#it's more 'he made the right decision in the end and that should earn him some respect but do not forget the suffering he has caused'

[benevolentvampire]

just saw a youtube short that was like "you thought he was the villain but he's really the victim 😢" about darth vader and im once again just like. no he was definitely the fucking villain lmao

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: After being captured by The Ghoul, he had dragged you through the hot desert of the Wasteland. You were so thirsty, and you’d do anything for a drink of water. And you meant anything. Tags: Smut, Practically No Plot, Humiliation, Begging, Spit, Blowjobs, Throat Fucking, Thigh Riding, Biting, Hate Sex(?), maybe OOC The Ghoul but I think I got it right, Not Beta Read, there's still consent because i can’t write severe noncon Author's Note: i had so many “why am i writing this” moments yet i still finished it i’m so sorry. 

You don’t think you’ve ever been this thirsty in your life. 

Scratch that, you don’t think anyone’s ever been as thirsty as you currently are. 

Even though you had no saliva left to swallow, you tried anyway, your throat feeling like sandpaper. It caused you to cough, earning a disgruntled noise from the ghoul currently holding you hostage. 

The Ghoul. Infamous bounty hunter and the cruelest person you’d ever met. Of course, you only found out who he was after he captured you. You’d never even heard of a ghoul until a few days ago, your sheltered life in Vault 14 withholding information about the surface to you. 

You wished you were back home, suffocating as it was. At home, you wouldn’t be forced to walk countless miles under the boiling Wasteland sun. At home, you wouldn’t have a lasso around your neck, preventing you from running off. And even if you did manage to somehow escape the rope confines, you’d seen how accurate of a shot he was. He’d kill you before you managed to keep a foot away from him. 

You glanced back at him, The Ghoul, who had his sawed-off shotgun casually trained on you. He seemed unaffected by the heat, by the sun beating down on your faces. His hat made sure of that, and you supposed that you didn’t have to worry about sunburn if all your exposed skin was melted by radiation.

It had been hard, looking at him at first. After spending your entire life surrounded by “normal” humans, it was a shock seeing him for the first time. You’d seen burn scars before, sure, but never this severe, every inch of him covered in them. Of course, that wasn’t the most off-putting part. That had to be the complete lack of nose, an empty socket where the cartilaginous appendage should be. 

It unsettled you deeply, but you found that you couldn’t stop looking at him, a sick part of your brain enjoying it. You didn’t dare delve into that part of your mind right now, though, your current circumstance is significantly more important. 

He had stopped you in Filly, and after a brief discussion had decided that he was taking you with wherever he was going. You had no say in the decision, and even when you fought and kicked and screamed he still managed to get you bound. A few people tried to help, not because they cared about you, but because they had also wanted to get their hands on a “Vaultie”. Apparently, you were worth something to them up here, a commodity of sorts. It made your skin crawl. You’d gotten firsthand experience, then, of how good of a shot The Ghoul was. 

How you longed to be back in the stuffy Vault, working as a teacher to those kids. As annoying as they were, at least they weren’t currently threatening your life, or making you walk to who the hell knows. You’d take that over this any day. Hell, you’d take latrine duty with overflowing toilets every single hour over this. 

You fixed your attention back in front of you, the endless stretch of sandy dunes in front of you broken up by partially destroyed houses and skeletons of buildings. Your feet were in incredible amounts of pain, every step feeling like you had fifty pounds of bricks attached to your ankles. And that thirst, never ending, overwhelming thirst you felt nagged at you, consuming every thought of yours. You’d take anything to drink now, even that definitely radiated puddle you’d passed hours ago. Or was it minutes? You couldn’t tell.

You knew dehydration had long since started affecting you. You were no longer able to form sweat, and you were certain that your body was slowly cooking from the inside. You were almost certain it would be a better fate than whatever The Ghoul was leading you towards. 

You hadn’t even realized he’d stopped until you felt a sharp tug at your throat, nearly toppling you on your ass. You heard him chuckle as you steadied yourself, and you shot him a glare. Even faced with death, you weren’t going to let yourself be treated like this. “We’re stopin’ here,” he gestured to a dilapidated building to his right.

You had been surprised when he spoke the first time, not expecting a southern drawl. You’d never heard an accent like his before, only ever hearing them on the Holotapes your Vault would play for movie night. You’d also believed them to be fake, or to have died out with the rest of humanity. You had to admit, the one good thing to come out of this whole experience was hearing his voice. 

Momentarily confused as to why you were stopping, your eyes focused, and you realized that the sun was half set. You’d learned rather quickly that it was suicidal and stupid to travel across the Wasteland at night, after an almost perilous encountered with what you assumed to once be a bear. You’d barely escaped with your life, climbing a tree until the creature grew disinterested and found new prey. 

You almost wished it had torn you apart then. 

Apparently you were taking too long, and you felt another tug at the rope, pulling you closer to him. “Ain’t got all day, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The name was anything but sweet, saying it with so much condescension that it made you flush angrily. At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

Grumbling something under your breath, you stormed past him, another low chuckle leaving him. “Nothin’ good is gonna come from that mouth on ya,” he threatened, waving the gun at you in a go on motion. 

The shifting sand nearly caused you to stumble as you ducked into the house through a window, and your eyes struggled to adjust to the low lighting. Holding your breath, you listened for anything else in the house besides the two of you, and when you were met with only your heartbeat, you continued further in. 

Entering what used to be the living room, you saw a large couch, still in relatively decent condition, and luckily free of decomposed bodies. Any wood furniture, however, had already decayed, leaving only fragments where they once stood. You realized that if you were to sit on the couch, it would probably crumble under the weight.

The Ghoul entered behind you, and you made your way down the hallway, checking each room for anyone or anything that could do you harm. The first room was a bathroom, sand filling the bathtub like it was water. Out of desperation you almost tried to turn the handles on the sink, lift the seat of the toilet, do anything for a drop of water. But you refrained, not willing to stoop to that level yet. But you could feel that you were close. 

The next room was a large master bedroom, completely destroyed from when the bombs fell. Sand covered everything, and the walls had practically caved in, leaving you exposed to the outside. There was no where you would stay there willingly tonight. 

The third and final room was also completely devoid of life, but the empty crib in the middle of the room had you gasping, and you heard the click of a gun behind you as The Ghoul prepared for anything. You quickly shut the door. “Nothing, sorry,” you managed to croak out, and you heard him scoff.

However, you saw that he did manage to catch a glimpse of the room before you closed the door, and in those still human eyes you saw something flash through them. Sadness? Longing? Anger? You couldn’t tell, but you sure as hell weren’t about to ask him about it. 

Living room it is, then. Heading back to the original room, you watch The Ghoul sit on the couch, right in the center of it. It held, surprisingly, but you could hear the wood groan in warning. Spreading his legs, you watched him tilt his head back, a content sigh leaving his mouth. 

If you had the energy to blush, you would’ve as you watched him, finding yourself having to look away. Maybe dehydration was messing with your brain, the way you thought that was attractive. What the hell was wrong with you, you thought. 

Thirst quickly chased those thoughts away, and you attempted to lick your dry lips, your tongue mostly sticking to them instead. You were about to go explore the bathroom until you remembered the rope around your neck. 

Like he could read your thoughts, you watched him regard the lasso in his gloved hand. “You gonna run off on me if I take this off, sweetheart?” 

You shook your head, excited to have the irritating rope no longer chafing your neck. “You’ll kill me before I could,” you responded, voice barely a whisper.

The Ghoul barked out a laugh. “Damn right I will.” He considered your response for a moment, and you fully believed that he was going to keep it there. That was until he stood, almost inhumanly fast, approaching you with long strides.

Holding your breath, you felt his tug the rope off your neck, those eerily human eyes never leaving yours as he did. You flinched when you felt one of his leather-clad fingers brush over the irritated skin. Your heart beat rapidly in your chest, mostly because of fear, but also for another reason that you refused to name. 

With a satisfactory smirk, he looped the lasso back onto his belt. You quickly exhaled when he stepped away, eliciting a coughing fit, which was dry and only irritated your throat more. Fuck, you were so thirsty. 

The Ghoul sat back on the couch in that same lounging position, and you debated sitting on the floor in front of him, but you feared that if you rested now then you’d never get back up. You watched him set a lantern on the ground, the weak oil based contraption the only source of light in the entire room. You didn’t ask why he didn’t start a fire; you also learned to not do that early on too. 

So you remained standing, even though your feet screamed for relief. You ignored them, shifting to try and alleviate the pain slightly. Rubbing your neck, you could feel that he hadn't once taken his eyes off of you, and it was making you increasingly unnerved. “You gonna stand there all night?”

You crossed your arms. “Yes.” You tried to sound defiant, but it came out more like an airy noise.

“Suit yourself, then.” He rolled his eyes, making a show of getting comfortable on the couch. “It’ll be a long night for you, that’s for sure.”

Swaying, you leaned your back against one of the barely-standing walls, screwing your eyes shut. You occupied your thoughts with memories of home, trying desperately to ignore the pain. You were mostly successful, that was until you heard the sound of a canister being opened. 

Curious, you opened your eyes back up, nearly falling to your knees when you saw him drinking from a circular canteen. You must’ve made some noise, because he was now smirking at you. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and you watched a droplet of precious water trail down his scarred chin, dripping onto his dusty clothes. 

“See somethin’ you want, sweetheart?” He was unabashedly cocky with his tone. 

You son of a bitch, you thought, glaring daggers into him.

“Now, now, no need to be like that,” he chuckled, taking another sip. “Just tell me what ya want.”

He wanted you to ask for it. He wanted you to be at his mercy. Groaning, you rest your head back against the wall. You don’t think you’ve ever hated anyone as much as you hated The Ghoul. Any humanity left in him had been stripped away, leaving behind a cruel excuse of a human. Despite that, you couldn’t deny the way your heart continued to patter in your chest as he stared at you expectantly, that cocky attitude doing things to you that would leave anyone who knew you horrified.

“I…” you tried to talk, but your voice proved to be too scratchy. Clearing your throat as best you could, you tried again, ignoring the way he looked at you like a predator would his prey. It was similar to the bear from earlier, but you’d take that now over the ghoul in front of you. “I need water.”

He tsked, crossing a leg over his lap. “And here I thought you Vaulties were raised with manners.”

It took everything in you to not just snap at him, but that would leave you without any water. “I need water, please,” you gritted out. 

The Ghoul shook his head disapprovingly. “Shame,” you heard him mutter, before he was slowly pouring the water out onto the floor behind him.

Sheer panic tore through you, and if you were able to form tears, they would be in your eyes. “Wait, wait, wait,” you pleaded, your voice cracking and breaking, and you lunged forward. The click of a gun had your blood going cold, but he at least had the decency to stop pouring. You held your hands up, taking a few steps back.

Registering that you weren’t going to attack him, he lowered the gun, but he still kept it on his lap. If he had any eyebrows left, you’re sure one of them would be raised, waiting for you to continue. 

“I’m- I’m sorry,” you stammered out, keeping your hands in the air. “I just… Can I please have some water? Please, I-I… I need it. I’m begging you… please.” You wondered if he could even make out your words. 

You watched his eyes travel up and down your body, and he cocked his head. “Are you?” You made a confused noise, and he chuckled lowly. “Are you beggin’ me?”

One problem that you always had at the Vault is that you never knew when to shut your mouth, and what you said next certainly made it clear that you hadn’t learned yet. “You want me to get on my knees, then?” You had meant it sarcastically, and you immediately regretted it when his eyes went dark. 

You heard the creak of the couch as he planted both feet on the ground, leaning forward until his elbows rested on his knees. His guns barely stayed in his lap, but he didn’t seem to care. “Now that you mention it… yeah.”

Humiliation warmed your cheeks, and you nearly let your pride stop you from sinking to the floor, but then you saw the way the canteen hung precariously in his hand. Damn it all. Taking a deep breath, you lowered yourself slowly, unable to look at the man, not wanting to see his victorious reaction. The sand shifted beneath your knees as you rested on them, but you could barely feel the relief your feet finally felt.

“Can-”

“Closer,” he cut you off gruffly. “And I want those eyes on me.” His voice had turned husky, and you realized he was enjoying this. Were… were you enjoying this too? You honestly couldn’t tell.

Wordlessly, you obeyed, shuffling forward until your knees bumped into his shoes. Your ears burned worse than they did out in the sun, and you wished it would just explode and incinerate you right now. “Eyes up, sweetheart,” he practically purred. 

You took a moment to prepare yourself before you were looking at him through hooded eyes. The brim of his hat cast a shade over his face, and you could only see the hungry glint in his eyes matched with a predatory smirk. Oh, he was loving this, and you couldn’t help but squirm under his gaze, heat pooling in your belly that was quickly doused by shame. 

“Can I please have some water? Please? I- I’m really thirsty and… just a bit. Please.” 

His grin grew more as you begged, and you sagged with relief when he brought the canteen closer, no longer dangling over the back of the couch. “See, that ain’t so hard now, was it?”

“I’m sorry,” you found yourself apologizing, for what, you weren’t quite sure. You weren’t too upset about it, though, especially when he brought the canteen to your lips. 

“Head back,” he ordered, and you did, your neck straining at the angle. You swore you heard him groan when you parted your lips, never breaking eye contact with him. The water was disgusting and acidic, but damn if it wasn’t the best thing you’d ever had the pleasure of drinking. He poured it into your mouth, and you desperately swallowed every single drop, the dryness in your mouth and throat instantly being quenched. 

But it wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t help the disappointed noise you let out when he ceased the pouring. “More, please,” you found yourself whining, any remnants of shame tossed out the broken window you’d climbed into.

“Manners, Vaultie,” he growled.

“Thank you, thank you,” you repeated like a mantra, and The Ghoul let out a pleased hum. Thirstiness still clung to you like a second skin, but you felt better than you had moments ago. Some of your energy had returned, and you felt like you were no longer in the grasp of death. 

“You want more?” He asked, and you immediately nodded.

“Please,” you whispered, and you saw something almost wicked pass over his features. 

“Don’t worry,” you felt one of his gloved hands sneak around your back, collecting a handful of hair and tugging, forcing your head back even further. You cried out, a mix of shock and pain. “You’ll get more. Just keep that pretty mouth wide open, just like that.” His normal drawl had turned into an almost rasp, and you shuddered. 

You watched as he took a swig for himself, but he didn’t swallow, keeping the water in his mouth. Confused, you closed your mouth, but as soon as you did you felt him pull hard at your hair. Obediently, you opened it back up, a shaky exhale leaving you.

If he had a nose, it would be currently pressed up against yours. He adjusted so that he was practically towering above you, and man did the angle kill your neck, but you didn’t dare complain. With increasingly widening eyes, you watched as he slotted his mouth above yours, not touching, but you could still feel the heat from his body. 

You nearly flinched when you felt the water hit your mouth, fighting every instinct that told you to shut it. The act was filthy and degrading, but you’d be a liar if you said it wasn’t getting you incredibly aroused. Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming suffocating; it hadn’t even felt this bad when you were outside. 

As he sat back on to the couch, his lips glistened in the dim light, stray remnants of water still coating them. As you held the water in your mouth, he frowned disapprovingly. “Do I gotta spell it out for ya?” He shifted forward again, grasping your face. “Swallow.” 

When you did, he let go, tapping your cheek lightly. “Atta girl,” he cooed, and you sputtered, cheeks growing warm. Shifting where you sat, you tried and failed to relieve some of the tension in you. You thought you were subtle in your movements, but his sharpshooter gaze locked onto it immediately. 

He laughed, a mix of surprise and condescension in one. “This gettin’ you turned on? Maybe you ain’t all that innocent, Vaultie.”

You eyed the half-hard tent in front of you. “I’m not the only one,” you grumbled out, and he laughed again. 

“I ain’t the one on my knees, sweetheart.”  Scoffing, you watched him lean back again. You expected him to say something, do something, but he simply watched you with anticipatorily. Something shifted in the atmosphere, and you realized he was putting the situation in your hands, wordlessly asking you how far you were willing to take this. 

You needed this. You needed him, as bewildering as it was for you to admit to yourself. 

Desire running deeper than that for water coursed through your veins, and you nodded. “More.” You both knew that you weren’t fully talking about the canteen in his hand. 

“Good answer.” Before you could even register, he was gripping your face again. Fingers pressed into your cheeks harshly, opening your mouth back up. Taking another swig, you expected him to repeat what he’d done last time, but you were startled when you felt his lips on yours. 

It was a strange kiss, his closed mouth against your open one, but it didn’t stay like that for long. His lips pulled apart, and without needing further prompting you swallowed another precious mouthful of water. You could feel that bastardly smirk against your mouth, and if you were anywhere near being able to create a coherent thought you would’ve said something. 

But you didn’t, you couldn’t. It was like you were caught up in some haze, but you were sent out of it when you felt his tongue sweep into your mouth. You’d kissed a few people, sure, but never like this. It elicited a startled noise from you that had him pulling back an inch, and you had to fight yourself to not chase after his lips.

“Never had that before?” He chuckled, and he found your following silence an adequate enough answer. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

He didn’t even give you a moment to react before he was crashing his mouth back against yours. It was all tongue and teeth and it had you moaning, and you felt the grip on your face tighten. Your head spun, and you tried to keep up with his movements, but you ended up just letting him take over, moving his mouth against your however he’d like. 

He nipped at your lower lip with his teeth, and your hands shot out, no longer able to just keep them idly in your lap. You found purchase on his thighs, the sinewy muscles tensing under your touch. But the grip on your face tightened more, almost incredibly painful. Your eyes shot open, alarmed, and a pained noise left you. 

He had pulled away again, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths, but he was glaring down at you. “You better watch those hands.” Even though his voice was husky, the threat didn’t make you any less terrified. 

You were confused, and you watched his eyes trail down to his lap where your hands were. Unable to move your head, you had to strain your own eyes to look down, and sheer dread washed over you when you saw his gun still in his lap, your hands a mere inch away from it. 

“I- I wasn’t… I didn’t… ” you gasped breathlessly. “I didn’t know! I- I’m sorry! Please.” Out of all the times you’d begged and pleaded tonight, this time had to be the most genuine. Immediately retracting your hands back to your lap, you awaited his response tensely. What you failed to notice was the way his eyes darkened as you groveled, his pants growing tighter.

His gaze returned to your face, and out of the corner of your eye you watched as he moved the gun from his lap into his hand. You half expected him to point it at you next, but you let out a very audible sigh of relief when he set it on the couch beside him. It was completely out of your reach now, but he could still easily grab it. 

He loosened the grip on your jaw, still holding it, but no longer digging into your flesh painfully. “I won’t stop you next time,” he growled, and it took you a second to register what he was saying: he won’t stop you next time because you’d be dead as soon as you began to reach for it. 

You nodded as best you could. “Good,” he’d lost the threatening tone, but his voice was still gravely and raspy. “Now, where was I?” His eyes flicked down to your lips, and you sure they were swollen and shiny. “That’s right.”

Like nothing had happened, he returned to his ministrations, teeth grazing your bottom lip again. You hesitated when you set your hands back on his thighs, gaining more confidence when he didn’t stop you. In fact, he was actively encouraging your explorative touches, a pleased noise rumbling his chest as your fingers trailed up his thighs. 

Another swipe of his tongue and a particularly harsh bite had you gripping onto him, barely able to find purchase on the thick material of his pants. You desperately needed air, but he held his grip on your jaw, seemingly unaffected by the issue you were having. Did ghouls need to breathe? It seemed like they didn’t, because he had yet to tear his mouth away for air once as he first kissed you. 

As your hands reached his belt, it was then he finally tore away, a groan leaving him. Sucking in as much air as your lungs could handle, you ran your touch across the prominent bulge. You felt the hand on your jaw go lax, falling to his lap. “You gonna take care of that?” He was giving you another out, giving you an opportunity to stop you from doing something you could regret. 

Rationally, you knew you should stop here, and pretend like this didn’t just happen. You knew the version of you from the Vault would do that. But this new part of you, exposed to the Wasteland and the savagery of the surface world found that you wanted to continue. Besides, you were probably going to end up getting killed in the next few days; why not have some new experiences before your time was up.

You didn’t respond, you simply began to undo the buckle of his belt. You couldn’t get the thing off of him, so it just rested open on his thighs. “Oh, you’re filthy,” he chuckled, spreading his legs even further apart while leaning back against the couch. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see what that mouth’s good for.”

This also wasn’t your first time in a situation like this. You’d only ever done it once, but you apparently weren't too terrible at it, as he frequently requested for a second time, but you always turned him down. You kinda wish you hadn’t now, wishing you had more experience now, but a part of you knew that this was about to be incredibly different from anything you would’ve experienced in the Vault.

With hands that you prayed weren’t incredibly shaky, you pulled down the zipper of his pants. He kept his eyes locked onto you the entire time, darkening even more as the unzipping noise hit his ears. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him, no matter how hard you wanted to. Something about his expression had you locked in, and you shifted again. 

“Don’t let me stop ya,” he rested his arms along the backside of the couch, and you realized you’d just been sitting there. Steadying yourself, you slipped your hand into the confines of his pants, underneath the waistband of his briefs. You heard him let out a small hiss when your fingers brushed over his cock, and you desperately wanted to hear him make more noises like that.

It took a bit of maneuvering before he was free, head brushing against his navel. The skin was pocked like the rest of his body, which you were expecting. What you weren’t expecting was how long he was, much longer than your previous encounter.

Before you could let nerves disarm you, you moved closer to him. Bracing your hands back on his thighs, you kissed his tip, and you heard his hiss again. Sneaking your tongue out, you ran it up his length, pressing another kiss when you reached the top. “Don’t tease,” he growled, tangling his gloved fingers back into your hair. 

When you took him into your mouth, he let out a noise that sounded like a laugh and a sigh, the grip on your hair growing painful. It didn’t deter you, rather it drove you wild, and you took as much of him as you could. When he hit the back of your throat, you had to stifle the urge to gag. Taking the rest of him in one of your hands, you began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks. 

You couldn’t see the way his eyes locked onto his cock leaving and entering your mouth, but you could hear the small grunts he made in tandem with the movement of your head. He kept his hips surprisingly still, but his fingers were somehow getting even tighter, as if all of his restraint was being poured into his grip, and it was on the verge of snapping. “You can take more.” It wasn’t a question, and you felt his press down on the back of your head when you had him fully in you.

Startled, you tried to make a noise, but the vibrations just went straight to his cock. He groaned, louder this time, and he didn't let up. “Relax,” he bit out, and you tried. You really did. Taking as deep a breath you could, you forced your muscles to relax, your hands going back to his thighs. Tears sprung to your eyes as you really tried not to gag, but a garbled sound still left you as he pushed himself further down your throat. 

“Fuck,” he drawled out, “just like that.” It felt like five years had passed before your nose was finally pressed into his skin, his cock fully sheathed down your throat. Tears dripped onto his skin, but he didn’t seem to feel them. Your scalp stung as he lifted your head up, and you took in a shuddering breath, your lungs screaming for air.

You didn’t have a long reprieve before he was shoving you back down again, and even though the intrusion wasn’t new it still caused you to make an awful noise. It took him pulling you off again for you to realize what he was doing; he was fucking your mouth, using it for his own pleasure like you were just a toy. The realization had you moaning, the discomforts becoming an afterthought as he chased his pleasure, your own growing. 

Your Vault-Tec suit was becoming unbearable arousal tightening in your core, and you snuck a hand down between your legs, trying to touch yourself through the thick material. It didn’t help, but you still tried anyway, desperate for any sort of relief. The Ghoul laughed, not letting up the way he moved your head. “Oh, sugar, is suckin’ my cock gettin’ you bothered?”

Your head spun, the new nickname and the crude words making you dizzy, and you let out what you hoped was a confirmatory sound. He only huffed in response, and you could tell that he was starting to get close to his release. His hips had started to buck, albeit slightly, and his groans had turned to unintelligible moans. 

He cursed again, and you were barely able to glimpse his head roll back, hat hitting the ground. He didn’t care, continuing to fuck your face, and you desperately ground against your hand. “So good, fuck,” he panted, and you let your eyes flutter shut.

They shot open when you heard him moan your name, but you had little time to appreciate the way he said it. He pressed down hard on the back of your head, holding you there, your nose pressed flat against his body. A plethora of curses fell from his lips as he came, his cum spurting deep down your throat. 

He let go, hands falling to his sides, and you removed yourself, coughing and gasping for air. Your cheeks were wet with tears, your jaw aching, but it was the best pain you’d ever felt. He stared at you with lustful eyes, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. 

Holy shit. You were tired, but you wanted more. But you weren’t expecting him to do anything else tonight. This wasn’t a partnership; he’d gotten his release. You’d need to deal with it on your own. 

So caught up in what you were expecting, you gasped when you felt his lips graze the corner of your mouth. His hand cradled your cheek, leather growing damp, and you felt his lips brush the tears that had fallen on the other cheek. You realized he was licking your tears away, and when he registered that you noticed he chuckled, muttering something about not wanting to waste water. You let out an airy chuckle in return, still not fully wrapping your head about what had and what is transpiring. 

“Guess one good thing came from that mouth,” he teased, referencing his earlier threat. He tugged you up, and you stood with knees shaking like a fawn. You’re certain you looked like a mess but he either didn’t care or really enjoyed it. 

You really had no idea what was going to happen next. You observed him with wide eyes, and you couldn’t help the bewildered look when you saw him stroking himself, still rock hard like he hadn’t just come. He chuckled when he saw what had caused you to react. “One good thing ‘bout bein’ a ghoul,” he rasped. “Stamina.”

His own raked down your body, honing in on the way your thighs pressed together, and they flicked back up to your own. “Take it off.”

You didn’t have to be told twice, the zipper on your suit quickly becoming undone. Even though the air was hot, it still felt nice against your hot skin. He didn’t blink as you undressed, eyes clocking in every new inch of exposed skin. Tugging it down your shoulders and off your arms, you let it fall to the ground, the material pooling at your ankles. 

Left in only your bra and underwear, you kicked the Vault-Tec suit off your feet, and you stood there, unsure. “All of it,” he continued, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

As you reached for the clasp of your bra, you watched him lean forward slightly, eyes watching you like you were the most delicious meal he was about to devour. Tossing the garment beside you, you reached for the waistband of your underwear. He raised a hand, making your halt, your fingers barely looped under the band.

With two fingers, he gestured you forward, grinning when you complied easily. His hands batted away your own, and you felt he begin to peel it away himself. He was almost eye level with your navel, and you felt his breath caress your stomach. It was like he was unwrapping a present, the way he ripped it down your legs, and it fell around your ankles like the suit. 

You were hardly able to kick it away before he pulled you onto his lap, your hands bracing against his still clothed chest. The couch made a very audible noise, on the virgo of collapsing, but neither of you seemed to hear it. One of your legs straddled his thigh, your bare center pressed against his pants, no doubt soaking the material.

 “You’re wearing too much,” you found yourself commenting, and you felt him chuckle. He took his hands off your waist, holding them in front of you so you could clearly see him take off his gloves, tossing them by his gun. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, realizing that that was all you were getting from him. 

You weren’t complaining, though, when his bare hands touched you for the first time. Along with the marred skin, his fingers were calloused, years and years of harsh life, fighting, and shooting making them so, but they were the best things you’d ever felt touch your soft skin.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts, humming appreciated as he felt your body, fingers dancing up your sides. Goosebumps erupted across your skin, and you sighed as he continued his exploration upwards. Worn hands cupped your breasts, fingers toying with your perked nipples, and you unconsciously pressed your chest forward. “Look at ya,” it felt like he was mostly talking to himself, “you ain’t gotta mark on your body.” You felt his mouth graze your breasts, lips ticking you as he spoke. 

You jumped when his teeth made contact with the delicate skin of the top of your breasts, and he chuckled. Moving lower, he took one of your nipples between his lips, his hand making sure the other one was receiving the same attention. His tongue flicked, sucked, and the occasional nip had you crying out, jolts of pleasure shooting through your body. One of your hands settled on the back of his head, the other sneaking back between your legs.

With that surprising speed, he caught your wrist, not even tearing his mouth away from you. You let out a noise of complaint, and you could feel him grin. His hands left your breasts, settling back on your waist, and you felt him begin to rock you back and forth on his thigh. With every rock, your clit ground against the tensed muscle, and you let out small moans, small waves of pleasure crashed through your body.

When he felt you begin to move on your own, he let go, returning his touch to your breasts, playing and massaging them as you got off on his thigh. His mouth trailed up your body, leaving a trail of small kisses and ginger bites, your once smooth skin now slightly indented. Having been worked up for a while, you felt that you were growing close to release, his ministrations bringing you closer. 

He was at your neck now, and he bit particularly hard at the thick tendon there. He laughed when he felt your hips begin to rock harder, and you felt his tongue smooth over the bitten skin. “I-” you tried to speak, but an airy whine from your throat cut you off. Your thighs were trembling, and you could feel the damp patch that had formed on his pants, but you couldn’t be bothered to feel embarrassed right now. 

“You close, sugar?” Not trusting your voice, you nodded instead. “Fuck, yeah you are. C’mon, let me feel ya,” he groaned, mouthing at your neck. 

It only took a few more rolls of your hips before you came, his name tumbling from your lips as a loud cry, pleasure igniting all your nerves. Your stubbed nails dug into the back of his head, and he growled. Your whole body was trembling as you rode out your high, only ceasing the movement of your hips when it became too overstimulating.

A shocked laugh left you, and you slumped forward. That seemed to be the last straw for the couch, the furniture collapsing beneath the two of you. It nearly caused to tumble off his lap, but you felt his hands secure under your thighs. He stood, holding you like you weighed nothing, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his body. 

He eased you to the ground, the sand digging uncomfortably into your skin, causing your back to arch off the ground to avoid feeling it. You couldn’t help the gasp you let out when you watched him shrug off his jacket, tucking behind you wordlessly. These small glimpses of humanity you’d seen from the Ghoul, like when he saw the crib, or when he gave you a way lead you to believe that maybe he wasn’t as bad as you originally believed him to be.

Well, you still hated him, and you were still his captive, but you realized that he wasn’t a complete monster. It was moments like this, where those high walls he’d built to survive in the Wasteland began to crumble, and you could see glimpses of the man you assumed he once was.

He didn’t give you much time to reflect, though, because his lips were crashing against yours, and all thoughts disappeared. Your legs were still wrapped around his waist, and you could feel his cock pressed against your folds. He didn’t press in though, and you whined against his lips, moving your hips as best you could to try and get him to move. “Whatdya want, sweetheart?” He murmured, nestling his head in the crook of your neck. 

“You,” you gasped out.

“I’m right here,” he chuckled a bit, and he still didn’t move.

Groaning, you ground against him again, trying to get him to just push himself into you. He groaned, yet he still didn’t move, his resolve stronger than you anticipated. “Fuck me, please,” you choked out, and you could see him smirk in satisfaction. 

He didn’t respond, and you felt him press into you, sheathing into you with a single thrust. Similar noises of pleasure escaped both your mouths, and your fingers wove into the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to find something to grip onto. He stretched you out so well, and you gasped when you felt his hips press against you. He was so deep inside of you, father than any other person you’d taken to bed, and it overwhelmed you in all the best ways.

“Sugar, you feel incredible.” You babbled something in response, and you hated how proud he looked. He didn’t give you time to adjust before he was setting a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours. The sound of skin on skin and your cries of his name filled the room, and you swore if you gripped any tighter on his shirt that it would rip.

Small puffs of air tickled your neck with every thrust, whispers of your name hidden in the gasps. Fingers dug into your waist, most likely going to leave marks in the morning, your once smooth skin littered with marks of him. You couldn't see what your body looked like right now, but you had a pretty damn good idea, and the picture you visualized in your mind had you clenching around him, causing him to falter, albeit it only for a second.

Despite the slight overstimulation you were feeling, you could feel another orgasm begin to form, slowly but surely. Letting go of his shirt, you grasped at his face, pulling back up for another breath-stealing kiss. You were so caught up in the way he continued to thrust into you and the way his mouth slotted against yours that you failed to notice the way one of his hands left your waist. 

You broke the kiss with a startled yet pleased nosed when you felt his fingers begin to work at your clit, rubbing fervent circles into the sensitive nerves in time with the thrusts of his hips. “Cum on my cock, sweetheart. C’mon,” he groaned out, and your head hit the ground, barely softened by the jacket and the sand. 

His name had turned into soft pants, unable to form a coherent thought as he relentlessly fucked you. The added stimulation brought you closer to the edge, and you tried to let him know you were getting close. “Go ‘head, lemme feel ya,” his accent had been cranked up to a hundred, and in any other situation you would’ve found that funny. 

With a final cry of his name, you came again, your vision going white as you temporarily spaced out, the pleasure too overwhelming. When you came to, he had pulled out of you, leaving you empty and shivering. You watched as he stroked himself a few more times before he came all over your stomach.

It was only the sound of breathing in the room now, both of you just staring at each other as you calmed. Relaxing on his coat, you watched as he stood, tucking himself back into his pants as he did. Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing, jumping when you felt a cloth on your stomach, wiping away his release from your skin. 

He didn’t say anything, tossing the cloth to one of the corners of the room when he was done. He placed your clothing beside you, before sitting and resting against the collapsed remnants of the couch, head rolling back. 

Groaning, you broke free from the post-orgasmic haze you were in, sitting upright. Both pleasure and pain still lingered in your muscles, making your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Slipping on your undergarments, the dampened fabric of your underwear was incredibly uncomfortable, but you gritted your teeth and ignored it. After putting on your bra, you debated putting on the Vault-Tec suit, but the idea of putting it back on made our overheated body cry. 

The Ghoul watched you as you redressed, thinly veiled desire and interest flicking in those eyes. You were now sitting upright on his jacket, and you got up onto your knees, freeing the garment and holding it in your arms. Scooting towards him, you held it out to him with shaking arms, almost like a peace offering. His eyes didn’t leave you as he took it, setting it beside him.

Before you could decide that it was a bad idea, you sat down next to him, shoulders brushing. If he was surprised, he did a good job of hiding. Exhaustion returned, and you felt your eyes begin to flutter close, head bobbing as you struggled to stay awake.

It was your turn to be surprised when you felt him pull your shoulder down, resting your head in his lap. You were even more surprised when he draped his jacket over your shoulders, the material thin enough to not overheat you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes, but he avoided your gaze, staring at the half-standing wall in front of him.

“Rest. We’re leavin’ at sunrise.” His voice was hoarse, back to that commanding tone from earlier. 

Getting as comfortable as you could, you let your eyes shut, sleep beckoning you. You had no idea what was going to happen tomorrow, but as you felt his fingers comb delicately through your hair, you knew that he was no longer going to be following his original plan for you.

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (37/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The night on the boat comes to an end.

Warnings: 18+ (female masturbation (vaginal fingering), light voyerism (auralism), mentions of: sex, oral, choking, cream pie, free use (if you squint you'll miss it)), fluff

Word Count: 4k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: happy Lando win everyone!!! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

“I think it's fantastic that you want to work with me,” Charles mumbles into the mirror as you brush your teeth in the tiny bathroom of the boat. 

It's now one o'clock in the morning, the cocktail glasses and shot glasses have been rinsed and are halfway tidily stowed away - the alcohol has put a spanner in the works when Charles accidentally dropped a glass. 

“I thought so,” you reply with a grin. “Otherwise you wouldn't have given me the contract for Christmas.” You spit the toothpaste foam into the sink and wash your mouth out with water. “But I'm also glad that you want to work with me. It really means a lot to me.”

Charles smiles at you. “Of course I want to work with you,” he replies and rinses his mouth out too. “Did you really think I'd bring someone else onto my team when my best friend is perfect for the job?” 

You look at him incredulously. “You didn't know if I was perfect for the job.”

Charles' cheeks flush a little. “Okay, you got me,” he admits. “I only knew the pictures you took for the magazine. And the pictures from Kika. But my gut told me it was the right decision.” He smiles lovingly at you. “Just like it was the right decision to share our first apartment.”

Warmth shoots into your face. Touched by his words, you look down. “I agree.” 

When you look at him again, he smiles fondly. “Best deal I've ever made.” He puts his toothbrush in his pocket and doesn't even realize how much his words touch you. “Are you looking forward to spending so much time with me?”

“Of course,” you reply, ”after all, thanks to you, I can travel the world and earn money at the same time.”

Charles rolls his eyes in mock annoyance. “Isn't my company enough for you? Isn't that enough of a reward?” he teases you and leans against the doorframe while you brush your hair. 

“That, my dear, is an incredibly nice perk.”

“Of course,” Charles grins and follows you back into the bedroom. 

You stop in front of the large bed before turning to your roommate. “Who's sleeping where?”

“You can have the big bed. I usually use it when I go out on the boat in the summer, but you're welcome to take it. I'll just take one of the small ones,” he offers. 

You shake your head vehemently, only to regret it for a moment - the alcohol has affected you a little more than you thought. “But it's your boat and your bed. You should have it.” You purse your lips. “Besides, you've had a lot more to drink than I have. You'll definitely need the whole place to sober up.” You can barely suppress the grin on your face. 

“It was maybe two or three shots more. And only because you just poured them without me being able to resist,” he defends himself. “A small bed is enough for me. Take the big one, please.”

You remember the two of you standing in front of the bed in your first apartment after spending the evening at Kika's. How you agreed to share the bed so that he wouldn't get a sore back. And you're only too happy to offer to share the bed in front of you again - but with the ulterior motive that there are still several beds actually free and you want to maintain a healthy distance between you, you can't suggest sharing the bed without it seeming strange. 

“All right,” you finally concede and smile at him. “Thanks.” You rummage through your bag looking for your sleeping clothes until you realize you've left them at home. “Shit.”

“What is it?” your friend asks, pulling a shirt out of his backpack. 

You rub your forehead with your hand. “I forgot my sleeping clothes.”

Charles laughs. “I told you there was a chance we could spend the night here.” He shakes his head with a smile and tosses you the shirt in his hand. “Here. I've got a second one with me.”

Without having to move much, you catch the shirt. The fabric is soft and warm in your hand. “Are you sure? I don't want you to -”

“Don't worry,” he interrupts you before pulling something else out of his pocket and throwing it in your direction. They are short sports shorts. “I don't have any more shorts with me, but I can sleep in a shirt and boxer shorts if you don't mind.”

You're glad that the lights inside the boat are dimmed - at least he can't see you swallowing hard to get rid of the frog in your throat. “All good,” you smile tightly and put your shirt and shorts on the bed behind you, ”thanks.”

“Not an issue,” he returns your smile and his gaze falls briefly to his clothes on your bed before he looks you in the eye again. “I - um - I just need to take a shower. I hope you don't mind.”

“Go on.” You sit down on the edge of the bed. “I don't think I'm going to fall asleep within the next few minutes. Besides, there are still a few things upstairs. I can just go and get them. Then you'll have a little more privacy.”

“Okay,” he says. “See you in a bit.” He disappears around the corner, where he then enters the bathroom. When you hear the door close behind him and the water running, you get up from the bed to change. You take off your sweater, shirt and bra and quickly slip Charles' shirt on. As his scent envelops you, you lift the collar to your nose like a woman possessed and breathe in the scent. 

You miss his closeness, the feel of his skin on yours. You long for his warmth, the pressure of his embrace. But you can't tell him that without making a fool of yourself, so you silently take in his scent and let the soft fabric fall back onto your body. It almost feels like one of his hugs - but only almost. 

You quickly change into his shorts before folding your clothes neatly and placing them next to your bag on the couch. On bare feet, you walk up the stairs and towards the sun bed. You carefully put the bottles of schnapps and wine back in the basket and try to carry them as carefully as possible. As you walk down the stairs - almost staggering from the alcohol - you can't suppress the clinking. You put the basket down in the kitchen before going back upstairs to get the cushions. 

As you step onto the last step with the cushions in your hands, you stand frozen. 

“Oh fuck” - "just like that’"- ”you - fuck - your mouth feels so good”

Shocked, you stand still on the stairs as if you've been superglued there, your fingers digging into the cushions. 

“You can take it” - "I know, mon amour, I know" - “You're so tight, mon amour”

From where you are, you can hear the water from the shower pattering on the floor. The click of a shower gel bottle being closed. And Charles' voice, panting, echoing through the rooms. 

“So good for me” - "My good little girl" - ”All this just for me”

Heat rises to your face and the blood pulses in your ears as Charles - what? Touching himself in the shower? Doesn't he know you're down here? And is the bathroom door so thin that you can hear him?

You should go upstairs, give him his space and not listen to him pleasuring himself and moaning. But you can't move - you stand rooted to the spot on the last step of the stairs and can do nothing but stare towards the bathroom door. You hear him panting, cursing and the water splashing until your heart is pounding so hard you can almost hear it. 

“Want to stay in your pussy forever,” Charles moans. Is he thinking of someone in particular? Or does he just have a piece of porn playing in his head? 

“You take me so well,” you hear the Monegasque sigh - and it's as if your legs are moving on their own. 

It feels wrong as you lie down in the big bed and slip under the covers. And it feels even more wrong as you spread your thighs. You hear a grunt from the bathroom and the sound shoots straight to your pussy.

Without hesitation, you let your finger glide through your folds and gather your arousal, while your free hand slides under your shirt to slightly pinch your nipple. You bite your lip to stop you from moaning.

„Fuck, mon amour – yes, just like that“, you hear Charles from inside the bathroom as you start to slowly circle your clit. You imagine him standing in the shower, his hand gently stroking his cock and eyes closed. 

The touch of your finger is gentle, not too much but not enough as the motion makes you squirm. You can almost feel yourself dripping on the fabric of his shorts just from thinking about him. 

You think about the dream you had of him, the way it felt so real. How he kissed your heated skin, the way his fingers slid inside you and you shamelessly moaned into his mouth. 

Your finger slides lower, playing with your opening and as Charles groans in the bathroom about „how good you feel around him“ you slide your digit in. You bite into the pillow, drowning out the moans as you pump your finger in and out, while your other hand slides down to play with your puffy clit, your chest rising with every stroke of the pad of your finger against that spot inside you that just feels right. 

You think about the way his thigh felt on your pussy, how he rocked you back and forth, his hand on your throat and his glossy eyes. Tears well in your eyes from the pleasure you’re giving yourself, your hands slick with your wetness and the shorts probably ruined. But you don’t care. All you can think about is Charles as you slide another finger inside. 

Charles, who's standing a few feet away from you in the shower. Charles, who probably fists his cock, looking absolutely devine as the water runs down his chiseled body, helping him finish off faster. Charles, who you wish would get out of the fucking shower, so he could see the mess you’re making in his clothes, on his bed, on his boat.

Charles, who you wish would take you apart, splitting you on his dick as he tells you how pretty you look. How tight you are for him. How good you feel. 

Charles, who you would let do anything to you. Whatever he wants, in any way he wants. You belong to him, body and soul. 

„Come for me, mon amour, so I can fill you up“, he moans loudly and with one last pump of you fingers you come undone, not for you, but for him – even though he doesn’t know. 

Your breathing is ragged as you try to come to your senses, your fingers still thrusting in and out of your drenched folds at a leisurely pace, prolonging your orgasm. You twitch from being on the edge of overstimulation, but you don’t care. Your mind is consumed by the moaning Charles in the bathroom.

When you hear the shower turn off, you quickly wipe your hands on your shirt and pull the blanket up to your chest. You grab your phone and scroll through a few videos on TikTok as Charles comes out of the bathroom in his shirt and boxer shorts. He rubs his hair dry with a towel and when he sees you lying in bed, he suddenly stops as if struck by lightning.

“You're already in bed,” he says in amazement and hangs the towel over the edge of the dresser. 

“Yep.” You look from your cell phone to him and try to look as relaxed as possible - and not as if you've just come to his moans. 

Charles nods curtly and swallows. “Have you - is the bed comfortable?” he asks, running a hand through his damp hair. 

“Very comfortable,” you answer curtly and smile. You purse your lips. “We should sleep. After all - um - tomorrow we shouldn't show up at your mother's too late."

“Good idea,” he agrees with your suggestion. “Do you need anything else? Do you need something to drink? Are you thirsty?”

Not in the way you think, Charles. 

“I've got everything,” you smile, ”thank you.”

“Then - uh - good night,” Charles says, scratching the back of his neck before walking over to his bed and turning out the light. 

“Good night,” you reply, before turning onto your side and snuggling tighter into the covers. Your heartbeat is still pounding in your ears and you feel like your shirt is sticking to your sweaty body. You close your eyes and try to think about something other than Charles' moans, about what happened yesterday. How he felt under you. How good he felt. 

You press your face into the pillow and squeeze your eyes shut to finally fall asleep, to not feel bad for listening to him making himself feel good. But all you can think about is Charles in the shower, his cock in his hand and the moans on his lips. 

-

When you wake up in the morning, light is already streaming in through the large windows. The headache is thankfully limited as you sit up and take a look at your cell phone. The screen shows half past ten and you sleepily swing your legs over the edge of the bed. 

On bare feet, you pad in the direction where Charles had slept, but his bed is already empty and not a single sound comes from the bathroom. Which is a good sign, no?

You slowly climb the stairs to the upper deck, where you finally catch sight of Charles. He's sitting on the sun bed with his back to you, two cups next to him on the wood and a thermos flask. He's still wearing the shirt from last night, but he's put on a pair of long jogging pants, because it is winter after all. As you join him and take your first step outside the sheltered interior, you feel the cold wind blowing around you. Long trousers would definitely not have been a bad idea. 

“Good morning,” you greet him, rubbing your eyes as you plop down next to him on the sun bed. 

“Good morning,” he replies, pouring coffee into one of the cups before handing it to you. He looks at you and points at the shirt. “What happened there?”

You look down at yourself, confused. There are dark stains on the shirt he lent you to sleep in. Stains from your orgasm - stains from your cum because you wiped your hands on the shirt. “Toothpaste,” you lie quickly, hoping he'll buy the lie. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, without mentioning the ‘toothpaste stains’.

You gratefully take the cup from him before shrugging your shoulders. “Better than expected.” As you take a sip of the coffee, it fills you with warmth and makes you feel a little more awake. “And you?”

“Like I could drive the boat into the harbor without wrecking it,” he grins. “But definitely too bad to put up with Arthur for half the day.”

You smile into your cup. “If he gets too much for you, just let me know. Then I'll come and rescue you and distract him a bit,” you offer jokingly.

“If you do that,” he says, a broad grin spreading across his face, ”it would be the best Christmas present you could have given me.” He also takes a sip from his cup before looking out at the ocean in front of you. “I don't want to go back yet.”

Confused, you look at him. “Why not? Aren't you looking forward to Christmas with your family?”

“Yes, I am,” he replies without hesitation. “But - I don't know.” He purses his lips and exhales deeply. “I have the feeling that everything is different between us when we're in Monaco. That it's so forced, I mean. And I just don't want that.”

You look at him before also looking towards the sea. “Is that why you didn't want to go back yesterday? Because you just needed some more time?”

Charles nods slightly. "I just needed more time with you before the everyday life catches up with us. Before we get back to my family and pretend everything is fine.” His voice sounds sad. 

You turn to him. “But everything is fine between us,” you reply. 

He shakes his head. “Then why doesn't it feel that way? Why does it feel like there's a whole ocean between us when we're in Monaco, but when we're here, we're best friends?”

You can understand what he means. Since your mistake the day before yesterday, the distance between you when you're together in the apartment is so palpable that you could almost cut it with a knife. It's as if the apartment is cold and deserted, even though you've only just moved in. It doesn't feel like a home, but like a place where a friendship has been broken.

“I know what you mean,” you confirm. “I just don't know how we can change that. That we can feel like we're here at sea every day.”

The brunette takes another sip of his coffee. “I was thinking about maybe me moving back to the other apartment,” he confesses. When you look at him in astonishment, he shrugs. “Maybe we're just too close, you know? Maybe - I don't know - maybe physical distance would do us good. Distance that goes a bit further than from your bedroom to the couch.” 

You can't find the words to tell him how stupid you think this idea is, which is why you just stare at him. 

“But I can't,” he continues his thought. “I can't - I don't know -” He takes a deep breath before looking at you. “I don't know how I can be without you anymore. I have no idea what happened to make me so consumed by your presence. Another reason I wanted you to work for me. So that I never have to be apart from you. And that may sound selfish, and I'm certainly crossing every boundary we've established in the course of our friendship, but - ”

“I can't be without you either,” you interrupt him before you even know what you're saying. But it's the truth, however you want to interpret it. 

Charles smiles at you as if a huge weight has fallen from his shoulders. “It feels like an invisible string that keeps drawing me back to you. I can't explain it any other way.”

You nod slightly. “Me neither.” You purse your lips. “I don't want you to move out, or for this distance in the apartment to drive us apart. I want things to stay the way they are. Like this. That we can - I don't know - get drunk and laugh in the evenings, that we can watch movies and have fun with our friends.” You sigh. “Just a normal friendship.”

Your words sound convincing, even though friendship is the last thing you want. The stains on your shirt are proof enough.

“I want that too,” he agrees. “We can manage, can't we? You and me both.”

You nod. “As long as we stay together.”

“As long as we stay together.”

A short time later, you take the boat back and Charles steers it back to its place without any major problems. He leaves the yacht first and when you step onto the wooden jetty ten minutes later, Thomas gives you a friendly smile. 

“I hope your trip was pleasant, Madame?” he asks. 

“It was wonderful. Thank you very much,” you reply and make your way to where Charles collects you again without drawing attention to yourselves. You spend the drive home in silence, but the silence is pleasant. 

“Go and get yourself ready” Charles smiles as you enter the apartment together. “We'll leave as soon as you're done. And don't forget to pack a full overnight bag this time.”

You put your bag in your bedroom and roll your eyes, playfully annoyed. “Is there a dress code for today? Do I have to dress particularly fancy?” you ask him. 

He shakes his head. “Just wear something you feel comfortable in. Maman doesn't think it's so important that we're all dressed up at the table at Christmas and behave as if we're at the prince's table.” 

“All right. I'll have a quick shower and get ready,” you say before disappearing into the bathroom, where you shower, wash your hair and get ready in no time at all, right down to your outfit. In your room, you're standing in front of your wardrobe, examining your clothes, when a dress catches your eye. It's black and comes down to your mid-thigh, with long sleeves that flatter at the wrist. You slip into a pair of dark tights and matching shoes before packing your overnight bag. When you've finished - and checked your bag several times - you leave your room.

“Charles?”

“I'm in the living room,” he calls across the apartment. When you enter the room, he's sitting on the couch. He's wearing black chinos and a white shirt with the top buttons undone. When he sees you, a smile spreads across his handsome face. “You look wonderful.” He gets up from the couch.

Heat shoots into your cheeks. “You don't look too bad yourself, considering your mom doesn't expect fancy clothes,” you joke, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

Your friend looks down at himself. “This is my chill outfit. I sit on the couch like this every night,” he laughs and reaches for the car keys and his wallet on the coffee table. “Are you ready?”

You nod. “We're ready to go.”

The rickety Renault takes you to Charles' mom's house pretty quickly, and she's already waiting for you when the both of you pull up. 

She embraces you with a smile as you leave the car. “Cherié! Merry Christmas! You look fabulous!”

You return her hug warmly. “Thank you, Pascale. You look wonderful too.”

She briefly puts her hands on your cheeks and smiles at you before turning her attention to her son. “You both look so beautiful!” She kisses Charles first on his left cheek, then on his right. “Now come on, the others are already here.”

As you follow her, you feel Charles' presence next to you. You smile up at him. “Thank you for taking me with you.”

There's a twinkle in his green eyes that makes your knees go weak. “Thank you for putting up with me here.”

Together you enter the house, where Pascale takes your bag from you. She turns to Charles. “You didn't tell me if you'd both be staying here. But Enzo has brought some good wine, so I've prepared your room. Then you don't have to drive home and can both enjoy the evening,” she smiles. "I've also made the bed."

Confused, you look at Charles, who stares after his mother as she climbs the stairs. “The bed?”

“Yep,” he replies curtly, without the slightest hint of emotion in his voice. 

“Bed - singular?” When he doesn't answer, you stand in front of him so that he has to look at you. “Charles, bed - singular?”

Charles' gaze fixes on you. He nods slightly. “Bed - singular.”

[mythalism]

Dude yeah Solas going back to the prison is so dumb to me. Like I assumed before seeing Trick’s post they he and the inquisitor were going into the fade itself to where he sealed the dreams or whatever. But instead I’m going to take my wife to my divorcee empty ass apartment where the ghosts of my past call me a wet loser? What?

JHGKEJRGHKERJHGKREJGH no ur right. i think it genuinely only works when you look at it from a mythological story perspective rather than the two of them as individual people... which is interesting because their whole stories are kind of about how they lose themselves to the myth that surrounds them... so i think its supposed to be the ultimate conclusion of that.

they are at once both finally free of the burdens of the myths and expectations that follow them as the dread wolf and the herald of andraste because they have left the mortal world that forced them into those roles and stripped them of their personhood, but they have also completely submitted themselves to those roles by submitting to the logical conclusion of the myths that they could not escape. for the dread wolf, it is earning his redemption through his willing submission to his own trap. its the logical, full-circle mythological conclusion to the trickster who trapped the gods, now trapped for eternity himself (allegedly, he will prob eventually break out... even loki gets his freedom during ragnarok...). for the inquisitor, it is andraste's herald finally sharing andraste's fate, choosing to leave the mortal world behind to ascend to the golden city alongside the god that she loves. both (presumably, for a lavellan) have tried to reject the myths attached to them over and over and over, but in the end they choose them willingly, and that choice at once binds them to those myths forever while simultaneously freeing them from the burden of them. its giving oedipal greek tragedy of attempting to outrun your fate and it finding you anyway, just when you thought you were finally making your own choice, but with a hopeful and bittersweet spin. its actually fucking insanely brilliant when i think about it this way it makes me genuinely foam at the mouth.

however the major caveat to this is i do not think this is presented nearly clear enough in veilguard. the only reason i am able to create such wonderful, deep meaning from this is honestly because my bachelor's degree is in literature and i literally have formal academic training analyzing storytelling. and it took me like a week to actually sift through all this in my brain and go back and sift through lines and images in the game to support my analysis. it should not take that much work, it should have been more clear. because yeah, the first time you play it it absolutely feels like your girly pop lavellan is making the WORST, down-bad delulu decision of her life while the rest of the world is screaming GIRL DUMP HIM!!!!!!!! and im not suggesting im smarter than anyone for looking at it “the right way” or anything like that. im saying that i think in order to get the meaning from it that the writers intended, you have to look at it through a very specific literary lens, and that is something that most people are not going to default to… because why would you? the story should lead you there on its own. there shouldn’t be a niche prerequisite to enjoying the ending. a few more lines about people made into myths, much like those we got throughout inquisition, could’ve helped facilitate this. they did a great job of hammering in the regret and choice themes to the point it was like beating a dead horse with a stick. and there are a few good lines that kind of give this vibe (“you’re not JUST the inquisitor, right?” “they call me the dread wolf, what will they call you when this is over?” “there is no fate but the love we share,” a codex from felassan about solas being forced to play into the dread wolf persona, etc.) but they probably could’ve added a few more to talk about mythological apotheosis and choice in the context of fate rather than just in the context of regret, and it would’ve helped at least a bit.

so i fully understand peoples discomfort with the ending as a result. i think it’s a logical conclusion to come to based on how the story presents itself. however im pretty confident that this mythological vibe was tricks intention, based on a lot of their comments about their writing process and inspiration for solas, and the way they have written him overall. @corseque has a lot of amazing posts in her solas tag that talk specifically about the very deliberately mythological way that weekes wrote solas, and i think this is essential context for understanding the ending that the game simply does not sufficiently provide. it also definitely invalidates a lot of people's perceptions of not just their inquisitor, but the solavellan romance as well. however i hope me blabbing about how it can be absolutely brilliant when viewed through a specific lens might help people feel more at peace with it <3

[alicewrotethis]

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! tsukishima helps out the new neighbor who moved into the apartment next to him, only he didnt know what would come of it  ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip k. tsukishima x chubby!fem!reader  ﹒ ◠ note!!  playlist i listened to while making this ! i do plan on making a part two soon !! ౨  wc!! 4.4k part two !! >>

Waking up Tsukishima stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars placed above his bed, watching as they faded with the oncoming sun peeking through the blinds. He dreaded mornings, he hated the way his mouth felt dry, how hot he felt under the sheets, and most of all, waking up meant he'd have to deal with a new day of idiots doing things he hated.

Tsukishima hated a lot of things, he hated his old rowdy neighbor, he hated overly cheery people, the feeling of cold coffee in the morning, how polyester felt against his skin, and he especially hated when his neighbors tried to get to know him.

Putting his headphones on he stepped out into the hallway, only to be greeted by the sight of you trying to lift a box into your new apartment.

You decided to save money youd only ask the movers to move your furniture and not your boxes, you were deeply regretting that decision right now. You only had three more boxes to go but the soreness was already catching up to you from the other ten.

The sight was enough to annoy Tsukishima, why didn't you just ask for help instead of trying to do everything yourself, movers are a thing. Did you not have friends that could help you do this? He tried his best to ignore you while locking his door but a part of him felt bad for you, that you couldn't even complete a simple task.

With a sigh, he made his way over and took the box from your hands which startled you.

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"Where do I put it," He cut you off flatly before he could change his mind about helping you.

You were thrown off by his tone, its not like you asked him to help you so why was he so angry?

"In the living room is fine, thank you, sorry," You weren't sure whether you should be apologizing or thanking so you settled on doing both, which just earned another sigh from Tsukishima.

You were surprised by how easily he lifted the rest of the boxes, despite how skinny he looked he was really strong, or maybe you were just really weak, but to save your ego you decided he was just strong.

"Thank you again for helping," You looked up at him as he sat the last box down on the floor. You noticed this guy sighed a lot, it made you feel like you were somehow wasting his time.

Looking down at his watch he realized how much time had passed and he mumbled something under his breath before leaving your apartment.

He didn't even acknowledge your gratitude. The entire encounter had you stunned, was he really going to be your next-door neighbor?

With a content sigh, you plopped down on your couch and instantly relaxed, you had finally finished unpacking every box and arranging your furniture the way you liked it, and it only took you six hours. Despite how tired your body was you wanted to do something to show your grumpy neighbor how thankful you were, and you were gonna do it in the only way you knew how to show thanks.

Baking. But first, you would have to go grocery shopping.

Heading toward the elevator at the end of the hall the door opened to reveal your tall, grumpy neighbor, still wearing the same frown he left in. Only it seemed to deepen at the sight of you.

You smiled at him as he exited the elevator. Tsukishima prayed you wouldn't try to talk to him, but of course, like every other time, his prayer wasn't heard.

"Hey, neighbor! I never got your name," You beamed up at him, looking at him now he was freakishly tall, his hair was disheveled, and he looked sweaty, it was almost enough to intimidate you.

"If you know it, you'll say it," He flatly said, walking past you to his apartment door.

You didn't know what you did to possibly receive this kind of treatment, it wasn't even your first day living here and this guy acted like he hated you.

"What did I do to you?" You asked, slightly irritated by his ego.

He simply ignored your question and entered his apartment, promptly closing the door.

It's not like Tsukishima intended to be rude to you, well, he partially did. But there was truth to his words. If you knew his name then you'd assume he was your friend and you'd try and talk to him, and he just didn't want that. His apartment was a place where he didn't have to talk to anyone and he intended to keep it that way. He couldn't understand why you didn't get the hint.

You weren't gonna let his rude attitude stop you from baking him something, it only made you more motivated to bring a smile to his frowny face.

You weren't sure what you'd bake him so you decided to go with your own favorite dish, strawberry shortcake.

Walking down the aisles you stared at everything in your cart, you had gotten some regular food items you'd need for the next few week's meals, as well as some snacks and drinks you enjoyed. Now all that's left is to get the ingredients for the desert you'd be making your neighbor.

Looking up at the signs above the aisles you searched for where the flower would be. Once you found it you walked over, only to see the one and only standing there in front of the vanilla bottles staring intently at them. You wondered what he could be doing there.

"Hey, you," You greeted, resting your arms on the cart handle as you walked over.

Tsukishima didn't need to look to see who the voice belonged to, why were you everywhere he went?

You noticed he looked much cleaner now, and his blond hair was much more neat.

"What're you doing? Did the vanilla bottles look at you the wrong way?" You joked, stopping right in front of him. Your eyes shifted between him and the bottles, trying to figure out what he was doing.

He didn't answer you, in hopes you'd get the hint this time but that never worked out in the past. Your joke only further annoyed him.

You came to the only reasonable explanation hed be standing here staring for so long at the bottles, he didn't know the difference.

"What flavor were you looking for?" You asked, trying to sound as nonjudgemental as you could, not wanting to annoy him any further.

"What?" He asked confused.

"Well, Bourbon, or Madagascar, vanilla has a much stronger taste," You explained, pointing to the bottle you were speaking about. "While Mexican vanilla has more of a spice and smokey tone to its flavoring, and Tahitian vanilla is the opposite, its fruity and floral, almost cherry-like." You spoke softly as he nodded along.

"It's all based on your preference and what you're going to be cooking." You finished off, looking up at him.

He only nodded as he reached for the Bourbon vanilla bottle and placed it in his shopping basket.

"Thanks," He muttered out. He wondered how you knew so much about vanilla flavors, they all tasted the same to him.

"Youre welcome, can I get your name now?"

He paused for a moment before turning to you. "No,"

You let out a breath of defeat as you grabbed your own bottle, but you knew it's fine, you'd get his name one way or another, you're sure of it.

Placing your shopping bags on your counter you sighed, thankful they had an elevator or else you would've passed out walking the heavy bags up five flights of stairs.

Putting away the groceries you left out the required ingredients needed to make the strawberry shortcake.

Placing the strawberries in a bowl you layered them with sugar and gave it a light mix, only wanting to coat the strawberries in the sugar. Once that was done you began on the small cake and placed it into the oven.

An hour passed and if was finally done, it was the most beautiful thing you'd laid eyes on, it almost brought a tear to your eye. And to think the frowny, grumpy, rude, annoyed neighbor would have the chance to eat it brought a smile to your face.

Placing the treat into a small box you picked up at the store you carefully made your way to your neighbor's door and gave it a knock.

You stood there for a few moments before you heard muffled voices and the unlock of a door.

Tsukishima peeked his head out and saw you before fully opening the door.

He didn't say anything and instead raised his eyebrow, waiting for you to say what you needed.

"Sorry if I disturbed you, but I baked you a shortcake! I wasn't sure what you liked so I made you something I liked, as a thanks," You explained as well as telling him your name and handing over the box which he took and peeked into. If you were looking close enough you could see a glimmer of happiness in his eyes.

"Hm," He let out.

"Do you not-"

"Tsukishima Kei," He cut you off, something he seemed to enjoy doing.

You were stunned, "Tsukishima?" You tested the way it rolled off your tongue.

"Dont wear it out, is that all?"

"So does this mean we are friends?" You asked cheerfully, earning a sigh from him.

"No, now goodbye," He said before closing the door.

It wasn't a smile, but you learned his name so you counted that as a win.

Tsukishima walked into his kitchen and grabbed a fork, immediately ready to try his favorite dessert.

"Who was that?" Tsukishimas girlfriend, Etsuko, asked from the living room.

"My neighbor brought me some strawberry shortcake," He said, hoping she wouldn't make an argument over this like she always did, it was something he disliked, and didn't see the point in meaningless arguments but it was a habit she had recently picked up on, the latest one being about his volleyball teams manager.

"Oh? The new girl?" Her voice was laced with jealousy, something he could easily pick up on with how often she spoke in a tone like that.

"Yeah, I helped her move her boxes," He explained while biting into the shortcake, his tastebuds almost exploding with how flavorful it was, and in the privacy of his own kitchen, he cracked a small smile at your dish.

"Why'd you do that?" She asked, now moving to the kitchen to get a better view of Tsukishima, his smile quickly fading.

"Why does it matter?" He asked, annoyance visible on his face and voice.

She shrugged, "Just doesn't seem like something you'd do,"

He let out a sigh while picking up another bite with his fork, "Yeah well I did it Etsuko,"

"Jeez, what's your problem?"

It was as if she knew just how to push Tsukishimas buttons like she was destined to be here and get on his nerves, and she wasn't always like this but lately, it was like her sole purpose was to interrogate and bother him.

Instead of giving in to her, Tsukishima decided to remain quiet and enjoy the shortcake, hoping she'd give up and go back to her original spot on the couch.

The entire night you couldn't wipe the smile off your face, despite what Tsukishima said, you considered him your friend.

Waking up the sunbeams shone across your face, welcoming you to another day filled with new possibilities, you loved mornings, it was like a second chance, any mistakes you made yesterday were, well, yesterday's news. You loved how the sun looked as it rose above the buildings, it was a beautiful sight to wake up to.

Looking at the clock it read six o'clock, you needed to be at work in an hour, it would be your first day back in a week do to moving and you were extremely excited to be back and baking, maybe you'd bring your new friend a sweet treat home.

Opening your door you were met with the sight of Tsukishima locking his door, he had a plain white shirt on and a pair of blue jeans while he carried a plain hoodie on his side, as well as his usual headphones around his neck.

"Tsukishima!" You cheerfully greeted him as you walked up to him, you couldn't hear it but you knew he sighed, he always did that to you, so much so you've gotten used to it.

"Why're you up so early," He asked, though it sounded more like a statement than a question in his voice while you walked to the elevator together.

"Well, today I start work again at the bakery two blocks from here! I'm super excited about it, I've been missing work lately." You explained.

Tsukishima found your enthusiasm for things quite annoying, he couldn't understand how you could be so excited and cheerful this early in the morning.

"What do you have planned today, tsuki?" You beamed, pressing the floor button on the elevator.

Tsukishima would never admit it but he did like the way you said his nickname, it was different from how everyone else said it, and it was innocent in a way.

"College classes, and practice," He dully said, watching the doors close while he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Practice?"

"Volleyball practice,"

You made a sound of excitement and admiration, "Youre a volleyball player? Thats so cool!" You said, looking up at him.

"It's not that cool," He sneered.

"Well, it makes sense! Youre like crazy tall and strong,"

Your compliments were almost enough to bring a blush to his cheeks, and he was thankful the elevator doors opened before you could get any more innocent compliments in.

"You know it's gonna be cold today, right?" He asked, looking your outfit up and down.

"It is?" You asked worriedly, in your rush to get ready you completely forgot to check the weather, and you still had to walk to work in the cold.

"Couldn't even check the weather," He sighed, shoving his hoodie into your hands.

"Tsuki.." You nervously said.

"Dont thank me, just dont let it happen again," He sternly said.

"No, it's just," You paused, looking down embarrassed.

"What?" He asked, raising his brow at your form. It was unlike you to be shy and nervous.

You took a deep breath, "What if it doesn't fit," You meekly said.

That thought hadn't crossed Tsukishimas mind, mostly because he didn't care about that sort of thing.

"It will," He simply stated, motioning for you to put it on.

This was a side of Tsukishima you weren't used to, you had expected him to laugh at your embarrassment, or just ignore you, but it gave you enough will to pull the hoodie over your head and he was right, it did in fact fit. His scent invaded your being, and a small blush rose to your cheeks.

Tsukishima hoped you didn't see his own blush at the sight of you in his hoodie. He didn't know why he was being so nice to you right now, but hearing you say it wouldn't fit irked something inside of him.

"Thanks, Tsuki," You looked up at him with a soft smile.

"Whatever," He turned away from you and walked out of the entrance to the complex, placing his headphones on his ears and taking out his phone.

You smiled the entire way to the bakery, with a warm feeling in your stomach with every inhale of Tsukishimas scent.

You felt disappointment for the first time when you approached your work because entering meant you'd have to take off the hoodie since you didn't want to get it covered in batter and flour.

Walking to the back towards the employee lockers you greeted the familiar faces of your employees with a cheery smile, disappointment soon being washed over with glee as you carefully hanged the hoodie in your locker and tied your apron around your waist ready to begin the day.

You always loved this job since the moment you got it, it truly was a blessing to you, you get paid for doing things you love and you get to meet all different kinds of people.

You noticed a girl standing by the counter and rushed over.

"Hello!" You greeted her with a bright smile, excited to meet a new person, you hadn't seen her here before.

"So, youre Tsukishimas new neighbor?"

The question had caught you off guard and a confused look appeared on your face, "Yeah?" You replied though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

"Well, he's my boyfriend," She stated.

You raised your eyebrow at her, what kind of reaction was she trying to get out of you?

"Good for you?"

"You should hear the things he's been saying about you," She sneered.

You didn't like where this conversation was going, and it angered you that you could tell where it'd go.

You didn't like feeling angry, in fact, it was one of the few things you hated, because when you felt angry you also felt sad, and sadness usually led to slumps where you didn't feel like doing anything and where life feels meaningless.

"If you aren't gonna get anything then please leave," You tried to hang onto the last string of cheerfulness you had, the last string of patience with her. You didn't want to be angry at her since she was clearly someone special to Tsukishima and you'd hate to genuinely upset him.

"Just know he isn't who you may think he is," She said before turning and taking her leave.

You weren't sure what to make of the encounter, you didn't know if you should be mad or upset, and you knew Tsukishima could be rude but would he really talk bad about you behind your back? Is it even worth asking? Maybe you'd just take the hint and leave him alone like he always wanted you to, and looking back now you should've seen it sooner, all his one-worded replies and the way he addressed you with such coldness. You'd just give him what he wanted.

The day came and went and it was time for you to head back home, only this time Tsukishima's hoodie was clenched in your fist, and the emotions you'd been repressing all day bubbled back up like soda, you understood you hadn't known him for long but you considered him a friend and you thought he did the same in his own antisocial rude way.

You were so lost in thought you didn't even care how harsh the cold was nipping at your skin and you only realized when you entered the warm lobby of your apartment, that the warmth instantly engulfed you as you shuddered away the cold. You silently prayed that you wouldn't cross paths with Tsukishima, but your prayers were cut short when you heard a voice from behind you, and it didn't take much to guess who it was.

You were surprised that he was the one greeting you, but you wouldn't give in, this is what he wanted. As soon as you entered the elevator you started spamming the close door button but in two strides he was already in, damn him and those long legs.

Tsukishima instantly caught on to the attitude change towards himself. Usually, you'd be chatting his ear off, talking about everything and anything and he'd be there, listening to every word of it while acting like he wasn't. Like how two days ago while walking to the elevator you were talking about the nature documentaries you watched and how they always made you cry but you could never turn them off. But now you were quiet, and looking everywhere but him, he didn't like it one bit. In fact, he hated it.

"Did you burn a bread roll or something?" He sneered, trying to gauge any sort of reaction out of you, a smile, a laugh, a look, anything.

Well he did get a reaction, you shoved his hoodie into his chest and sped off to your door, slamming it shut before he could even get a word in.

He sighed and headed for his, disappointment spreading through his body when his eyes met his girlfriends.

Tsukishima softly closed the door and kicked off his shoes, his mind still on you and the way you completely ignored him earlier. He tried racking his brain on what he could've possibly done to upset you other than ignore you, be rude, give you the cold shoulder, be dry. But he thought you understood and didn't care about all that stuff, though he could admit maybe he took the whole act a bit too far at times. He started to feel like a jerk, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he should apologize to you. The only thing is he wasn't sure how to or where to start.

It had been a week since you last spoke to Tsukishima, and it had been five days since you last stood in the same elevator, he was partially okay with you not speaking to him but purposefully avoiding him? He decided today was the day he'd try and make things right with you. Even he couldn't believe his thoughts right now, never in a million years did he think he'd be going out of his way to try and get someone's forgiveness. But the days spent without you were quiet and dull, he no longer liked waking up, and he no longer liked the way the sun glared in his glasses, in fact, he found it once again absurd.

Tsukishima missed having you as a friend.

He missed your rambles, he missed being able to talk about his day in short sentences, and he missed you and the feelings you erupted in him.

And as soon as he awoke he found himself walking to your apartment, he wasn't sure what he was gonna say or how hed say it, or even how you replied but he knew he needed to do something if he was gonna keep you in his life.

He knocked twice, and after a few moments, you appeared, dressed in black pajama shorts that rode up a bit too high and a crop top. He could tell he had woken you up by the way you rubbed your eyes and how your hair was going in all directions. But even now, the sight of you made his heart rate increase.

You were stunned to see Tsukishima in your doorway, he looked like he hadnt had a good nights sleep.

"Yeah?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Why are you avoiding me?" He asked outright. You were surprised he even noticed you were intentionally avoiding him.

"Isn't that what you want?" Your voice cracked, you were trying your hardest to remain standing strong in front of him, not wanting to reveal that you genuinely miss talking to him.

"No, it's not," He spoke softly, looking you in your eyes to scan your reactions, to see if you showed any signs of wanting him to leave.

"Well, that's not what your actions say,"

"I know, and I apologize for giving you the wrong impression"

You stayed silent for a while, taking in the moment and trying to find the words to say to him.

"Then why did your girlfriend come to my job and tell me you've been saying all kinds of stuff?" You felt tears prick in the corners of your eyes and you internally cursed yourself for letting your facade slip.

Tsukishima felt anger bubble inside of him, of course, Etsuko had something to do with this, his days could've been filled with you, but they weren't, and of course, it was her fault.

"Listen, Tsuki, I appreciate you apologizing but,"

"She is lying, i haven't said anything bad about you, and I couldn't even if I wanted to,"

You didn't understand what he meant by even if he wanted to, the whole situation was confusing to you, why would she lie about something like that? What could she possibly gain by saying that to you? All sorts of questions were floating around your head and Tsukishima seemed to notice that.

"I want us to be friends again," He said, letting a small smile onto his face as he watched your eyes brighten. He was glad, the sight of you on the brink of tears brought a sort of sadness to his core.

"Tsuki," You paused, "Did you just say what I think you just said?"

He let out his usual sigh, "I'm not gonna say it again,"

"Just one more time?" You beamed, "I'll never ask again," You stepped closer to him, looking up with a pleading look, how could he ever say no? Well, he could and he did.

"No,"

You let out a sound of defeat. You both stood there for a few silent moments, just staring at each other with small smiles. Tsukishima was glad to be back on good terms with you, he knew he'd enjoy the mornings again, and he'd enjoy seeing the sun peek through the blinds because that meant hed get to talk to you for another day, hed get to see and hear you talk about the most random things, you'd once again be the highlight of his day.

"Wanna do something?"

"Like what?" You asked, raising a brow.

"Show me that show you were talking about a week ago, Euphoria? If you aren't too busy,"

You let out a shriek of happiness and pulled him inside by his shirt and dragged him to your dimly lit living room.

You plopped down on the couch and motioned for him to do the same as you turned on the TV. You were happy he apologized despite it taking him a week to do so, but you were glad to have your friend back, you had missed your mostly one-sided conversations, but you knew he was listening to you despite his actions saying otherwise.

You had gotten ten minutes into the first episode and there was already an intimate scene, and even though you both were already silent, the silence seemed to thicken as you both refused to look anywhere but the screen, if you moved would it show that you were uncomfortable? You probably should've warned him about how many intimate scenes were in this show. The closeness of Tsukishima did nothing to calm the awkwardness.

You reached for the remote to try and skip ahead but your hand was stopped by his, and you quickly turned to look at him, a bright blush adorning your cheeks at the contact.

Tsukishima wasnt one to like things, in fact, he hated most things, but you were certainly not one of them.

"I can't stay away from you," He said softly.

Your heart was racing, you didn't know what he meant by that or what way he meant it.

"Then dont,"

navi. tags. rules. © 𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ─ please don't copy, translate, or post any of my work without my permission !

part two >>

[leclercsfilm]

i am your legacy

aegon is out of character. i do indeed hate alicent so much that she turned me into feeling pity for aegon. if alicent has no hater im dead. english is not my first language.

aegon looked at the door.

every moment, he anticipated his mother entering with her own cup of wine, as if she was teasing him. he knew her plan. it was not hard to not know her plan.

for her, he was just a playable character in this game of twist and turns. he was her way. out or in, it doesn't matter.

the noise was heard, yet he didn't look up. he knew better. alicent finally entered the room.

they always came to this. she would always remained him of his duty, of his right. but his right was given, not earned. and, because of that, he was truly afraid.

aegon knew the real reason behind the cruel death of his beloved son. aegon's younger brother, killed lucerys. which caused the anger on the blacks side. it should have ended right then, year's ago, with aemond's eye out.

now aegon wished he could at least comfort his family about this new 'situation'.

their actions have consequences. just because they've made aegon a king, that doesn't mean they are not immune to the blow.

it's almost as no one truly cares. aegon locked himself in his chambers, yet no one tried to even reach for his door. everyone is referring to his son as 'the boy' as if they are not related at all.

they are not even angry, or sad for his violent death. they are just angry for the lack of naivety of people. they are angry because their power slipped away from them.

'i see you are here, not attending your duites...' - she barks at him

'i see no reason to do so.'

'you are king, at least you need to keep an appearance.' she chuckled 'people are looking up to you now. you are their source of power.'

'what kind of power do i have, mother? what power do i have over you and your rats?' - aegon looked at her

he was at the table, playing with his fingers. he stopped doing it for so many years. after his sons vdeath, he became quickly familiar with an old habit of his.

'we will not have this conversation now.' - she furrowed her brows, and pressed her lips. she is taunting him.

'i don't see any use of me then.' - aegon looked down at his feet.

alicent pitied only herself. she wasnt like this before. what if it wasn't his son beheaded that night, what if it was helaena, or maybe aemond? would she then care at all?

'its rather funny, how many things have you done in my name...'

mocking her, reminding her of her constant failure of trying to be into politics. she had a taste of politics once, and now she had a right to marsh into council and question his decisions.

a silence overruled. the only noise that was heard was alicent letting go of her necklace that she was playing with since begining.

'for your actions my people will blame me, not you, mother.'

alicent closed her eyes to calm herself. she quickly grabbed her goblet, thinking as if all of this was for her son, right? or was it for her father? maybe somehow it all turned out to be for her?

'it was easier with my dead father.' - aegon stated out of blue.

he touched his unruly thin hair, thinking for himself, was it the silver hair that made people follow him? clearly, it can't be his manhood. rhaenyra's heir has it as well. but he does not have his silver hair.

'he would do his own thing. in his own world. alone in a room.'

alicent stared at her son. they never had a conversation about viserys. that man was dead for them since begining.

'maybe you tormented him as you do me now.' - aegon countinued with his insults

alicent quicly stands.

'how dare you question my loyalty, my doings with your father? viserys was nothing but a content man beside me. rhaenyra left him here alone when he was fighting with that awful illness-'

'we all know why my half-sister left.' - he started

'you speaking exhausts me more then waking up after a night full of wine, mother.' - aegon countinioued his insults

'the best thing you can do is to leave. let the king to attend his duties, with his council.'

his melancholy turned bittersweet. his face was graced with a little smirk, who is fighting to not become a mocking laugh.

alicent turned away, leaving her gobblet at the table. she was already overwhelmed with a fight from morning with cole. now she has angry aegon roaming the castle.

'without you mother, of course. maybe you need to pray... you've lost a grandson, haven't you?'

'or, perhaps, queen mother would like to do.... nothing?'

with that, alicent had left. she needed to see father and encourage to feed aegons ego before he does something unrational.

gabblet full of wine was thrown. wine was all over the floor, shining in a candle light.

'you forgot i am you legacy. you forgot i can be just like you.'

[aniseya]

“He has to be a witness to what she finds out about herself. It was very important that she had her own agency and that she made this decision independently of him. But I agree, him witnessing it draws them together so much more. So, it went: buffoon, terrifying villain, seductive possible teacher, and then romantic lead. [Laughs] So, I had to find somebody who could play all four characters — buffoon, murderer, a gentle teacher, and then as a romantic lead. You can imagine as I'm writing this, I'm just like, “Who the fuck are we gonna get for this part? Who is going to be able to do this?”

“But I think the way that you see The Stranger and Osha almost immediately Yin and Yang-ing, there's also an argument to be made there.”

“Actually, in earlier drafts, The Stranger had a line from that movie, which is, "I have crossed oceans of time to find you." A lot of Gothic romances were referenced - Jane Eyre, Rochester and sort of the Byronic hero for those two.”

“I was sort of struggling with what the last moment was. I was kind of struggling with it. It was very important that they feel like equals. It was very important that they felt, honestly, like a power couple. I didn't think he should kiss her because, while he's earned her respect, she's earned his, he's earned her allegiance, and she's earned his, I don't know if he has earned that level of intimacy with her. There have been displays of intimacy, but it felt like they weren't there yet. And so I said, “What's a kiss but not a kiss?” [Laughs] I was like, “I’m sorry, I can't think of something.” And the actors came up with holding the lightsaber together, and as soon as that happened, Hanelle [Culpepper], the director of that episode, set up this gorgeous shot. I realized, I was like, “Oh my god, this is the end of Fight Club, and I'm obsessed!” The last line of that movie is, “You met me at a very strange time in my life.” [Laughs] It just didn't feel like we were quite there.”

“Oh, yeah! Again, they’re Sith. It's a different vibe. To me, it's gonna hit different because of their allegiance and who they are. So, yes, it is framed as romantic, but I do think, again, it's not gonna turn out great. I think if he's training her, “One to hold the power, one to crave it.” So they're starting off as equals, but what's gonna happen? Like in Romeo and Juliet, it's amazing because right at the beginning they're like, “Okay, these two die. Let's start the play.” As you're watching this incredible love story unfold, and it's one of the most beautifully iconic plays ever written, in the back of your mind, you're like, “This is not going to turn out well.”

“I want to clarify: They are not necessarily doomed or destined to fail as a team. But the Sith rule of two denotes a power imbalance. Which clearly, due to the final shot, is not their relationship. Also, Plagueis complicates their journey as Sith, because we know his apprentice is eventually Palpatine. They will not defeat him.”

— leslye headland about oshamir for collider

[leclercskiesahead]

This guy said it better than me

Carlos Sainz has conviction. He believes in his own judgment and is willing to act out and speak out on it, often contrary to what the Ferrari pit wall offers. At the same time, he isn't cocky and will respect Ferrari's team orders should the need ultimately arise. It's been twice in [the 2022] season that Carlos' blatant ignoring/disobeying of Ferrari's calls rewarded him and the team handsomely, while in contrast Leclerc, whose unwavering reliance on the team's judgment often earns him the short end of the stick. Listening to Carlos' radio, you will constantly hear him asking questions and challenging decisions. It's a hallmark of all great drivers - especially (since radio communication has been made more accessible to the audience) Lewis Hamilton, who has, on many occasions, disobeyed his team's orders to pit, ran long in the race with great pace, then put on a monster stint at the end to win. Of course his own strategy decisions backfired on him a few times (recently and notably Turkey 2021), but most of the time, between Lewis and the team, they make the right strategical decisions. Lewis acted like another voice that contributes to the strategy team, and for a group whose sole goal is to make the best strategical decision, more viewpoints is always better as it creates a clearer picture for all involved. Ferrari's strategy and race engineering teams seem to break down with every single event that necessitates some sort of quick ruthless reaction. It seems like a lost department that has zero confidence in its own decision-making skills, predictions, and data. The lack of confidence from the pit wall, though, allows Carlos to make his own decisions without strong pushback, and it has rewarded him on at least two occasions this year [2022] already. Listening to Carlos schooling his engineer with words like "Trust me", "Don't do that" etc., it seems that he has that extra dimension as a racing driver, one who can deliberate strategy and tactics while driving fast, much like Sebastian Vettel in his Ferrari days. Carlos has an inbuilt bullshit-o-meter that firmly overrides some shitty decisions Ferrari torture themselves with.

[ladykailitha]

The Hellfire Exotic Club Part 10

Hey guys! We're back for another adventure at the Hellfire!

We have a lot happening in this one: Wayne is all doom and gloom, Steve and Eddie make it hot, Jeff is long suffering, and a hugely jealous Eddie with Gareth to talk him down. And that guy at the end? Don't worry about him, it's only a cameo and nothing more. I promise!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

“Boy,” Wayne said solemnly, “I’m starting to think either Robin or Steve or even both are cursed.”

Chrissy called Eddie that morning to say that she had twisted her ankle and had to take the weekend off. She would be able to get back to work on Wednesday, but Saturday, Sunday, and Monday was out. Her day off was on Tuesday and she willing to come in then to make up for it, but Eddie waved her off and told her get better.

“Should I call off the Tempting of Eve dance all together?” he asked ignoring the cursed comment.

Wayne sighed. “As much as I think that boy is bad luck, calling it off wouldn’t help anyone.”

“I mean the club isn’t hard up for cash right, now,” Eddie hedged. “So the harm wouldn’t be lasting.”

Wayne just shrugged. “I’m not here to advise you, Ed. Just here to hold your hand while you make all the decisions.”

“I know, I know,” Eddie huffed, drawing his hands over his face with a groan. “I just don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of Steve if the dance goes on tonight.”

Wayne laughed. “Son, that is rather the point of the dance is it not, having your hands all over Steve?”

“Yeah, but I had Chrissy before to reel me in.”

~

Breaking the dance down from three to two wasn’t that hard, not with Scott and Steve helping get the choreography down. In fact Eddie was a little pissed how well they worked together. Him and Steve, not Steve and Scott.

Scott was straight with a wife and three kids. Nothing to be jealous of there. Nope. Not at all.

Steve was graceful and smooth where Eddie rough and tumble. Their styles matched each other’s. And fuck, with the new costumes that were color change under water, from white to red?

Steve was fucking Sin, capital S and all. Not just envy but fucking all of them. Pride in his ability to dance, Lust in his ability to make you feel every move, Greed as he soaked up the attention, Sloth because of how easy it came to him, Gluttony in how made Eddie want to devour him, and Envy for anyone who watched them, wishing they were Eddie, dancing with Steve.

Then the climax of the dance hit and “Samael” died in Lucifer’s arms to become Satan. His wings torn, his costume blood red, his body pressed to Eddie’s. Their erections only mere pieces of on thin material between them.

Eddie was on fire.

And judging from the half-lidded eyes and panting breath, Steve was too.

The crowd went wild. The money showered them like rain. Steve as Satan left the stage to let Eddie continue his show. Steve quickly changed out of the wet clothes so that he could hurry back out to watch Eddie preform with his guitar. All the while his heart was racing. It had never felt like this before with Chrissy.

Eddie played his heart out, putting as much attention into his strip as possible, to block out the thoughts of Steve’s warm body pressed to his own.

When the last article of clothing dropped and Eddie hung up his guitar he was still hard a rock and horny as hell.

He got on the pole, dancing the rest of his set grinding against the cold metal.

Finally the last note fell away and he looked up at the audience. The whole room had fallen silent in the rush of the sheer eroticism that rolled of Eddie in waves. Then they were on their feet, cheering and stomping their feet in excitement.

Eddie laughed out loud, taking his bow as the backup dancers picked up the money from the stage and carried it backstage.

When they were divvying up the tips for the night it was clear that both his solo dance and his duet with Steve was a massive hit.

Steve took his earnings with a soft and maybe a little shy smile and Eddie beamed back.

“That was fun, Stevie,” Eddie said with a grin. “We’ll have to talk to Chrissy and see what she thinks about changing up the dance to where she leaves after falling and it’s just me and you finishing the dance.”

Steve blushed a dark red. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Remind me to send flowers to Chrissy’s hook up,” Eddie teased with a grin, “for leaving her boots out where Chrissy could trip on them.”

Steve burst out laughing. “Wait? Is that what happened? Oh my God, that’s fucking hilarious!”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, leaning back in his chair smugly, “I am never letting her live it down. Ever.”

“I hear that,” Steve huffed a laugh. “If Robin had done something like that the teasing would never stop.”

He hovered at the door a moment before he wished Eddie good night.

Once Steve was out of sight, Eddie buried his head in hands. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there like that before there was a knock on his door. He lifted his head.

“Hey, man,” Jeff said with a shake of his head. “I thought I told you to knock it off with that burning the candles at both ends bullshit.”

Eddie raised his head and huffed out a laugh. “The whole fucking house is on fire at this point, man.”

Jeff slipped into the room and sat down on the sofa. He patted the spot next to him and Eddie went willingly.

“If you’re talking about that dance between Lucifer and Samael,” Jeff said dryly, “I’d fucking agree with you. You two looked like you were the only two people in the world and everyone liked that.”

Eddie threw his head back. “God, I want to cross that line. And there really is no reason not to. Steve has shown time and time again he is one hundred percent a part of the club, willing to do anything for it, its crew, and its owner.”

“So what is stopping you?” Jeff asked, putting his arm on the back of the sofa and massaging the back of Eddie’s skull.

“Steve and Robin are going through some pretty heavy shit right now,” Eddie murmured, “and I don’t want to get in the middle of that. But I have no idea when it will be resolved and my own resolve is crumbling with each dance he dances.”

“Come on, put your head up here,” Jeff said softly, “and I’ll give that big head of yours a proper massage.”

Eddie dutifully put his head on Jeff’s lap, letting his best friend work out the knots in his head.

“So at least tell him how you feel,” Jeff murmured. “Tell him you’re willing to wait until the trouble blows over, but that you really like him.”

Eddie tilted his back to look him in the eye. “Nah, I think I’ll pine for the rest of my days.”

Jeff gave his hair a good tug. “I’ll give you until the end of the month to tell him or I will.”

Eddie huffed out a sigh. “Yeah, and knowing you, you’ll do it during our dance with a big fucking sign all in glitter from the back of the club.”

Jeff grinned down at his friend. “Don’t forget the two billion heart stickers.”

“Oh of course,” Eddie huffed sarcastically, “can’t forget the stickers.” He twisted his head to look at him. “Just where would you even get that many stickers?”

“My sticker dealer,” Jeff said smugly. “I have a four year old niece.”

Eddie nodded solemnly; there was no one in the world who loved stickers as much as a four year old.

“You’re with the dancers more than I am,” he said softly, “what do they think of Steve? Like honestly? I know he ruffled feathers when he first started, but it’s been awhile and just because I haven’t heard anything...”

“Doesn’t mean there’s no fire to the smoke?” Jeff asked. Eddie nodded. “A lot of them respect the hell out of him, but there are some that are jealous as hell, that he’s so fucking talented. Hell, Brian is one of them. But I think Bri’s is more that Steve can do everything he can but he’s still... well, not thin. Not exactly.”

“Should I talk to him about it?” Eddie asked. “Bri’s a good friend and I don’t want him feeling like I’ve abandoned him just because a nice piece of ass showed interest, you know?”

“Taking him out to lunch and just being his friend would be a hell of a good place to start,” Jeff agreed. “Gareth likes Steve because you like him but they aren’t friends or anything. Scott and Steve are like actual friends. I think Steve was invited to his oldest kid’s birthday party last weekend.”

Eddie chuckled. As jealous as he was of how easy they got a long, he was actually happy that Steve and Scott were friends. “Better him than me, man. I tend to weird parents out.”

“That’s because you exude heavy metal badass,” Jeff said with a grin. “Kids love that shit, but parents...” he waved his outstretched hand back and forth, “not so much.”

Eddie sat up. “Why do I always feel better after I’ve talked to you? Are you like a witch or some shit?”

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah. I’ve got magic all right, the magic of friendship.”

Eddie smacked him and Jeff chuckled.

“Seriously though,” Jeff huffed. “You bottle up all your feelings and problems and when I finally pry them out of you, you end up feeling better for it.” He got to his feet and pulled Eddie to his. “Come on, man. Let’s get you some fresh air. This place doesn’t even have fucking windows.”

Eddie chuckled, following his friend out the door and into the cool night air.

~

There was one thing Eddie didn’t normally allow and that was lap dances. Particularly lap dances in a private room. One they didn’t have private rooms, most because the place wasn’t built in a way to accommodate them and two, they welcomed assault in ways Eddie wanted to avoid.

If they did want a lap dance it was men only and only the principle dancers. Backup dancers were off limits. Again, it was trouble Eddie didn’t want to go courting. Especially from what he’d seen in other strip and erotic clubs.

But the person in question was a rather a big deal and was paying a lot of money for privilege. Like proper ‘fuck you’ money. But Eddie made sure to write up a contract for the guy. That this was a one off deal; that he couldn’t buy the dancer in question, that they weren’t property; that no matter how much money the guy had Eddie could not be bought either.

The man smirked a little and wagged his eyebrows, but signed on the dotted line. “There you go. I admire your dedication to your morals, your dancers, and your business. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy coming here.”

As much as it pained him, the dancer the gentleman wanted was Steve. He put Chrissy on wandering hands patrol and went to go have a smoke. This time it was Gareth that found him.

“You know a lap dance isn’t any different than a full strip, right?” Gareth huffed. He took the cigarette from him and pulled a long drag before letting the smoke drift out of the side of his mouth. “He doesn’t care about that guy anymore than he cares about any of the regulars.”

Eddie took the cigarette back and flicked off the ash before taking another drag. He spun the butt to get the remaining ash out of it and then crushed it under his heel. “I do know that. But I also know that ‘regulars’ can turn into ‘regular creeps’ at the drop of a hat. You remember what happened to Bakir last year. Cops had to be called.”

Gareth pulled out his own cigarettes and lit another one, handing it to Eddie. “I do remember, but you got Mr. Fancy Pants to sign a fucking contract. You’ll live.”

Eddie took a short puff on the cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a huff. They passed the cigarette back and forth for awhile.

“So what’s really got you worried about this guy?” Gareth said as he finished the last of the smoke. “And don’t tell me it’s just about Steve. I can see your wheels turning.”

“That if he wanted to buy the club,” Eddie said bitterly, “I’d let him do it in a heartbeat. Just stick to shaking my ass until he drives all the good ones away and I quit too. This place is eating me alive and I’m ready to give up.”

Gareth ground the butt under his foot. “Well that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard you say and I was there when you said you want to fuck your guitar for your Pride set. Do I have to mention how even unstrung it would mutilate your dick?”

Eddie snorted. “It would have been hot. But like only the once, which is why I agreed not to.” He leaned his head back against the brick. “It just seems like a fucking tornado of trouble just touched down and I have to sit back and watch as my livelihood goes up in smoke with it.”

“It be nice to place the blame on someone,” Gareth agreed. “Billy. Stella. Levi. Steve.” Eddie glared at him, but he forged ahead. “But life doesn’t work that way. It’s never just one person’s fault or fuck up. It’s just life, man. So get your head out of your ass and do something.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “I can do this.”

Just then Chrissy came out back to tell them that Steve was done and getting changed and the gentleman was long gone. It was just the two cleaning crews awaiting the go ahead to start.

Eddie nodded and went inside to do just that.

~

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @justforthedead89 @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @dreamercec @sadisticaltarts @too-much-tma-stuff @dolphincliffs @chameleonhair

10- @themoonagainstmers @gloomysoup @novelnovella @micheledawn1975 @garden-of-gay

[daechwitatamic]

Vice;Grip || chapter 5 || chs

(banner by @itaeewon)

Vice;Grip (masterpost) NSFW - minors DNI Genre: angst smut fluff, fuckbuddies!au Summary: Make it not hurt, you could have asked him. Or, at least, make it hurt in a way I choose.  A/N: infinite thank you's to @sailoryooons and @eoieopda for beta-ing!!

//

Warnings: Frequent depictions of depression, depressive episodes, panic attacks, and substance abuse (alcohol, weed, and pills referenced). PLEASE know that these characters’ relationships with drugs and alcohol are not healthy and should not be emulated. If these topics are triggering to you, please consider sitting this one out.

Section Specific Warnings: language, depictions of depression and depressive episodes, mentions of doctors' offices and medication, angst, mentions of attending therapy, recreational drinking, kissing

wc: 6.9k

Playlist: you can call me in the middle of the night / you can leave before i wake up in the morning / and it could feel so wrong / but i'll still hold on

Now - Fall

Vernon’s watching his ceiling fan when his phone chimes - a noise he isn’t fond of: incoming email.

For the last few months, his emails have all been from recruiting directors and head-hunters - either thanking him for his interest but regretfully informing him they’ve gone in a different direction, or head-hunters pretending they found him a great opportunity when it was really an underpaid, short-term position where he’d spend more on his commute into the city than he’d ever earn.

It’s been real fun. He sucked it up and finished grad school, threw his diploma behind a cheap frame, added the degree to his resume. Quit going to classes (because there weren’t any), quit spending whole nights on assignments (none of those anymore either), and still - he finds himself no happier than he’d been before, even with all the free time in the world. So maybe, he considers, grad school wasn’t the problem, and he’d done the right thing to just push through and finish.

On top of this - on top of the fact that he was still bored with life, still unenthused to be here - the break-up has sucked, just to make things even bleaker for him.

Can he even call it a break-up? You were never together. But it’s been nine days since he made you cry in his car - not that he’s counting - and all nine of them have fucking sucked. He’s wrestled with indecision for all of them - did he make a mistake? Should he try to undo the damage? Wasn’t what he had with you still better than being alone?

But he knows this will be better for him in the end. He knows that what you two were doing together wasn’t real, wasn’t a relationship. It couldn’t grow with him - it was stagnant by nature. So, even though something in his bones screams at him to take it back, in the end he doesn’t regret the decision to try and do something better.

He does regret that he can’t do something better with you. He regrets that he lost his temper and yelled, regrets that he was cold in his last moments with you.

Regrets that he spent two years walking towards a dead end.

Still misses you, despite this.

He picks up his phone and scrolls to his email, already feeling the frown take over his face in anticipation of another rejection. As expected, the email is from a company he’d interviewed with last week - he’d even gotten to a second in-person round, which was rare. Still, he hadn’t wanted to get excited about it. He knows how unlikely it is that they’ll want him.

Dear Mr. Chwe,

Our team was delighted to meet with you last week. We found your background impressive, especially your internship experience with -

Vernon’s eyes skim the page, so fast the words are a blur. 

…Would like to formally offer you the position of… annual salary of… additional opportunities within the company including traveling to… working with… reporting to… expected start date of… we are looking forward to having you on our team!

Vernon’s heart thuds and he turns the screen off and stares at his ceiling again. He’ll answer it later, accept it graciously, call his eomma, probably shop online for some button-downs and maybe some ties. Later, though. Later. For now, he reaches for his lighter.

He kind of wishes he could tell you - hey, I got a job offer. hey, guess who gets to wear a suit five days a week now? hey, all that bullshit paid off in the end.

Would he have texted you any of that if he hadn’t ended things? You’d never talked about this kind of thing - that had been part of the problem.

Still. As illogical as it is, you’re the one Vernon wants to tell first. It aches a little, like sore muscles but somewhere inside him, behind his brittle ribs.

He wonders if you’re doing okay. He wonders if you care at all, or if you’re fine. He turns his lighter over and over in his fingers, and then realizes he’s just read the words contingent on... drug test…

“Fuck,” he grumbles, then picks up his phone again. Maybe he’ll call his mother first, after all.

—

You were never a big fan of autumn. A lot of your friends are - the season shifts and everyone starts posting about sweater weather and PSLs, the aesthetics suddenly revolving around pumpkins and ghosts.

You have plenty of ghosts, but not the right kind.

Your phantoms haunt your phone, mostly. You feel it buzz in your pocket, hear it vibrate on the table from the other room. Sometimes you even wake up from a dead sleep, sure you’ve heard it going off, reaching for it frantically, only to turn on the screen and see nothing. 

No missed calls, no new texts.

You dream about him, too. In some of them, you’re still fighting, yelling at the top of your lungs in a way you never had in real life. In some, he isn’t even present - you just know he’s missing. In some, you’re trying to get to him, but never can - stopped by nonsense laws of dream physics.

In one of them, you tell him you love him, and he staggers backwards, breaths starting to rasp the way they had when you’d talked him through a panic attack, like he was just as scared of the admission as you had been.

Maybe he had been just as scared about it, back when it had mattered. Maybe he was just better at handling it than you are.

You never see his whole face in your dreams - only glimpses, fragments. You don’t want to examine if that means anything.

You fucking hate your brain.

You’re starting to hate your phone, too.

—

You lose November to grey - the whole month, a wash. You miss three days of work, unable to do anything - unable to cook, unable to get dressed. You feed the cat because you have to, and it’s the only reason you leave your bed except to pee.

When the grey days break as December dawns, you follow an impulse and schedule an appointment with your primary physician through their app. As you click the button to confirm the appointment, you burst into tears, loud and embarrassing. You cry with abandon, pulling your hoodie up to cover your face, to muffle the noise that you can’t stop.

You should have gone to a doctor years ago, and you know it. It feels like a big deal. It feels like a potential mistake - like opening a can of worms and now you have to deal with them. It feels like admitting something is wrong when you’ve worked so hard to look like nothing is. It feels like a farce, like nothing that bad is wrong with you, and you’re wasting everyone’s time.

But you keep the appointment anyway. You make yourself small in the chair on the other side of your doctor’s little table, and you admit, eyes on your hands, “I want to talk about my mental health. I think I’ve been dealing with depressive episodes. For… a long time, now.”

It’s so damn scary. As scary as loving and losing someone - like, yes, Vernon - had seemed. And you’re somehow surviving both.

Something to think about.

You buy yourself good job you did the scary thing ice cream on the way home. You go inside, put it away, and then scoop Nana off the couch, burying your face in his belly and cooing, “How is my favorite boy today?” He tolerates your nonsense with aplomb, as always.

Chan has never forgiven you for naming a cat “Banana Bread”, and you think that’s why Nana has never warmed up to him.

Nana loved Vernon, but you don’t want to think about that.

You kind of want to text him. You think he’d be proud of you for what you did today. You think he’d tell you good job.

(Chan would tell you good job, too, and will, when you call him later. But it doesn’t feel the same.)

You wonder if he’d answer if you told him. You wonder if he wouldn’t answer, but be proud of you anyway.

You fill the prescription, you leave your contact info with a therapist as advised by your primary physician. You don’t text Vernon.

You take your pride and your sadness, your fear and your hope and you channel them into greens and yellows. As late autumn grips the leafless trees outside, you paint something that looks like spring.

Now - Winter

Winter howls through your life like you personally pissed it off. You and Nana huddle under thick blankets with your tablet night after night.

Sometimes you close your eyes and remember Vernon’s hands slipping underneath his own hoodie on your skin; it helps you feel warmer.

Sometimes you think about the way he’d said the word wasted about the time he’d spent with you; it makes you feel cold all over again.

You click through all the tabs you’ve had open for days - different universities with decent visual arts programs, all advertising admission for the spring semester.

None of them are big name schools, not like the one you’d turned down all those years ago. But they aren’t nothing.

You’d brought it up to your therapist last week and she’d encouraged the idea - accepting that you can’t unstitch the mistakes in your tapestry, but you can control what new patterns emerge.

This was the plan: start classes. Open social media accounts to showcase your work. Network through school, look for job opportunities at galleries or for collectors. Open commissions, maybe.

On your best days, this seems like a list of goals to shoot for. On your worst days, this seems like a list of things you’ve already failed at before you’ve even started.

You text options to Chan, ask him, which school colors can you see me in?

Your best friend sends back, all of them. any of them. look at you go!!

You sit in your living room and watch snow fall lazily outside the window. You daydream about what classes might be like, if you get in. You take pictures of the snow in the park, then try to paint something similar once you’re home again.

You wonder if Vernon’s doing okay. You worry that he’s going through his hard days alone. You worry that maybe he’s not - maybe he found someone who helps him better than you did, maybe he’s so happy with them that he doesn’t have hard days at all.

(You know life doesn’t work like that.)

You paint Nana, just for shits, and post it on instagram. It gets the most engagement you’ve had so far. Someone messages you asking if you do commissions for pet portraits. You frown, looking at the message.

Maybe I do, you think.

Your apartment is cold. You burrow under blankets, rub your legs together like a cricket to warm them up, and think maybe after I’m a cicada, I could be a cricket next.

There’s no one to share the joke with who’d get it. Just another of the thousand ways you feel Vernon’s absence in your life. You hadn’t realized how much space he took up until he was gone.

—

Everywhere Vernon looks, all he sees are circles. The hands on his kitchen clock circle each other, align, move on again. They tell him he has two minutes to get out the door before he’s late.

He checks his appearance in the bathroom mirror, straightens his tie, smooths back his hair, then grabs his crossbody bag and heads for the bus.

The hands of the clock in his office mark his passage through his schedule: one circle until his 10:00 meeting will end. Two more after that and he can take a lunch break. A circle and a half until his one-on-one with his boss, to discuss his first few months here.

On his lunch break, Vernon rides with two of the guys he works with to some nature trails nearby, as they usually do. They swap suits for joggers and zip-ups, pop in airpods, and head out. Vernon didn’t run before this job - didn’t exercise much at all, really. He’d gone along with the guys the first time there had been an unseasonably warm day, just to be out, and he’d found it felt good to get fresh air and some endorphins before returning to his desk. 

It’s cold today, the air brittle as he inhales, but the rest of his body feels warm as he works to keep up with the other guys. It’s not as hard as it used to be, keeping up. 

The trail is a circle, too, passing a small, man-made lake before looping around back to the changing facilities. On his wrist, a fitness app closes circles to quantify his steps, his speed, his progress.

At home again, he runs his thumb around the edge of the circular joystick as he waits for Seungkwan and Wonwoo to sign in and join him for a round or two before he figures out dinner.

“Some of us were going to the bar tonight, you in?” 

“Shouldn’t,” Vernon says. “But maybe this weekend?” Unfortunately, his new nine-to-five forces him to make decisions like this - better decisions. He kind of likes his job. He kind of doesn’t want to feel like shit in the morning. 

His mind, a circle - always coming around back to you when it gets too quiet.

He opens his messages.

how have you been? … are you doing okay? … hey, i’m - … I think I’m sorry … what if we did it differently …

Of course he doesn’t send any of them. Instead, he searches for your instagram. You’d never followed each other in the first place, and he considers it a win that you didn’t block him when it was over. But you haven't posted anything that he can see in the last eight months.

Except - one post. It looks like your cat.

He clicks it and realizes that it’s not a photograph, but a painting, and the caption links to another account. He clicks that, too, and finds himself on a page that seems dedicated to posting paintings only.

Yours, apparently. He scrolls through slowly, rolling to his stomach so he can look more closely. He never knew you painted, let alone that you were good - great, even, to his untrained and certainly unbiased eyes.

Part of the problem, his mind chimes in.

Somehow, despite understanding each other better than anyone else in your lives, at the end of the day you hadn’t known each other at all. 

Now - Spring

happy hour after lecture???

plsss can we

bestie YES!!!

The sender of the original invite - a girl close to your age called Juri - eyes you from two rows up, expectantly. Normally, you’d go straight home after class. But you’d been talking to your therapist about almost this exact situation - the way you closed people out, squandered friendships to the point that only Chan managed to hang onto you for more than a year. (Vernon had made it about two years, a sick voice in your head says, and then answers itself with, but you weren’t friends, anyway.)

So, you send the group chat, sure!

(You’d also been talking to your therapist about that last fight with Vernon. I can’t get that conversation out of my head, you told her.

I’ve been caring about you way more than I should, he’d said.

You’d been talking to her about how your brain had skipped like a flat stone right over that detail and had sunk deep on I don’t want to do this anymore.

“What did you think he meant?” she’d asked you, watching you carefully. “When he said do this, what did you think this was?”

Me, you’d whispered. Anything with me - hook up, sleep, spend time together, talk, anything.

She’d helped you see the context of the fight - that maybe by “I don’t want to do this” he’d meant “be with you but not with you”.

“Sounds fake, but okay,” you’d joked. She hadn’t laughed. Negative ten points at Therapy.

You were still working on trying to believe it.

You still weren’t sure if it fucking mattered what he meant, because instead of asking him, “what do you want, then?” you’d gone defensive, had greedily grabbed at the excuse to push him away, hard and careless. He wouldn’t want you back now, even if that’s what he’d wanted at the time. You were sure of it.)

Happy that you’ve agreed to go out, Juri flashes you a grin and then turns around in her seat to watch the board again.

The bar Juri chooses is cute, not crowded or noisy yet this early in the evening. You sip at a beer and talk with the girls about upcoming projects, about the professor you all can’t stand, about the term paper you all feel you shouldn’t have to do.

It’s nice, and honestly when you glance at the time and decide you’d better get home to feed Nana, you regret that you have to. Still, you make your way to the bar to pay for your portion.

You don’t even notice the lean, handsome man who sidles up next to you while you wait for your check until he speaks.

“What’s your drink?”

You look over at him, surprised. “Oh,” you say, which isn’t really an answer. “I’m leaving, actually.”

He gives an exaggerated frown. “It’s so early!”

You shrug. “Sorry. Places to be.”

He’s cute, you consider, as you pay your bill and head for the door. Two years ago, you probably would have picked up what he was putting down.

At home, you feed Nana, then collapse on the couch, pulling a throw blanket all the way over your head. Your stomach churns with discomfort.

You open your phone, find Vernon in your contacts.

You sit on his contact page, thumbs hovering over his number, for so long that your screen goes black twice while you stay locked in indecision.

Don’t call him don’t call him don’t call him.

But you’re lonely, and you miss him, and going out made you think of him, and you wonder what would happen if you did it, if you called. Would he even answer?

Eventually, you let reason win this time, and get up from the couch, the blanket falling from you like you’d shed a skin.

In your spare room, you eye the last painting you’d finished - mostly black but with a fractured, fragmented view of a tabletop littered with empty glasses and half-finished drinks, all the liquids a toxic, piercing neon pink. You hadn’t posted that one; it felt too much like an admission.

You stare down the empty canvas, tapping your mouth with the wooden end of a brush, deciding how to begin. You close your eyes and see the beast that’s followed you these last few years - even before Vernon. The embodiment of your shame, your regrets, your failures. It’s never left your side for long.

When you finally begin to paint it, you start with the claws.

—

you up for a 1v1?

arent you on a date???

obviously not.

you didn’t go? bro.

i went. it was just. idk.

it was just what?

idk dude.

you didn’t like her?

she was fine?? she was funny, and hot, and it was fine

so why are you home alone at 8:30 asking me to come online

Vernon rubs at his face in irritation. He doesn’t know what to say, how to explain to Seungkwan why the date had felt flat.

What could he say? It was fine. It just wasn’t… enough.

He could still remember how he’d felt the first night he met you. He wanted to feel that.

idk, he told Seungkwan. lack of chemistry, ig.

Now - Summer

You think you’ve learned a lot over the past few months - between starting classes again and beginning therapy, you’re just bursting with new knowledge.

Something you’re working on is appreciating the shadows.

In class, you work on shading, on adding darks even when you think an area should all be light. Sometimes, somehow, shadows are exactly what you need to make it right on the canvas.

You think about this concept for your whole drive home from therapy - how the shadows under trees change the way you see them, how the darks affect the lights, how the shadows in your own life are natural and maybe, in the end, not so catastrophic.

At home, you duck your head into the shadows under your bed and drag Nana out by the middle.

“Come be social,” you scold him, plopping him on the couch.

After dinner, you go back to work on what you were painting. You’d been stuck for a few days, not happy with any change you made, but today you have an idea.

You create a palette of black, grey, navy, and deep purple. For two hours, you work meticulously, adding the midnights, the bruises, the shadows. They belong here, too.

—

Chan tells you he’s proud of you, the next time he’s over, and it makes you cry even though you’re only one your second sip of wine.

“Stop it,” you scold, avoiding his gaze, burning up under the attention.

“I mean it,” he says seriously. “I’m so happy that you’re painting again, I could throw up. And going back to school? And therapy? Damn. The glow-up.”

“Ew,” you frown at him, because this feels safer than acknowledging that you have been working hard on yourself, on your life. “What year is it, 2017?”

He gives you a look to make sure you know that he sees through your bullshit.

“It’s not all perfect,” you admit quietly. You feel like it should - like you’ve done the work, and now you should get the happy ending. But it hasn’t worked that way. You’re still working at a job that feels like a waste of time, painting on the side. You’re accumulating some debt for the classes you’re taking. The grey days still come and go, though admittedly their grip is less intense.

And you still think of Vernon, near daily.

Chan shrugs. “That’s normal. Perfect isn’t real. It’s unattainable. If your therapist hasn’t told you that, then you’re wasting your money.”

You laugh. She had told you that. Another thing that was easier to say than to put into practice.

You recork the bottle after a second glass, put it in your fridge for another day. Returning to your spot by Chan’s side, you tell him, ���I keep thinking about him.”

Chan cocks his head, probably unsure if you’re talking about who he thinks you are.

“The guy I was hooking up with.”

“Ah.” He inclines his head knowingly.

You recount what he already knows - that you’d been whatever you were for about two years, that it had ended. That it was your fault.

“I think,” you say, taking a deep breath mid-sentence to steel yourself for the truth, “I think I could have loved him. I don’t know… maybe I did.”

“Either you did or you didn’t,” Chan points out, which is fair.

“It’s just…” you say, thinking about it. “We kept our boundaries so tight. We didn’t talk during the day, didn’t meet each others’ friends or families… barely got to know anything about each other. But it was like… even so, I think we just understood each other. It was like a lot of it just went without saying.”

Chan considers this, face serious. “Sounds like the potential was there, at least. If nothing else.”

“Yeah,” you said sadly, tracing the bottom of your wine glass with your finger. “Potential.”

Wasted potential. You’d heard that plenty before, just not usually about your love life.

Chan reaches out and shakes your knee playfully. “It’ll happen again,” he promises.

You don’t know what would be worse - if it never did, or it did, but it wasn’t Vernon. You’d never believed in there only being one right person for you - like soulmates or shit like that. But looking back at your time together, you’re not sure anyone will ever have a hold over you the way Vernon did. The grip he had on your life was unshakable.

Before he leaves for the night, Chan hesitates by the door.

“Hey,” he says, “this weekend? A bunch of the guys are driving down to the beach for the day. Wanna join?”

Something else you would have said no to, before. You’re trying to say yes more, plus you can’t deny that the sea air and sunshine sound like heaven.

“Sure,” you say, shifting to block Nana from slipping out the front door as Chan opens it. “Text me the details.”

Later, you ask what you should have asked first. who all is coming?

Chan sends back the list - six of his friends, ending with, seungcheol-hyung and his friend hansol. i think you’ve met him once or twice at the bars? he’s a good guy.

Something in you knew this was going to be the answer. You counted your breaths, tried to talk yourself down from immediately bailing on the plan.

Sleep on it, you told yourself. See how you feel in a few days.

You followed your own directions, but for days your mind spun around the question, buzzing and frantic.

Are you ready to see Vernon? To be around him, and act normal? Is it a good idea? Will you fight? Will you fall back into old habits? Will he bring out the worst in you?

Actually, you consider, that isn’t fair. Vernon never brought out your bad habits - he just coexisted peacefully with them, never tried to kick them out.

You’re scared that seeing him will undo the work of getting over him. But that isn’t true, either - because you don’t think you moved on from him at all.

In the end, you do slip into old habits - you let yourself make a potentially bad decision. You decide to go.

A twisted, quiet part of you is kind of excited.

The louder part is scared to death.

—

The day is perfect - blue sky, barely any clouds, hot and bright. Chan drives you and two of his friends; a second car with the others is somewhere en route, will meet your group once you’re there.

Chan’s car arrives first, and you help the guys unpack the trunk. Loaded down with beach bags, chairs, and coolers, you make your way unsteadily through the sand, pausing at one point to take off your flip-flops, tired of how they slow you down in the dry, loose sand.

You pick a spot and lay the towels out, unfold the chairs, get the umbrella anchored down in the sand so it doesn’t fly away.

The whole time, you can’t stop watching the parking lot, waiting for the other group to arrive - waiting for the moment of truth. What will happen when Vernon sees you?

Once everything is set up, you lay out, trying to enjoy what is admittedly beautiful weather. It’s so bright that when you lay on your back, you want to throw an arm over your eyes to block out the light, to really relax.

It feels like forever when you hear a distant shout and sit up, blinking against the glare of the sun, returning your sunglasses to your face as you get your bearings. A group of Chan’s friends approaches, one of them - Mingyu, you think - shouting hello and waving like a fool.

You stand to greet them, waving hi when they get close enough. You bite your lip nervously and glance at Vernon. He’s near the back of the group - their car had brought four people, just like yours - and his face is absolutely unreadable as he looks at you. It reminds you of the beginning, when you noticed how hard he works to keep his expression blank.

He’d stopped doing that with you, near the end. You’d almost forgotten.

Meeting and holding his gaze, you give him a solemn nod. I can be normal if you can, you try to promise, silently.

The moment is tense; you aren’t sure how he’ll react. Then, he gives you his own tiny nod back.

Relief melts through you like butter. Seeing him aches, but it isn’t unmanageable. You can do this - you’ll both be okay. You’ll both get through the day.

You help set up a second umbrella while a few of the guys move a few yards away to set up a volleyball net.

For a few hours they play volleyball. You sit on your towel with airpods in and watch, trying not to notice Vernon, trying to keep that part of your brain locked tight in its little box. But the sunlight streams down, not half as blinding as his smile as he jokes and laughs with Chan and Seungcheol, nowhere near as glittering as his laugh when he doubles over, elbows on his knees.

The sun is almost directly overhead when you get warm enough to brave the ocean.

“I’m gonna swim for a few,” you announce, standing and brushing some loose sand from your thighs.

Chan collapses on his towel, next to yours, pushing his hair back and heaving a deep breath, exhausted from volleyball.

“Maybe in a few,” he wheezes. “I need a minute.”

“I’ll go,” Soonyoung says, tossing his sunglasses onto his towel so he doesn’t lose them in the ocean.

You head down to where the waves are breaking onto the wet sand, foamy water dancing up to your ankles before retreating into the deep sea again. It’s cold, but under the midday sun the cold is welcome. You wade until you hit the awkward point where it’s hard to stand without being constantly battered by breaking waves, and then you duck underneath the surface and swim past the breaking point.

Treading water, you turn to see if Soonyoung made it out with you. He’s still back a bit, jumping each time a wave comes through. Beside him, Mingyu splutters, having taken a wave to his face. A few feet back, the water only at their knees, Vernon and Chan laugh maniacally.

You missed those goose honks.

The guys take their time catching up to you until all five of you are treading.

“Do you think there are jellyfish?” Soonyoung asks, peering into the water behind you.

“Probably,” Vernon deadpans, and you laugh, then immediately wonder if you shouldn’t. Luckily, he grins at you appreciatively as, behind him, Chan points out that there could be sharks, too.

“I’ll probably go back in soon,” Soonyoung says, trying to sound cavalier, but his unease shines through.

“We’re fine,” you promise. “You don’t have to out-swim the shark. You just have to out-swim Chan.”

Chan curses and splashes water at you as the others laugh.

You talk and float for a little longer until you consider the goosebumps on your limbs, the growl in your stomach.

“Anyone interested in lunch?” you ask.

Mingyu raises his arm and squints at his watch. “It is one,” he says. “I could eat. What did you guys bring?”

Chan starts rattling off what’s in your coolers as you start to make your way back to shore. You reach the point where your feet touch the sand, only to get slammed in the back by an incoming wave. You stumble a little, and someone holds your elbow steady, helping you stagger through it without completely tripping.

You give Vernon a grateful smile as he retracts his hand, but your stomach is swooping and your arm is burning where he’d held you.

Rejoining the others, you plop down on your towel, suddenly exhausted. The ocean water drying on your skin under the sun makes you shiver as you dig through the cooler. You pass out drinks to the guys closest to you, toss a bag of chips at Seungkwan when he asks for them, then settle back on your own towel to eat.

After, full and happy, you flop backwards and put airpods back in. Seungkwan and Soonyoung head back to the volleyball net. Mingyu and Chan seem content to bake in the sun, like you, and beyond them the others have circled up and are playing a card game, open cans of beer in the sand beside them.

You feel truly at peace, and you take a moment to ask the universe - can I hold onto this? Can I remember, when things go grey, that these moments exist?

Once you’re warm again, you pull your shorts back on and whack Chan on the arm. He startles awake, pushing his sunglasses up to glare at you.

“I’m going to walk up the beach for a little,” you tell him, pointing, just so somewhere will know where you are. He nods, his head sinking back down to his towel, eyes closing again.

You walk where the waves flood over your feet every few minutes, never getting higher than your ankles. You search for shells as you go, carrying one or two, but mostly stopping to take pictures of them and leaving them where they are, wanting to paint them later.

There are four shells in your hand when you hear someone call your name. You turn, surprised, and your stomach swoops again; Vernon approaches, hat twisted backwards and sunglasses perched over the top of it, one hand reaching out to show you a shell he’d found.

You hold still, you let him come to you. When he’s close enough, you hold open your hand and let him drop the shell there. It’s a mostly-white spiral top.

“Thanks,” you say, looking away from the shell to meet Vernon’s eyes.

He looks down at the other four in your hands. “You gonna paint them?”

You feel yourself physically take a step back in shock. “What?”

Embarrassment darkens his face just slightly. “I’ve been following your art page,” he admits, shoving his hands into his shorts pockets. “I didn’t know.” Then, “I feel bad that I didn’t know. You’re really good.”

You shake your head. “I wasn’t painting when we… I used to. I stopped for a long time. Just started again, after…” You trail off. After you left me. After I pushed you away.

He nods, licks his lips. “Does it help?” he asks, and you know exactly what he’s asking - does it make the rocks weigh less, does it make the grey lighter?

“Yeah,” you say, nodding. “In general. It’s been… kind of cathartic.”

You both stand there, the shells on your palms between you, a decision teetering between you.

You should be the one to mend it, you think, since you were the one who’d ruined it before.

“Do you want to walk with me?” you ask, a little tentatively. “You don’t have to - I’m fine on my own -”

“I’d like to,” he says, voice quiet, and something about it makes you want to well up - that he’s willing to give you his time, that he doesn’t hate you as much as you deserve.

You walk quietly together as the sun starts to sink a little, casting everything a bit orange.

“What’s new with you?” you ask, finally.

And he tells you - new job that he actually likes despite how stuffy the nine-to-five thing sounds in theory, new mile time on his daily run, new friends through work.

“And you?”

You fill him in, telling him about taking classes part-time around your job, the commissions that aren’t enough to sustain you but aren’t nothing - you even shyly admit that you’ve been seeing a therapist.

It was the most either of you had ever talked about your real lives, you thought. It struck you how normal it felt, like it wasn’t something new or novel.

“Sounds like things are coming together for you,” he says.

“You, too,” you return.

Everything between you sits heavy, weighing the moment down, pulling towards the ocean’s depths like an anchor.

Then, at the same time, you break.

“It’s good to see you again.”

“Vernon, I’m really sorry.”

He stops walking, turns to face you, aglow as the golden hour inches closer. The sun is warm on your skin, the sand is warm beneath your feet, and you are dying to make it right with him.

“It’s good to see you, too,” you whisper. You’re scared of this moment - scared it will burst, like a bubble, like waking up from a dream that you can’t get back.

“Don’t be sorry,” he counters. “We both screwed up.”

You shake your head, feeling your throat tighten with emotion. “No,” you say emphatically. “You had every right to be mad. You were right that you were wasting time.”

He glances down, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m sorry I said that to you. It wasn’t a waste.”

“Maybe not entirely,” you allow. “But you were right. I was never going to give you what you wanted - not back then, not with… how I was. That last fight we had… it would have been so easy for me to just let you in, and everything would have been fine. And I just… couldn’t.”

He listens seriously, watching your face carefully. You look at your feet in the sand, feeling the beginning trickles of shame down your spine. But you remember that the beast can’t get you - you’d locked him on a canvas. You don’t succumb to him in these moments anymore - you take a breath and remember that you’ve grown since then.

“And -” you swallow, take a breath, “- and I’m sorry. You deserve so much better than that.”

He nods, slowly, his eyes suddenly on the ocean. You watch his throat work, and your stomach clenches in regret. Then, he says, “I should have been clearer with you - way sooner than I was.”

“I’m not sure it would have changed anything,” you admit sadly.

He nods again, agreeing. “Still,” he says.

Still.

“I really like your paintings,” he says, and then laughs at himself before you can respond. “Sorry, that sounded so lame. I don’t know the art terms or anything. I just… like them.”

You smile despite how serious the conversation had felt only seconds ago. “Thanks,” you say shyly.

“What’s the best thing you’ve learned in your classes?” he asks, stepping a little closer.

You don’t even have to think about it. “Shadows,” you say simply, looking up at him. “Even the brightest painting is nothing without the shadows.”

His smile grows slowly, and you know he gets it. Of course he does. He’s been in the trenches right alongside you.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits, and you realize how close you’re standing. Had you been standing this close the whole time?

“I did, too,” you murmur, heart hammering.

His fingers brush up your sun-warmed arm, and you shiver despite the heat.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice low, a little unsure.

He’d never asked before.

You nod, unable to speak, lifting up to meet him halfway. He kisses you like he never had before - featherlight, gentle, like you’re the most fragile thing.

Neither of you say anything after, but as you start walking back towards the guys, you slip your hand into his, and he gives it a squeeze.

You’re still hand in hand when you reach the towels, and you watch Chan clock it out of the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t call you out, and you promise yourself that you’ll give him the conversation you owe him - later. When you’re alone.

You stay a few more hours; the guys play a little more volleyball, you sit on the towels and fill pages in your sketchbook. You draw Vernon - all angles, so sharp, so beautiful.

When the sun sinks low enough, the guys start packing things up, and you help haul everything back towards the cars.

As you slam the trunk of Chan’s car shut, you turn to find Vernon waiting.

“What about now?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said not back then,” he explains. “You said back then you couldn’t give me what I wanted. What about now?”

The question lands like a mine. “I don’t know,” you say, as honest as you can be. “Vernon, I don’t know. I’m scared - I’m scared I’ll hurt you again, mess it up again. I don’t know what I can promise you.”

He considers this. “Okay,” he says finally, in that easy way of his. “What if I don’t want a promise? What if I just want to know… what’re you doing next Saturday?”

You and him, you’d existed only at night. You’d never done this before - considered dating, considered giving him more than just the hours between midnight and three am. You’d never considered letting him be him and not just one of your many vices, one of your distractions, one of the things you used to hide from how broken you felt. But here, now, with the summer sun beating down on your shoulders, you take in his whole, unfragmented face and see how open it is, how willing he is to meet you where you are.

You’ve been missing out on so much, you think. It’s about time to stand in the light - with him. With him, you could try.

“Nothing,” you say, smiling up at him. “You got a suggestion?”

“Yeah,” he says, sending you a wink as he starts to back away, the car keys jingling in his hand. “I know a place.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for reading my veyr first svt fic!! i hope to write many more in the future :)

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Record Of Ragnarok x Thors Daughter!Mitsuri!Reader

And the Human Fighters meet her when Brunhilde introduces her and the other Hashira to the Human Fighters

-It started with an invitation from Brunnhilde, inviting the Demon Slayer Corps, more specifically the Hashira, to a meeting with the warriors of humanity from the big Ragnarok tournament that ended.

-You were happy that it had a happy ending, with humanity winning and all the fallen fighters being brought back to life, bringing new and old friends back together.

-After the Hashira had to fend off a demon outbreak, following Hades’ demise, the gods agreed that the Corps should be celebrated as well, and Brunnhilde brought up the idea of having a large party and bringing the two groups together.

-You were excited about this prospect, as you had the chance of possibly meeting a husband- as you knew they were strong warriors, and you were still on the lookout for the perfect man to call your own!

-The only thing is, whoever you chose would need to earn your father’s approval, which was easier said than done, at least about you dating and looking for a marriage partner.

-You were a demi-god, that’s why you were so unnaturally strong, being the daughter of a human mother, and Thor of all gods!

-Your father adored you, he found it amusing his daughter was so dainty and girly looking, but had an appetite that rivaled his own and those in the Norse Pantheon, and had a strength that just seemed to grow.

-He was proud you were a warrior in your own right, working with the Demon Slayers, to keep Valhalla safe from outside threats, just like him.

-However, as you grew into a beauty, Thor learned the troubles of having such a pretty daughter and only those who had earned his respect were worthy of you, and so far, nobody was, in his eyes at least.

-You respected your father, and you respected his decision on having a worthy man for you, as you wanted someone who would be able to take care of you.

-If only he knew that this party was going to do just that, Thor would have attended to test the man you deemed worthy enough in a duel.

-When you walked in alongside the other Hashira, a warm smile on your lips, a contrast to the glares and cocky looks some of the others were giving, many were surprised to see that such a delicate looking woman was one of the strongest in the corps.

-Brunnhilde introduced each of you to the human fighters before introducing the human fighters and as soon as introductions were made, Brunnhilde put her hands on her hips, giving only one warning, “I will discipline anyone who fights.”

-The party was lovely, there was so much food that everyone could eat mountains of it and there would still be leftovers for days, something you were quite excited about, as you could eat your fill without feeling guilty.

-There were some minor arguments, your fellow Hashira picking at some of the warriors and vice versa, trying to pick fights, much to Brunnhilde’s annoyance as she kept having to play referee.

-You’re not sure how it happened, but Brunnhilde agreed to one match in arm wrestling, a human fighter against a Hashira, and (Love) was chosen to fight. You were surprised when Tengen picked you up by your waist, easily carrying you over and sat you down for the match while you blinked, a bit confused.

-(Love) didn’t want to be rude, as he had no fights with a woman- he wanted someone like Tengen or Sanemi, who’s been running their mouths, but Shinobu put her hand on your head, “We believe in you Y/N!”

-You beamed at their praise, little flowers of glee surrounding you as you turned back to (Love), who was honestly surprised by the determined look in your eyes.

-The two of you locked hands, something that your cheeks turned a bit pink with, as you were holding (Love’s) hand, as Brunnhilde was officiating the match.

-When she called for the start of the match, (Love) was prepared to win easily, but trying to do it without hurting you, only to freeze as he didn’t move, or rather- he couldn’t.

-Your eyes were narrowed in determination as you were easily pushing his arm down. The human fighters were yelling, telling him not to throw the match just because you were a girl, but they were quick to shut up when they saw the veins in his arms, seeing that he was actually trying- that you were actually that strong.

-The table beneath your elbows cracked from the pressure and the next thing (Love) knew, he had been sent flying across the room, crashing hard into the wall, leaving you the clear winner.

-The Hashira were all cheering while the human warriors were all gawking in complete awe, seeing your strength as you were quickly running to (Love), pulling him out of the wall into your arms, his head against your chest, “Are you all right?!”

-(Love) was immediately taken by you, seeing that you were caring as you were strong. You were perfect!

-Elsewhere, Thor felt a chill run up his spine, feeling a sense of dread washing over him. A storm was coming.

[deadpresidents]

Joe Biden has been one of America's most consequential presidents, as well as a dear friend and partner to me. Today, we've also been reminded — again — that he's a patriot of the highest order. Sixteen years ago, when I began my search for a vice president, I knew about Joe’s remarkable career in public service. But what I came to admire even more was his character — his deep empathy and hard-earned resilience; his fundamental decency and belief that everyone counts.

Since taking office, President Biden has displayed that character again and again. He helped end the pandemic, created millions of jobs, lowered the cost of prescription drugs, passed the first major piece of gun safety legislation in 30 years, made the biggest investment to address climate change in history, and fought to ensure the rights of working people to organize for fair wages and benefits. Internationally, he restored America’s standing in the world, revitalized NATO, and mobilized the world to stand up against Russian aggression in Ukraine.

More than that, President Biden pointed us away from the four years of chaos, falsehood, and division that had characterized Donald Trump’s administration. Through his policies and his example, Joe has reminded us of who we are at our best — a country committed to old-fashioned values like trust and honesty, kindness and hard work; a country that believes in democracy, rule of law, and accountability; a country that insists that everyone, no matter who they are, has a voice and deserves a chance at a better life.

This outstanding track record gave President Biden every right to run for re-election and finish the job he started. Joe understands better than anyone the stakes in this election — how everything he has fought for throughout his life, and everything that the Democratic Party stands for, will be at risk if we allow Donald Trump back in the White House and give Republicans control of Congress.

I also know Joe has never backed down from a fight. For him to look at the political landscape and decide that he should pass the torch to a new nominee is surely one of the toughest in his life. But I know he wouldn’t make this decision unless he believed it was right for America. It’s a testament to Joe Biden’s love of country — and a historic example of a genuine public servant once again putting the interests of the American people ahead of his own that future generations of leaders will do well to follow.

We will be navigating uncharted waters in the days ahead. But I have extraordinary confidence that the leaders of our party will be able to create a process from which an outstanding nominee emerges. I believe that Joe Biden’s vision of a generous, prosperous, and united America that provides opportunity for everyone will be on full display at the Democratic Convention in August. And I expect that every single one of us are prepared to carry that message of hope and progress forward into November and beyond.

For now, Michelle and I just want to express our love and gratitude to Joe and Jill for leading us so ably and courageously during these perilous times — and for their commitment to the ideals of freedom and equality that this country was founded on.

-- Former President Barack Obama's statement on President Biden's announcement, July 21, 2024.

[bietchz]

Why don't you just kill me? - Daemon Targaryen x reader

Why don't you just kill me?

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: slight smut and allusions to it, jealousy, violence, mentions of a previous envolvement between Daemon and Rhaenyra.

Note: Ok, this is it, the first thing I write here. I'm nervous and English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes to begin with. I was challenged by a friend to write under the prompt "why don't you just kill me?" and this was the result.

Living at the Red Keep was a lot to deal with. Between enormous meals that never ended and political talks back and forward, me and my big sister, Rhaenyra, had our hands full. Especially her, though. Being the little Targaryen has always left me a bit overshadowed because Nyra would have the focus of being the Realm’s heir, leaving me to be the Realm’s Dove. People said that my silver hair and my soft features always remembered them of innocence and purity, and I absolutely hated that.

All my childhood, me and Nyra were obsessed with Uncle Daemon, he used to be a role model to us, even though everyone told us that he was rogue. And indeed, he was. Many years later, there were rumors that he defiled my sister in a brothel and that’s why she was so urgently married to Sir Laenor. He wanted her, like everyone also prefers Rhaenyra.

I only noticed his eyes on me on Laena’s funeral. After twenty years of living, finally I earned his attention. Maybe, his eyes only wondered for a bit time longer than they used to, but for me that made my day. Daemon was finally free again and his eyes were on me. What I did not notice was the hateful look I received from my sister. For the first time in my life, Rhaenyra was jealous of me, and I had no idea. After some kind words the Velaryons had to say about Laena, her body was thrown into the sea, and I watched the coffin sink. For some reason, I felt chills all over my body and then I felt his breath near my ear.

“Dear niece. You’ve grown.”

His voice was deep, and it touched my insides, leaving them on fire. I couldn’t bring myself to lift my chin, to turn around, to face him. I was afraid I was going to melt.

“Uncle. It’s been a long time. I’m a woman now.”

“Who did your father promised you to?” His voice was quick to keep the conversation going. He clearly had a motive to talk to me and I was starting to understand it.

“Jason Lannister.” I whispered, with disgust in my voice. I still didn’t believe what I was saying, but Viserys was convinced he was the best match.

“That old cunt? He could be your father. And that smug look on his face is utterly disgusting.” His tone was mocking, but did I find a hint of jealousy in it? Maybe.

“It’s the King’s perfect match. Not even my doe eyes could dissuade him. I’m doomed.” The last part was said in a murmur. I could not question the King’s decisions out loud, what would everyone think…?

A loud noise was heard, and everyone looked back. Everyone but Daemon, whose eyes remained on me. I gulped when I realized the proximity between us, but when I looked at Rhaenyra and saw that she had hurt herself with a mug, I ran to her to stop de bleeding with my bare hands. In my spare time, I usually hid in the library and red some of the maesters’ books on medicine. That made me more ready to these kinds of situations than almost everyone around me, so I was the one who helped Rhaenyra to get inside and to bandage her wound. I lost Daemon from my sight with all this chaos.

______________________________________________________________

After dinner with the Velaryons and a weirdly passive-aggressive Rhaenyra, I went to my chambers, ready for a good night of sleep so I could ride on Vermithor tomorrow without the risk of falling because of being tired. Well, I couldn’t be more wrong. Daemon was right there, siting on the armchair near the bathtub I used that morning.

“I was in doubt if I should show myself before or after you undressed, but I just couldn’t resist seeing you again.” He said as he stood up, walking in my direction. Those words caught me off guard and I could only observe as he got near, and his hand caressed my cheek. “The most beautiful woman should not end up with that fucking lion. You are a dragon, you deserve a dragon. Do you want one, sweet girl?”

“Yes.” The words could barely escape my mouth, but the answer was certain, I felt sure of that. I wanted that, I wanted him, Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince. “But I only want you.”

And that was enough to get his hands all over me. When I noticed, his hands were on my thighs and forcing me to jump to him. My dress rode up my legs with this movement and when he threw me onto my bed, I was practically exposed. I understand the Rogue part of him now: his fierceness, his bruteness, it was exhilarating, and I didn’t mind burning with his fire. We made love all night and any secrecy we might wanted to have, was thrown out of the roof the moment he delved between my legs and made me see stars with his tongue. When I woke up the morning after, I could still feel his seed that he pumped continuously into me the night before. I was utterly and completely ruined by Daemon Targaryen, and I enjoyed the feeling. I woke him up with kisses and his tight hug pulling me against him was the key to know that he had awaken.

“Good morning, sweet thing. Did you sleep well?” He asked, burying his nose on my neck, and spoiling me with little and stern kisses. “I shall speak with your father today. Our wedding will be in a fortnight if everything goes to plan.”

“In a fortnight? Were you already planning this before you even spoke with me?” I had to laugh because that was really a Daemon thing to do. He always had things his way.

“Maybe.”

______________________________________________________________

We took a long time getting up and getting ready. I needed another bath before breakfast and Daemon took the blankets in my room to burn and hide the evidence of what happened. As I was exiting the bathtub, Rhaenyra entered my chambers in a rush, slamming the door behind her and leaving us both alone.

“What do you think you’re doing, sister?” Nyra’s words were laced with venom and breathing got a little harder for me. She never talked to me like that, she didn’t even sound like my sister. “Daemon is out of reach. He is mine.”

“Rhaenyra, I-” She stopped me before I could even continue.

“No. He was my first. He saw me first. He had me first. He chose me first. Who the hell do you think you are to try and rob me of all that. You had to pick that skimpy dress, almost shoving your tits on his face so you would notice you. And for what? Did he come here, promised sweet nothings and some good fucking and then leave? Guess what? It wasn’t a first. It happened to me, too.”

“He didn’t promise. He delivered. He spent the night, and he is now speaking with dad so we can marry in a fortnight. He came here, to Driftmark, wanting me. He is over you, Rhaenyra. You should get over him.” And after those words I just said, I could see the fire burning in her eyes.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into. He won’t marry you, not on my watch. I shall repeat so it is very clear to you: he is mine and you will not be in the middle of my future with him.” She said louder, so sure of her words, that she ignited some kind of emotion on me that I can’t really describe.

“And what are you going to do, Rhaenyra? Why don’t you just kill me? Surely, that would give you the happy ending you so desire.”

“Well, maybe that’s what I’m going to do.” She said as she pulled a dagger from her tight beneath her dress and left me in shock.

[blackdollette]

kinktober bonus.

BONUS - PHONE SEX | MIGUEL O'HARA

special edition.

female!reader x ghostface!miguel

word count: 1.3k

contents: mentions of blood, mentions of violence, phone sex, masturbation (both), guided masturbation, slight stalking

you held your phone up high, trying to snap the perfect picture to send to the man who could end your life in a single heartbeat. you sat pretty on your laid bed, dressed in nothing but blood-red lingerie. you positioned yourself in a way that highlighted your sculpted curves and complimented all of your best features.

your legs were parted just enough for the camera to capture the slight glisten in between them. your hard nipples cast shadows against the dark fabric. you snapped a few faceless photos, scrolling through them before selecting the most flattering one. your heart hammered in your chest as you opened the unfinished conversation from the previous night, opening your camera roll and sending him the provocative image.

a minute passed, then two. more time passed as you watched the screen, looking for any signs that he had seen your bold attempt at starting a heated conversation. five minutes had passed, and you were cursing yourself for your impulsive action. you reached out and grabbed your teddy bear, holding it to your chest to still your heartbeat. your boiling need to be destroyed and used had blindly driven you to this decision. 

miguel had become the dark phantom that had terrified your dreams and fed into your deepest fantasies. the night of when it all started was vividly tattooed in your mind. it was a late-night phone call, his deep-voice along with the line’s distortion causing your body to submit to his dominance. 

he had full control over you, even though he wasn’t really there. he demanded you to touch yourself to the sound of his voice, having you keep the phone close to you so he could hear how fucking wet you were. his threatening voice pierced through your soul, making your fingers feel like his massive cock was slamming into you.

by the end of the night, he had your legs shaking as loads of cum dripped from the honey between your legs. you were astounded at the amount of power he held over you. you could have hung up, or simply ignored his instruction and cum whenever you felt was right, but the lingering fear of him waiting outside your bedroom window, waiting for you to fall asleep before slicing open your neck and allowing your crimson blood to pour onto his large hands was enough to keep you acting right.

caught in a web of thoughts, your body jerked at the feeling of your phone vibrating with a phone call. it was that unknown number again, but you had memorized each digit with razor-sharp precision. your gut filled with the dreadful feeling of uncertainty as you hastily answered the call.

“h-hello..?” your timid voice echoed through your bedroom walls. your legs shook with anticipation, an unwelcome feeling of wetness forming in between them. a low, unpleased hum greeted you from the other end. “someone’s feeling a little playful tonight, hm? you got all dressed up like a whore a decided to give me a little taste of what i’m missing.”

as usual, his deep, distorted, voice made the heat in your core grow to an unbearable state. the gravelly panting in his voice told you that he had been touching himself, just as you wanted him to. you couldn’t read his emotion, but you knew that you were in for a ride tonight. “you should know by now that i can play games too. but the question is, which one?”

your teeth chattered slightly. the edge in his tone reminded you of everything that he was capable of. your fear was tangible through the phone, earning a dark chuckle from him. he got a sick thrill out of making you squirm, but little did you know that he had a firm hand wrapped around his hard, throbbing cock as precum bubbled from the tip. he had been craving this interaction just as much as you had been, and now he could allow all hell to break loose.

“you’re gonna listen to everything i say to you, no matter what i ask, you hear?” you gulped, nodding slowly before remembering that he couldn’t see you. “y-yes…” you hated how sheepish you sounded. it was like you were begging him to ruin you. the same chuckled emerged from the depths of his soul. “good girl…”

he paused for a moment, the rustling noise on the other end signalling that he was changing his position. “now, spread your legs for me.” the message went straight to your subconscious mind, your body following the command before you could process it. “that lingerie of yours? i want you to rip the fabric away from your pretty little pussy…”

you slipped your finger in between your legs, undoing the button that held the two strips of fabric together. the cool air of the room hit your wet cunt, making you shiver slightly. “are you wet, my dear?” your cheeks burned at the question. “y-yeah…” there was a short pause. “why don’t you take two of your fingers and stick them into your tiny hole…”

you were already a step ahead of him, rubbing slow circles onto your sensitive bud before sliding your fingers inside, lips parting as a slutty moan escaped. “touch yourself for me… let me hear how much you want this cock pounding into you.” his smooth, nasty words made your body melt. 

you imagined his large frame on top of you, grabbing your hips and stretching out your tiny cunt with his large shaft. he’d have a hand at your throat, drawing muffled whimpers out of you as you made a wet, sticky mess all over him. you’d gush and squirt and cum all over his length as his brutally fast and ruthless pace forced your guts into submission.

your chest heaved up and down as you pushed your fingers into yourself, using your thumb to massage your puffy clit. the lewd noise of him groaning on the other end flooding your mind with images of him jerking off to your photos, wishing that your mouth or pussy could be wrapped around his length instead.

his strained groans dominated his speech. “w-wanna cum for me? c’mon, lemme hear how wet you are.” your breath hitched repeatedly as you waited for his command. he laughed at the sound of your gushy heat making such a mess when he wasn’t even there. he vigorously pumped his swollen cock, imagining that his hand was your tight cunt squeezing the life out of him. your hips bucked into your touch, the band in your gut just about to snap. “c-can i cum..? p-please, i need it..!” you tried to still the shaking in your voice so you didn't appear desperate, but you failed miserably.

he tried to laugh at how pathetic you sounded, but his groans dripped with as much desperation as yours did. he wanted it just as badly as you. “g-go on. cum for me.” with that, you tossed your head back into the pillow, your back arching as the impact of the orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks.

your noises masked the intensity of his own. he shot hot ropes of cum into his fist, wishing that he could be filling you up instead. your noises harmonized with each other, truly maximizing the climax that you both hit simultaneously. he gave himself a few lazy thrusts as you came down from your high, your body trembling from the stimulation.

his voice was raspy and breathless as he spoke. “fuck… you almost sound as good as you look.” he chuckled darkly once more before hanging up, allowing his voice to echo in the depths of your soul. as you regained your composure, his final statement rang in your ears. you looked around, wondering what he could’ve possibly meant as the mysterious teddy bear you had been anonymously gifted stared right back at you.

author's note: first time writing for this character, yall should lmk if i did ok! and im gonna make a new taglist form for all those who want to be added to fics i make for this character. thank you!

[ilguna]

Could I get a piano session of "Suburban Legends" off of 1989 TV + Finnick Odair?

☼ suburban legends (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing,

wc; 2k

prompt; Piano Sessions: Suburban Legends by Taylor Swift.

--

There is nothing that can save the sinking ship that is your relationship with Finnick.

A part of you knew that you would not make it through the summer when you started dating him in the spring. As much as you would have liked for it to be false, realistically everything began falling apart about a month in. If you had tried to fix it then, maybe this wouldn’t be happening, but instead you chose to wait.

You knew full well what was going on between him and Daniah, even before you’d started dating him. The lengths he’d go, the hoops he’d jump through—just to be able to see her for a few hours. He was so careful to hide it from you, coming up with these excuses that could never actually be feasible. 

You figured them out pretty quickly. And that should’ve been the deal breaker right there. You remember thinking it would be a better idea to end it than to continue to entertain him, or let him walk over you. If the thought of you being broken up didn’t hurt so much, you would’ve gone through with it, too.

You chose to forgive him, without ever telling him that you knew he was cheating. You wanted to initially, you spent nights rehearsing what you would say to him. You went through the phases of being angry, and then the sadness that came with it. While the infidelity would’ve taken the love out of anyone else, your heart beats for him.

Finnick is your best friend. Or rather, was. You trusted him, especially in moments that you never should have. He hasn’t done anything like that before, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt. Whereas, if it were any other boy in District Four, you wouldn’t have let it get this far. 

You never would have given them the light of day, but you handed it over to Finnick as if it didn’t mean anything to you. Lately, you’ve been blaming it on the magnetic pull that he possesses. He attracts a certain crowd, one that you shouldn’t classify in, but here you are anyway. 

Finnick is—for a lack of a better word—cool. He earned that title sometime after he won his Games, proving to the rest of the victors in Four that he was more than just a boy. He’s one of them. He deserves a place in their stupid hierarchy.

And he got it, of course. Why wouldn’t he? Finnick set the record for the youngest victor in history, one that likely won’t ever be broken again. In his first year of mentoring at fifteen, he brought you home. Which held the attention of the Capitol for the next two years, shadowing over you. He became one of the most important Darlings.

In District Four, Finnick became one of those victors that no one could get too close to without getting anxious. He had everyone wrapped around his finger, whether he wanted them or not. Which allowed him to fit right in with the victors that made the important decisions.

Despite the many attempts you’ve made to join them, they never had room for you. It didn’t matter who’s ass you kissed, if you went through a whole style change, or if you were suddenly popular in the Capitol. They didn’t want you, not until you started dating Finnick, which then got you a rite of passage.

It was a blessing and a curse after that. As you spent every waking moment trying to brag the same way they did. You dug up every secret that you’d been holding on to for special occasions just to impress Finnick. To get him to look at you the same starry-eyed way that he saw them.

The way he sees Daniah.

She’s everything that you’re not, you can see that now. She won a couple years after you did, when there was finally enough spotlight to share. She’s got the same air around her that Finnick does. They’re practically the same person, which must be why they get along so well.

But you know what they say, right? Opposites attract. They can teach each other new things, and give new opportunities. Even if they aren’t really meant to be together. Except, the only one benefitting in this situation is you, and it’s not even what you want.

You want Finnick. You want him to love you and no one else. Is that really too much to ask for?

“Are you enjoying the party?” A hand wraps around your waist, snaking to your stomach as Finnick pulls you back into him, leaning over your shoulder. “Because it looks like you’re planning an escape.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you came up with an excuse to get out of a house party like this. You don’t know why they insist on having one every weekend, they turn out to be the same as the party before. They aren’t even the talk of the district like they used to be.

“I’m having fun.” You ignore his comment, twisting in his arm to look at him.

Finnick’s curls are damn near perfect this evening, he must’ve washed his hair this afternoon to get them to look so good. Before you became his girlfriend, his bronze hair used to be a frizzy mess, unsure of how to take care of it. You taught him a different routine, and ever since, people can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves.

Neither can you.

You fix the few on his brow, he lifts a glass to his lips, tilting his head back to finish the cup. It’s likely a mixed drink, he told you earlier that he wasn’t feeling the classic drinks. It doesn’t seem like a big change, but to the people in this house, it will be.

Finnick reaches for a coaster with two of his fingers, placing it on the glass table before setting his cup on top of it. He then turns his attention to you, free hand cupping the side of your face, swaying with the music. There’s a small smile playing on his lips, gazing into your eyes.

With the two of you in your own bubble, you shift in a small circle. He holds you close to his chest, his hand rubbing your lower back. While your body begins to warm up with the love radiating off of him. How are you supposed to believe that he doesn’t want you too, when he does something like this without being prompted?

He leans forward, stealing the last of your space, lips coming for yours. You suck in a breath, wanting to dodge the kiss, because you know that it’s a bad idea. If you want to break up with him tonight, then you can’t push it. You can’t test your limits again.

It’s too late.

Finnick stops moving when his lips press into yours, wanting it to be soft, gentle. You can feel your heart skipping beats, excited that he’s touching you this way. And when he pulls back, your bones ache for more. You even catch yourself thinking that you could do this forever with him. Nothing has to change.

You could go to the Capitol together, hand in hand, showing everyone there that he’s yours. That you managed to catch the boy that they can’t get to stay. He wanted you, a girl that’s nothing like them or anyone that he surrounds himself with at home. A victor, but a lesser known one. One that doesn’t mind being quiet, one that’s fine with being overlooked. You would forget about everything else, including the way they treated you. 

But you can’t, and you won’t. 

“Finnick, we need to talk.” You tell him, hands loosening from his shirt. “And I’d rather do it in private.”

“Is everything okay?” He asks, face twisting with worry.

You press your lips together, which is telling enough to Finnick, because he takes your hand tightly to guide you through the packed house. This week, the party is being hosted at his place, which means that no matter where you go, the conversation won’t be interrupted. His people are too polite to go wandering and snooping where they shouldn’t.

He brings you upstairs, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He lets you step inside first, where you get an eyeful of his unkempt bed while he shuts the door. A bed that the two of you have shared. How many times has he brought Daniah here, too?

“Are you feeling alright?” Finnick asks, coming around.

You shake your head, “No, Finnick, I’m not.” You meet his eyes. “This isn’t working between us.”

His eyebrows twitch, his cocking to the side briefly before he straightens up. He breathes out a laugh, reaching for you. “What do you mean, (Y/n)?”

You avoid his hands, pushing them away. “I mean that we’re in two different places, and I am not what you’re looking for.” You watch his face smooth out, beginning to understand. “I don’t belong here.”

“You don’t have to belong here, (Y/n). Not as long as you’re with me.” He sighs. “And you are what I’m looking for. We wouldn’t be dating if I wasn’t.”

“Daniah.” Her name slips from your mouth before you can catch it. Finnick visibly pales. “Cayden, Sitara, Emrin.” You list. “Are they also not what you’re looking for?”

“They mean nothing to me, honey.”

“They mean enough, if you’re sneaking away to be with them everyday.” You hold up your hand. “I’ve already made up my mind. We’re finished.”

“I haven’t talked to them in a very long time.”

“A week is not a long time.” You point at him.

“Since we began dating in March?” He challenges. “I stopped.”

“You can’t lie to me, Finn. I’ve known this entire time. I’ve just been ignoring it because I couldn’t stand the idea of this ending.” You motion between the two of you. “But I’m over it now. I’m over the lying and the dodging and the stuffy parties.”

You back up for the door, hand reaching for the knob. Finnick is shaking his head, following after you. “You can’t just leave, (Y/n).”

“I am.” You tell him, stepping out.

“You’ll come back.” He tells you, and it’s not because he’s being confident. There’s a look in his eyes, “We’ll get back together. There’s something between us that won’t keep you away.”

He must know this is a chink in your armor, because you hesitate for a second. Does he think about you the same way? You shake your head, trying to rid the thoughts.

“I’m not coming back.”

You turn for the stairs, heading down them quickly. Thankfully, the door isn’t too far from the bottom step. You squeeze between the nicely dressed upper-class, passing the glass table with Finnick’s empty cup. Once you make it to the front door, you know that you’re safe, because he won’t risk chasing you out.

The warm summer air feels nice against your face. You leave the house, and when you swing the door shut, you lock your composure inside by accident. Unable to retrieve it, you let the tears build in your eyes as you leave Finnick’s porch, heading for your house a good number of feet down the sidewalk.

This was the right thing to do. You had to break up with him, because he never would have done it. He had himself convinced the same way that you did, he would have let the two of you drown if it meant you stayed together. As if he couldn’t stand the idea of hurting you.

For your sake, you hope that he’s not right. You don’t want to run back to him.

--

this was part of my 3k celebration!!

[sourw0lfs]

dance with the devil - part seven

This has been done for days but I told myself I'd write ahead a bit before I posted it. Then my brain went on vacation about it, so uh here?

Words: 692 | Rating: E (mostly parts 1 & 2, but also future parts) | CW: no warnings this time! except Eddie's continued bad time

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Most of the details surrounding his actual death are fuzzy to Eddie, and he supposes that makes sense in the grand scheme of things. Something about blocking out trauma or whatever. He isn’t really sure how any of that actually works. Instead he just focuses on making it all into a cohesive story for the girl that’s still staring at him judgingly. And yeah, he’s earned that look if he’s being honest with himself. He did show up uninvited.

“Well,” he says with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “It all starts in this very city, about twenty-three years ago.”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, I want the long story but not your life story,” the girl interrupts him. “Start with how you ended up in the same room as Steve.”

The interruption should be rude, but Eddie just shrugs. Less work for him and his already fuzzy memories. It’s like as soon as he died, everything got jumbled up and thrown away if he didn’t need it. It’s a pain honestly. “Right, so,” he starts again with a pointed look at the girl. “I don’t know if he mentioned that I’ve been assigned as his guardian angel, but I have been. Because I died recently.”

Something twinges painfully in Eddie’s chest as he says the words, but he presses on anyway. It’s not like he knows why he’s sad about being dead. “I don’t know why I got assigned your friend or who made the decision or whatever,” he continues. “I just know that I’ve got a job to keep him safe, and I have to do it or it’s adios to somewhere much less fun for me.”

Hopefully that’s enough to appease both the girl and Steve, because Eddie doesn’t really have much else on the topic. They’re both looking at him like he’s grown a second head, and that does absolutely nothing for Eddie’s worries.

“So you’re not actually an angel then,” the girl says after studying him for a few minutes. “Because if you were, failing Steve wouldn’t be it for you, would it?”

It’s then that Eddie decides he doesn’t like her. Not because she’s wrong. She isn’t wrong. But because there’s something deeply uncomfortable about a stranger calling him out so quickly and easily.

He sighs heavily, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “No, it wouldn’t be. Or I imagine it wouldn’t be. I don’t actually know. I just know I woke up from dying and a really scary, really tiny lady told me I had to keep ‘Steve Harrington’ out of harms way until I stack up enough good points to get real wings. And that failing would be bad.”

The girl is frowning at him, studying him like a bug under a microscope again, and Eddie squirms. Then her expression softens, and it makes Eddie feel bad for disliking her just a little. “Thank you for protecting him,” she says quietly. “Usually that’s my job, but I don’t have angel magic or whatever.”

Eddie isn’t sure why she just believes his words for what they are, but he’s not going to question it. Not if it makes his life (non-life?) easier. "I mean, I barely do, but you're welcome all the same. I'm Eddie." He thrusts a hand in the girl's direction.

"Robin," she returns with a smile as she takes his hand and gives it a firm shake.

It's a lot better, a lot calmer, than his introduction with Steve. Considering Eddie still wouldn't even know his name if he hadn't been sent in with it. Despite the original hesitation, Eddie thinks he might like this Robin girl a lot more. Maybe that'll make this whole thing just a little bit easier to swallow. Because Steve certainly isn't doing Eddie any favors, even after Eddie got him out of what would have been a full-on murder charge. Ungrateful, but Eddie has a job to do, thankless or not.

"Glad you two are getting on, really," Steve says as he looks between the two of them with a grumpy frown. "But what exactly does this all mean for me? It's my life being invaded."

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