me and my opinion. Opinions are like asses, to each their own…but I understand why is unfair to some to judge a comedy actor vs a drama actor.

Saying that drama actors have more chances to make “remarkable performances” than comedy actors…I get it. We see this at the Oscar’s every time where they reward the actors that are portraying mentally ill people and historic tragic figures. The darker the character the more “difficult” the performance…to some people. IMO a person that is always happy could be as easy to perform as a person that is always sad. Acting is intellectual, physical and even spiritual. Acting is about bringing to life what is on the page and tone should not had anything to do with it. There is acting that is effective because is subtle and some over the top. And you can find that in any genre.

There are performances in comedy that are very impressive and difficult, not to mention that not everyone can act comedy. Comedies that treat with very deep/philosophical/social issues. Judging an overall performance because of how much time they are portraying “difficult emotions” is…idk, but that seems to be the norm.

I understand that is frustrating to see your fav comedy actor be judged next to someone that had to act drama and comedy and feel like is unfair. You want the actor to be rewarded as a comedy actor and their capacity to make you laught and cry (inside the expected format of a comedy) not a drama actor that sometimes makes jokes in a show with a lot of dark themes. You could also say the format expected from a comedy doesn’t allow for elasticity in character arcs and therefore performances. That is very true in some cases. The comedy that most people are used to has characters that have to remain a certain way for the plot to make sense.

I will also argue the reason the acting in the bear is so acclaimed is because there is a lot of nuance under it. You can see a million hidden details in fishes, I had to watch it 3 times to notice the exact moment where the drugs hit Michael. Jon was portraying a character that was also pretending to be something else. Is very impressive. They have a fighting chance against the other dramas imo but the comedy category was more convenient for the format of the show.

So yeah, is kinda unfair, but is not like they are “cheating” because the element of tragicomedy is the gender/theme that shapes the story.

[naetaesarya]

i remember there was some discourse on how the reaction of the books and the ending was the reason grrm hasn’t released the books specifically suggesting that it’s daenerys ending and her “mad queen” arc but i think it’s because grrm is returning to the original outline with its major house stark points being an antithesis to the faux feminist show ending (sansa’s death, tension between jon and bran, incest between jon and arya)

Hi anon!! This will be a bit of a long long answer :) :) :) Happy Halloween!

From my foggy hazy addled memory, GRRM was having issues releasing Winds years before season 8 bombed and exploded its viscera everywhere. We'll have that goo staining the carpet for years :( GRRM seemed to believe the books would end roughly in the same place as the show... until after seeing season 8 whereupon he was like... well...

You know I had a lot of input in the beginning of Game of Thrones, partly cause I had these books out there. But at a certain point, as the show went on, I found I had less and less influence, until by the end, I really didn't even know what, what was going on. Some of these things I watched like everybody else and and, "oh...okay..." That's...

Source

Yeah.

I think it's also very important to consider what kind of messaging would a mad queen Dany send?

Dany is one of GRRM's lead female characters and she has existed as the protagonist of her own narrative since the very beginning. She defies a number of feminine conventions and is anything but a passive support sidekick character. As GRRM said, Daenerys can do anything, she can literally make up the magic as she goes. When Dany loses her husband and her child, as well as her position as Khal Drago's khaleesi, she creates and leads her own khalasar made up of misfits. Upon her brother's death, Dany is now responsible for returning the Iron Throne to her family's dynasty and what is traditionally a male's job becomes Dany's job. As such, Dany gathers forces, commands armies, plans battles, and at only 16, she is a leader and queen in her own right. This small and formerly timid 16-year old girl is now the most powerful person in this world.

When GRRM conceived this story in the late 80s-early 90s, action-oriented girls who defied convention and were the central focus of their own narratives didn't really happen. That's why shows such as Buffy the Vampire Slayer hit that special kind of nerve in the 90s, became so influential in the decades when ASOIAF was being published, and had a lasting influence on media since. Writer and producer Bryan Fuller remarks:

"Buffy showed that young women could be in situations that were both fantastic and relatable, and instead of shunting women off to the side, it puts them at the center."

Source

GRRM does just that with Dany and Arya -- Dany and Arya are active participants in the centers of relatable situations with fantastical elements. Of Arya, GRRM says:

I can’t say there’s any one specific model [for Arya], but a lot of the women I’ve known over the years have had aspects of Arya with them. Especially some of the women I knew when I was a young man back in the ’60s and ’70s, you know — the decade of the sexual revolution and the feminist movement. I knew a lot of young women who weren’t buying into the, “Oh, I have to find a husband and be a housewife.”

Source

It's a reference to a certain physical type, and a certain indication of what Jon finds admirable. It's like someone who reminds you of, you know... Other people might be put off by this, you know, hair that looks like small rodents have been living in there. It doesn't put him off because he is used to that.

Source

Jon is endeared to Ygritte because she reminds him of Arya, a character who GRRM patterned after the real world women he knew coming up amidst second-wave feminism. As Arya wants options outside of typical gendered choices for highborn ladies, Dany is also kind of thrust into this sudden and pretty unconventional role. She emerges from the inferno unburned with three baby dragons and what's left of the khalasar after it has been deserted.

Arya and Dany are both thrust down unconventional paths as they navigate their environments and who they are in relation to those environments. Dany continues to explore her sexuality with Irri and later, Daario. She works hard to turn away from any dark inclinations (inclinations which all of our characters experience) and the last thing she wants to be is like her father.

What would it say if GRRM took this figure and made her "mad" or filled her with homicidal rage and hate, especially at a time when proactive action girls are not a commonality but so rare. What would that be saying? What idea of GRRM's would this be supporting?

I also struggle with Dany being mad in the books because while D&D ascribed credit for King Bran, burning Shireen, Hodor's origins to GRRM, and even shades of Jon/Dany, that definitely didn't happen with Mad Dany. While much of season 8 is divisive, what I'm gleaning is that Dany's turn was among the most controversial -- if not the most controversial -- element. Wouldn't D&D let GRRM shoulder some of that blame if it was a GRRM thing?

My own feeling is that D&D tried to recreate the Red Wedding with Mad Dany -- ambush audience with big surprise twist (whoops, Dany's been triggered by bells) and then shock, shock, shock, tragedy, and look at that artful blood.

but i think it’s because grrm is returning to the original outline with its major house stark points being an antithesis to the faux feminist show ending (sansa’s death, tension between jon and bran, incest between jon and arya)

Yeah, I think that outline is still relevant. I think there will be a succession crisis of sorts among the remaining Starks: a Littlefinger-backed and sponsored direwolfless Sansa; a Manderly-backed Rickon; a will and/or Stannis-supported Jon, and the heir whom Robb believed dead -- Bran Stark. Then there's Arya who:

is currently believed to be the Lady of Winterfell;

identity was used by the Boltons as the "key to the North"';

and is "the Ned's girl" for whom the mountains clans fight:

Even prisoners have ears, and she had heard all the talk at Deepwood Motte, when King Stannis and his captains were debating this march. Ser Justin had opposed it from the start, along with many of the knights and lords who had come with Stannis from the south. But the wolves insisted; Roose Bolton could not be suffered to hold Winterfell, and the Ned's girl must be rescued from the clutches of his bastard. So said Morgan Liddle, Brandon Norrey, Big Bucket Wull, the Flints, even the She-Bear.

(The King's Prize, ADWD)

I think Arya would choose Jon if forced to choose. There was a bitter rift between Bran and Jon in the original outline and that could manifest in the remaining story as well, perhaps over Winterfell or something at the Wall.

What did GRRM say about happy families 😭

[anthurak]

Something I find interesting about rewatching Yang’s scenes talking about her childhood in Volumes 2 and 5 is how she doesn’t really… defend Tai’s actions and the way he seemed to have effectively checked out on her and Ruby for several years after Summer’s disappearance.

Now sure, she doesn’t really decry him, but we don’t hear Yang trying to claim that her father ‘had his reasons’ for what he did or otherwise trying to justify his actions. She just presents what Taiyang did fairly matter-of-factly. Likewise, I think we can see a similarly frank assessment of Tai’s parenting from Ruby in Volume 9 when she directly acknowledges that Yang raised her.

Putting these together, I really get the sense that both Yang and Ruby are very much aware of Tai’s actions and how he let them down as a father, rather than trying to defend or cover for him.

So why has Yang and the story as a whole only given a general, indirect acknowledgement of Tai’s actions and never really confronted him directly about how he let his daughters down as a father?

Well, I think it’s because that rather than trying to defend or cover for their father’s actions, Yang and Ruby are engaging in that much less melodramatic but ALL too common practice of just… not talking about the problems of a close family member.

Rather than going through the surely difficult and ugly process of confronting Tai over how he failed them as a father, Yang and Ruby have taken the fair easier option of simply not talking about it. Even though both of them, particularly Yang, are very much aware of the problem.

It also probably doesn’t help that in the present of the show, Tai has grown into, if not a good parent per-say, at least a decent one. Which in turn probably gives Yang and Ruby even more reason to just… not talk about that time he kinda-sorta abandoned them for several of their formative years.

See also, what Tai does to help Yang’s recovery in Volume 4. Sure, some of his methods were questionable, but he did ultimately help Yang recover and move on, which I think in turn makes Yang all the more reluctant to confront him on his past failings as a father.

So where do I think this is all going?

Well, with the Volume 9 finale clearly sowing the seeds for a major arc of Ruby and Yang diving into aspects of their family history they never knew about, most notably the long-awaited truth of what REALLY happened to Summer, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if some other long-brewing issues started bubbling to the surface as well.

As I’ve stated in other recent posts, at this point Yang’s original recounting of her family history to Blake all the way back in Volume 2 now absolutely REEKS of ‘unreliable narration’, and that there is clearly a WHOLE fucking lot that Yang, and Ruby, have no idea about regarding their parents.

So if during the process of Ruby and Yang finally digging into their family past, they happened to discover that Tai and Qrow have been keeping some massively important pieces of information from them all this time, effectively lying to Ruby and Yang for YEARS?

(say about, I dunno… Ruby’s ‘real’ father actually being a certain angry/depressed bird woman?)

Well I’d say that would be just the thing that could blow the lid off right off a LOT of resentment towards her father that Yang has been bottling up all this time.

I’ve stated this before, but I think it’s worth keeping in mind that ALL of Team STRQ have been presented as well-meaning yet massively flawed/shitty/fuckup parents to Ruby and Yang in each their own way. For one, all of them bailed on their daughters in one way or another, whether it be Raven and Summer bailing physically, Taiyang emotionally/psychologically, or Qrow doing a bit of both.

Thus far, we’ve seen two members of Team STRQ confronted by either Ruby or Yang over their failings as a parent and been subsequently driven to improve: Raven by Yang in Volume 5, and Qrow by Ruby in Volume 6. Which in turn leaves Summer and Taiyang, the supposed ‘good parents’ as the more ‘overt’ text of the show has led us to assume.

Of course, over the course of the last three volumes, we got more and more hints, before the ending of Volume 9 confirmed, that Summer Rose was not in fact the perfect ‘supermom’ that Ruby and Yang remember her as, having lied to and walked out on her family to go on mysterious mission with Raven from which she never returned.

And reading between the lines, Tai’s own problems as a father have been sitting right in front of us since Volume 2, only just beneath the surface as Yang and Ruby decline to really talk about them.

So with a story arc focused on exploring the truth about Summer Rose looking to be close on the horizon, a long-simmering confrontation between Yang and her father (one that could likely strongly parallel her confrontation with Raven) seems likewise inevitable.

[deadgirldreaming]

This impressively in character letter from Alastor to Vox just after they fell out but before Alastor left to grab a carton of milk for 7 years was written by @official-alastor.

Well worth the money!

🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️

My dear Vox,

Forgive me for resorting to a more “dated” means of communication as you put it, but I’d prefer to say this from a distance. Why, you ask? Well, the truth of the matter is that I simply cannot stand your presence any longer. Your voice is grating, and I wanted to get this done as quickly and efficiently as I possibly could without having to resort to your obnoxiousness in person.

You may have guessed from my introductory paragraph what the contents of this letter will be, but let me spell it out for you. You irritate me. Your very presence irritates me. And, quite frankly, my patience with you has reached its limit. I’m done, Vox. I can’t take it anymore. Just like you can’t take no for an answer.

Your incessant pestering and clinginess has made it impossible for me to be around you. Constantly pushing your affections on me and attempting to pressure me into returning them is tactless and disrespectful. I am many things and a gentleman is certainly one of them. The same, however, cannot be said for you. As the youth of today are so fond of saying, no means no, Vox.

I do not want you. I have never wanted you. I will never want you. And you have only yourself to blame for what’s happening now. I have told you time and time again that I am completely uninterested in romance along with the more physical aspects of it. On enough occasions that even Valentino remembers and understands. Valentino! But not you. No, Vox, not you at all.

You asked me if I wanted to join you. Clearly, my answer is no. The sad part is that at one point, I would have said yes, Vox. But years of your grating behavior and unwanted advances have successfully managed to change my mind. You just don’t know how to handle rejection, and it’s one of your biggest flaws (of which you have many). I wish I could say that I’m sorry for this, but I’d be lying if I did.

In the end, Vox, I’m not sorry at all. I’m relieved. Relieved that I’ll finally be free of you. Thrilled that I’m finally putting you in your place. I waited far too long to do this. It’s certainly well overdue. It feels wonderful to finally do what I’ve wanted to do for ages now. Does it hurt your feelings? Does it break your heart? Good. Suffer. As I have had to suffer enduring your presence in my afterlife for the last several decades.

Harsh, you say? That would be the point. I can think of no other way to make certain that you fully grasp what it is that I’m trying to convey here. You went too far with me, Vox. And now you reap the rewards of your efforts. Losing me entirely. The fault lies solely with yourself, as I stated before. Read that sentence again and remember it well. You alone have driven me to this. You alone have pushed and pushed until you pushed me too far. Now I’m done, and you’re going to have to learn how to live without me if you even can.

The final straw was our fight. You know the one to which I refer. I almost beat you. Almost had you right where I wanted you. You may have gotten the upper hand in that encounter, but as they say, you won the battle but have lost the war. Your biggest mistake was thinking that you could ever own me. I’ve never been yours to possess and never will be. Ever. In the end, I win, Vox. It’s as simple as that. Failure and defeat have never been an option for me as you well know. Though I know you’re quite familiar with both as you should be.

I’ll finish this with one last statement that I hope you’ll remember along with the other contents of this letter: thank you for wasting my time. Let’s never do it again.

Alastor

🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️

Did you enjoy reading this letter from Alastor to Vox? You can get your own letter from Alastor too!

@official-alastor is currently providing a service where you can buy letters or messages from Alastor to you or any character in the Hellverse.

I personally am considering buying one for either Lucifer or Adam next. Maybe a letter to Sir Pentious, it could be quite funny!

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[undead-moth]

hi I loved your last post ! :) could you make a similar post about why you think Sydney is good for Carmy? I like your takes

Hi. Thanks for asking. Took me a while to respond because I had to think.

1. The single most important thing that I think makes Syd good for Carmy is that Sydney is the embodiment of what Carmy needs to be. Sydney is passionate about cooking, but it goes even beyond that. She enjoys cooking. She enjoys the culture of these prestigious restaurants. She thinks Carmy's chef jacket is cool, she's enamored by where he's trained and worked. All of it means so much to her. She's curious, she's excited, she's inspired - everything Carmy has lost sight of, and maybe never truly had to the extent that Syd does. Carmy in part became a chef to compete with Michael, to show Michael up, to be the best at Michael's thing. This means that this chef world was kind of tainted for Carmy from the very beginning, but then on top of that, he went through hell in the process of becoming the chef he is today.

It's obvious from flashbacks, especially this season, that there was at least a period of time where Carmy had the passion, the curiosity, the inspiration Syd has, but for Carmy it has never been innate. He is just someone who happens to be a gifted chef - it's not necessarily his calling the way it's clearly Syd's calling, and in order for him to run his restaurant, and I think in order for him to feel truly fulfilled, it's going to have to become that. Syd will help guide the way.

It's also worth noting that Sydney actually is doing it to nurture people, which is one of the narrative lessons Carmy misses this season. Nonetheless, it's made clear to us that nurturing others is what being a chef is about, and that's clearly what it's about for Sydney. We see this in the episode Omelet, when she cooks for Sugar.

Also, I would say that Sydney hasn't bought into the more toxic aspects of this culture. She isn't, for example, a food snob. She tells Carmy about this roast (I think it was a roast?) she was making for her last client as a caterer, and how this specific client wanted fresh pasta but it didn't work - so she put the roast over King's Hawaiian buns. She also sprinkles Sugar's omelet with Lays potato chips. However high-end she hopes for this restaurant to be, she doesn't specifically worship its high-endness. Carmy on the other hand, in season 3, is over and over scolded for having bought only the most expensive of things. The most expensive butter, the most expensive dishes, the most expensive pans - which, granted, he's trying to get a star, trying to make sure the restaurant actually is high-end, but it nonetheless demonstrates that he's sort of bought into this aspect of the culture, undoubtedly because of the head chef who abused him in New York.

Sydney, I think, challenges certain aspects of the culture for Carmy, the very aspects that have made him the most jaded over the culture. When Sydney brings up the Hawaiian buns or potato chips, Carmy readily says that it sounds good, but based on the note of surprise in his tone, I think it's also not something he would have willingly done himself. I think that's kind of inspiring, for Carmy. He says to Sydney first, "You make me better at this," and it's very true. While I think he makes Sydney a better chef on a physical level, teaching her expertise she hasn't acquired or mastered, she makes him a better chef on a spiritual level.

2. Sydney is also Carmy's rock. The most damning evidence of this is when he's having a panic attack and only once he thinks of her does he calm down. But I think she's consistently his rock throughout the show.

In season 2, Carmy has the, "I don't want to be shitty," conversation with Syd, in which she says, "Don't be shitty then." They laugh, because that's easier said than done, but I kind of think Carmy needs logic like that in his life. He has a tendency to overthink, to make things harder than they need to be, and I think Sydney has this very rational and mellow approach that can give Carmy moments of, "Oh - it's only as hard as I make it." I know in season three, there's a similar moment between him and Syd (I can't remember exactly what he says) and Syd doesn't say anything, but I think that situation is a little different, because in the first situation, it's not things with Sydney he's fucking up, and in the second, it is. I think Sydney has a hard time telling Carmy how she feels, but I also think she was feeling like she shouldn't have to be the one comforting him in that situation, and that's fair. My point is, it wasn't because she wouldn't have been able to provide the same level-headed reassurance if that had been appropriate at that time.

I think Carmy can rely on Syd to keep her head on her shoulders at times when Carmy definitely can't. She was the person holding the restaurant together in season 3, more than anyone else. When Carmy gets out of being locked in the freezer, it's Syd who tells him he needs to apologize to Richie, while the others bring up Claire. But Syd understands that between Richie and Claire, Richie is more important for Carmy to make up with. It's not about who Carmy wronged worse, it's about who matters more to him. Richie has always been in his life, he's like a brother to Carmy, whereas Claire is a girlfriend of a few weeks. Sydney understands this innately, and keeps Carmy on track, focused on what matters most.

3. Sydney never gives up on Carmy, but still holds him accountable. I think this is one important way that Sydney differs from Claire. Carmy and Claire never had any problems once they established that they were a thing - but the first time Claire bears witness to how Carmy's trauma affects him, it's over. I know that's not all on Claire, but the point is, I don't think they would have ever lasted, because Claire can't do the same balancing act that Sydney does.

Throughout the show, Sydney and Carmy get into minor arguments, and they talk through them, apologize to each other, explain their feelings. Carmy blows Sydney off once and it's not something that means the end of their partnership. In the first season, Sydney leaves The Bear because of Carmy's behavior - but when she receives a genuine apology, she gives him another chance. This season Carmy fucked up over and over - and while I've already said a couple of times now that I don't think his fuckups were unforgiveable, nor exceptionally awful, no one would blame Sydney if she left, and she hasn't yet. She might in the future, but if she does, it will only be after giving Carmy many chances, and a long time to change his behavior - and once again, I don't think it will be irreparable even if she does leave. I don't think Carmy will feel like it's impossible to even face Sydney again, like he does with Claire. Sydney has what it takes to weather Carmy's storms.

4. This last one is kind of the inverse of "Carmy knows how to apologize," and that's, "Sydney holds Carmy accountable." I've mentioned before that I think part of the problem with Carmy and Claire's relationship was that it was unbalanced. Claire never had her own needs, her own problems, her own flaws, her own fuckups, her own anything else that Carmy was expected to pay attention to and take into consideration. They never fought, but that was mainly because Claire was agreeable. Healthy relationships don't really work like this.

Sydney, on the other hand, has always demanded Carmy's respect. This season, she struggled to communicate with Carmy, in part because of how Carmy was behaving, but as I said before, I don't think it was entirely about an inability to talk to him. I think it was in part her understanding that some things weren't her responsibility, or that Carmy was doing things he should know better than to do. She was waiting for her apology, which I think is another way she makes it clear she expects to be respected. Previously, when she and Carmy were less tense, she was able to communicate her needs. She tells Carmy that she needs to be called before they decide to destroy walls, and later in the season she expresses her frustration with the idea that Claire may have contributed to their menu. Granted, I think part of the point of both of these interactions is that Syd isn't entirely in the right, but either way, she tells Carmy how she feels, and what she expects him to do about it, and what she expects is not unreasonable.

She also doesn't let Carmy blame anybody else for something he did. Toward the end of season 2, there's a scene where Carmy is yelling at the kitchen staff because there were pans placed on the left shelf, and they should be on the right, because everyone is right-handed. Sydney immediately points out to Carmy that the reason they're on the left is because of something he made happen (I can't remember what it was, but basically, it was Carmy's fault).

She also doesn't let him apologize for things that aren't his fault. He tries to apologize to her for not knowing that her mom died, and Sydney tells him right away that it isn't his fault. A couple of times when they're talking through some spat they got into, she says something to the affect that it wasn't his fault, or all his fault. She's very balancing in this way. Carmy can't shrug off his own mistakes on to others, but he also can't wallow in guilt over things that aren't his fault. Because of Carmy's trauma, he isn't really capable of taking an honest look at himself, and he can oscillate wildly in either the direction of self-hate or self-righteousness - but Syd centers him, and humbles him, and that's healthy for him even if it's something that is also difficult.

So, these are my thoughts! I really do think they're very good for each other, without being so perfect for each other that it feels like it couldn't ever happen in real life. I really admire how realistically flawed they both are, and how with each their flaws aren't arbitrary or without reason. Some of the most well-written characters I've ever seen, and I think SydCarmy has the potential to be one the best romances I've ever seen too. Anyway, thanks again for asking!

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

Matchmaking Overhaul

The matchmaking system is used for the sake of peacefully eliminating your rivals by convincing them to fall in love with another boy. While the idea is generally nice and helps add romantic aspects to the game, it’s still lacking significantly, I believe.

I already put down brief ideas about rewriting the “crush” system, and just like that, these ideas will be just as brief and unofficial. This, of course, means that I can change my mind at any time and may add or take away from the ideas I’m documenting now.

(As per usual, more explaining and a brief art piece below.)

First, I’d like to talk about the benefits of matchmaking students OTHER than the rivals. Hypothetically speaking, let’s say that one of the “patrol” students, like Himari on the first floor (who also has the capability to apprehend you), gets in the way too much. Of course, speaking from Himari’s current functions, she truly isn’t that much of a threat, but I digress. If she had more obnoxious patrolling functions, then matchmaking might be a good way to keep her from patrolling at a certain time. Say you matchmake her with another compatible student, and in the mornings, instead of patrolling, she begins spending time with that student elsewhere instead.

With that explanation out of the way, I want to talk about compatibility. If you want to matchmake someone, you should have all of the necessary information for both parties. The necessary information in this case would be- the student’s likes, personality, type and thoughts on dating. Currently, you can chat with students or drag them around the school to learn their interests, which is time-consuming but still rather simple. If it’s to be time-consuming, it should at least include multiple unique actions that doesn’t include waiting in a room for the student to find their way inside the room with its poor programming.

A good idea could be offering a student gifts, asking them questions, or just generally spending time with the student. What you learn can depend on the student’s personality, their willingness to speak about their feelings, how chatty they are, and what exactly you ask about.

Back to the compatibility, though. Putting it into a simple idea, two students who all like cooking, drama, nature, art, and socializing would be pretty compatible. But again that’s very face-value. What if, say, Gema and Akane had the same likes and dislikes. It doesn’t mean that they’d be compatible at all in terms of dating or even bring friends because of how different their personalities and lifestyles are. Akane is meant to be uptight and likely keeps romance to a minimum if not completely silent as a subject, and Gema has proven that his “type” is either anime characters or unique fashions like the gyaru girls. Both of them can be found attractive in their own right, but if their personalities and appearances aren’t compatible with their preferences, they likely wouldn’t get together. Or at least it would be very difficult.

This leads me to “types”. While having a preference in terms of appearance (think Osana with Taro), it doesn’t guarantee that the student will only date a student who holds all of those physical attributes. However, it does help the player decide what possible candidates may be. As you all probably read recently, I’m unable to add same-sex relationships due to my religion, but in the game, it’s likely that some students will have a preferred gender to date, which could also help the player narrow down their options.

Also, allow me to comment on something else. As you may know, some characters have canon friendships in the game, like Osana and Raibaru, Sukubi and Rojasu, and Saki and Kokona. In my story, one of the friendships is Saki and Kenko. While they are good friends, I doubt that they would be compatible due to their different lifestyles. They can like the same things, like each other’s appearance, but Kenko might desperately prefer someone who takes better care of their body, which Saki does not do.

I think that all of what I’ve discussed thus far could be somewhat used for some sort of matchmaking system. As I said, I admit that I wasn’t able to put this in quite effective words. It all looks messy as I’m re-reading it, but that’s likely due to my lack of sleep. I plan on putting some more effort into this in the future, definitely when I’ve actually gotten some shut eye.

Although my religion restricts me from making certain things possible, I encourage other creators to possibly put in their thoughts and make art regarding a revamped matchmaking system. Maybe put in characters that you think may be compatible and why. Do they have different likes and dislikes from the canon information? Is their personality different, thus making them compatible with different students? I’m always curious to see such things in this community.

(I realize his pose looks a bit strange. He's meant to be tying his apron. ��)

[plusvanity]

what is your take on Pelle's mental health?

He never received any diagnostic, so needless to say, my opinion is strictly based on my personal observations on his letters, interviews, and general facts.

I think that he was suffering from Major Depression with Psychotic Features.

His depression may be rooted in childhood (according to the possible reference he made in his s*****e note) and it would make sense because any form of depression started at a young age (untreated) turns chronic in time. It not only worsens, but it can definitively change the chemical composition of your brain and major depression is a life-long condition.

Now, his psychotic features can be evident from his claims that he felt 'physically dead', that his blood was 'frozen' in his veins, that he didn't feel 'human', that there was a fundamental discrepancy between him and the people around him. Major depression can (and in some cases will) lead to psychosis. Forms can be mild to severe.

What in the 19th century was called 'Cotard Syndrome', which doesn't take part in any diagnosis nowadays. What doctors will call this condition is psychosis. To explain this briefly, any behaviour that suggests that a person had lost their touch with reality is psychosis, so it's fair to assume that Pelle most probably dealt with that. It can be due to his prolonged, untreated depression or a head injury, or a genetic factor (I don't necessarily believe it's genetics, but you never know), what is certain is that he vehemently believed that he was a 'living-corpse'. Feeling like a 'living-corpse' for a short while is fairly common in people who suffered Near Death Experiences actually, but of course, in his case, things were different.

I do believe that he felt like he claimed and this alienated him from everybody else, but I won't use the terminology of 'Cotard Syndrome' because it doesn't exist in the DSM under this name, not because it doesn't exist as a condition.

His body dysmorphia seems more related to his psychosis. I don't believe that he starved himself soly because of depression and self-hatred (although it came as a co-morbid factor in every aspect of his mental illness), I genuinely think that his delusion was the most predominant factor in his mental degradation (because that's how delusions are compared to 'sedentary' mental illnesses) but I can be wrong.. he could've had a neurosis, but I doubt it because neurosis is less severe. Anyway, nobody can tell anything for sure as nobody examined him or scanned his brain or anything.

But, feeling like a corpse is just as valid as feeling like a god or an inanimated object. You see, perceptual hallucinations manifest in the same way, no matter what extraordinary 'thing' you feel like. I'm horrible at explaining things or, rather, summing up my analysis on him, I hope you follow.

I think that there is a possibility that he suffered a brain injury (concomitant with that spleen rupture) that irreversibly affected his reality perception and it intertwined with his preexisting depression, making his life completely miserable.

This is my opinion, not the truth. Anyone can think anything. I think he was severely depressed, but there was something 'extra' that put him in another category. And that something 'extra' might have come from that horrific incident that sent him to the hospital.

I've done consistent research, read a lot of books, and made psychological portraits on Pelle, Øystein and Varg, so it's fun to reply to these types of questions. I won't post my work here because I have no reason to, but I will share some crumbs here and there.