#lobby des armes

[occamstfs]

Marichismo

Allen, a smug engineering student, finds himself seeking shelter from the storm in a museum for Latin American art. By the time it clears up it's safe to say he'll have a more than healthy appreciation for the arts.

Might've gotten away from me a tad but I think it turned out quite well! Latino Race and Cultural change, MG and language change ahead. Also a couple more people have hopped onto my Challenge since I last mentioned it! Otherwise, espero que disfrutes! -Occam

Allen was on a side of the campus he’s never quite made it a point to explore. In undergrad and in his Masters of Engineering program so far there has simply never been a need for him to venture too far from the engineering building or the architecture library. That is until his partner on a superfluous project requested he venture into the no man’s land that holds the campus’ main library, one that runs absolutely rampant with students he sees as far beneath him.

Even worse than simply venturing beyond his comfort zone, as soon as the pair have wrapped up their progress for the day, heading off on their less than merry ways, it begins to rain. As the first raindrops begin to fall, Allen scoffs at himself for being anything less than optimally prepared. Before he’s able to reflect too deeply, the snobbish student clenches his tech-filled book bag to his chest and sprints into the nearest building, apathetic to whatever space he noisily barges into.

Before his eyes can adjust to the dim light of the new space he finds himself in, Allen hears a crack of thunder as the heavens open up behind him. Sighing in relief at successfully staying dry, Allen keeps his guard up, eying the lobby of whatever building this is that he’s never deigned to step into before now. He grimaces as he finds himself in an art museum. He does not like art museums. It’s not so much that Allen sees himself as above fine art, it’s- well no it is that. Immediately, he begins scanning the lobby for a power outlet so he may continue working while he waits out the downpour.

Head shoved under a lobby bench Allen ignores a caution sign as he forces his charger in, causing an inevitable shock that forces out a less than respectful expletive in this place of introspection. He eyes the empty room around him, slightly grinning at just how barren the lobby is. Clearly he’s not the only one apathetic to this nonsense. Shaking his hand to reawaken its nerves, he hears the clicking of footsteps against the gallery floor as a small woman walks around the corner carrying a stack of books that block her view. Allen eyes a handful of escape routes to hide from the older woman before lightning strikes once more and she trips over in shock, dropping her small stack of books, “¡Dios Mio!”

Judgemental asshole Allen may be but heartless he is not. Setting down his bag with a sigh and a roll of the eyes, the student walks over to help the older woman gather herself. Barely avoiding reflexively chiding his elder as he offers her a hand, he helps her up. The attendant pushes a large pair of glasses up her nose and squints at him with a kind smile, “Ah! Gracias, gracias mijo.” She pulls herself up on Allen’s hand and he cringes back as some kind of aftershock of static goes up his arm. Thankfully it doesn’t seem to affect her. Dusting herself off, she does a double take at Allen and adjusts her glasses, “¿Qué te trae aqui hoy, mijo? (What brings you in today dear?)

Allen hesitates, blowing air as he tries to understand why this woman thinks he knows spanish. Scratching the back of his head he finally looks to see the text blazoned across the front desk, El Gustavo Ramirez Museo De Arte Latinoamericano. Putting two and two together as he is ever so proud of doing, Allen immediately apologizes for intruding. “So sorry uh, Ma’am. I didn’t mean to wander into your, uh, space.” gesturing to the woman and the building around him in a manner to distinguish it not so much as beneath him but as an other. Something that is simply a bridge too far for him to gap. “This place isn’t for me so I think I’ll go ahead and step out.” Thunder peels before he can start to gather his things, immediately reminding him why he is in here at all. 

The older woman also relents, switching to English since, despite some instinct saying otherwise, the man before her clearly speaks only english. “Ah don’t you worry yourself mijo. The museum is for all, para todos. Free with your student ID,” she tacks on with a wink. Allen smiles uncomfortably, baring teeth enough that it could be mistaken as a grimace. 

He can’t just tell this old lady that he hasn’t a thought to spare, in his mind: waste, on the collections behind her. Still he doesn’t want to make conversation indefinitely waiting for the storm to clear either. Fearful of the outlet he’s used thus far he convinces himself there must be one hiding somewhere in the exhibition hall. He’ll just pacify her with entry and go find some place in between ostentatious paintings and droll statues to insert himself and get some actual work done.

Producing his ID wordlessly, he hands it to the elderly woman and she quickly shuffles behind her desk to type his name into some registry. Handing it back with a smile she leaves her hand hanging for a shake, “Wonderful to meet you Allan! Soy Lupe Carvajal. But you can call me abuelita, mijo!” Pocketing his ID with a dismissive laugh he notices not that his name is apparently misspelled on his ID card, instead he packs his charger up and shakes Lupe’s hand. “Hah. Uhm, whatever you say Mrs. Carvajal.” Her hand is wrinkled and frail but surprisingly warm, as if his hand were receiving the full body experience of a hug in but a single shake. 

“You know Allan, I must have thought you know spanish because you look quite like my nieto, my grandson.” Allan puffs his cheeks to bite his tongue, holding a picture in his mind of what this granny’s descendants must look like and knowing there’s simply no permutation that lands at himself. She continues, “Es un joven fuerte! Haha!” She does a little bicep pose which allows Allan to understand exactly what she means without her translating. He shyly smiles looking down at his own thin arms and wondering why this lady seems to be mocking him. After doing her bit, Lupe moves to sit at the desk and pulls a book off her stack, “You just let me know if you need anything mijo, si?” Allan nods and reflexively responds, “Si ab- Mrs. Carvajal.”

Odd taste in his mouth at almost calling this random woman grandmas she asked, he shakes it off and wanders into the exhibit hall, decidedly less worried about using her museum’s resources to his own ends. It has probably been over a decade since anyone was able to drag him into an art museum. Even then was he vehemently against wasting his time visiting. He just didn’t get art, and not for not trying. It’s just, aggravating that some people can get so much from some splotches of paint and he just sees a picture on some paper. Feeling himself get riled up he turns to the exhibit hoping for some distraction, which he finds in an elaborate statue of some dog. himself. 

Allan stands beside a huichol coyote covered in beads about two feet high. Spotlighted in the dim gallery he circles it like a predator, inspecting the bright beaded beast from every angle. See this he gets. This took time, this took care. Leaning in close the warmth of the overhead light pleasantly burns the top of his head. Absorbed by the shimmering light off the beads, Allan is unaware as his hair suddenly begins to lengthen. The buzz he has always kept short for sheer manageability begins to curl over his ears, growing warm even quicker as it tints darker. Not quite black but certainly not the blonde shade he was always happy to keep despite his spending as few hours outside as possible.

Before curls can begin to crest over his forehead, his face is not spared the glare of the spotlight. Immediately as his olive eyes glaze over, absorbed into the intricate stitched patterns they begin to stain darker. The jade he has always seen in his own reflection shades darker ever so slightly. Not brown. No he doesn’t have brown eyes, they’re just hazel? His eyebrows match the suddenly darkened hair on his head as he stands staring at the beast. Not expanding to cover more of his face but growing thicker, denser. Almost as if to shade his eyes from the light. His lips thicken as a grin begins to tinge his face. Reaching up Allan feels stubble begin to prickle his chin and upper lip, as if he spent time shaving this morning. 

Allan moans contentedly as he gives in and reaches fully into the spotlight to touch the coyote. Rules and codes of propriety fall to the wayside as he reaches beyond the realm of rationality to touch the statue of the trickster. His hands burn as they tint ever so slightly darker under the glare of the spotlight. As soon as his middle finger feels the warmth of the first bead he recoils in shock. “Q- What?!” He falls onto his ass, no time to inspect his decidedly browner hands as the commotion made immediately summons Abuelita Lupe. The elderly attendant meanders as quickly as she can into the showroom, “¿Qué pasó Alan?” Alan flexes his hand in shock. Whatever just happened it can’t be his fault.  Surely he didn’t just unprompted mess with some artifact on display. “I, um? No sé?” He pauses, unsure of what he just said, nonsense he thinks. “I mean um, I’m not sure?”

Lupe goes to help him up with what little strength she can muster only for him to wave her off, sure that she would only get in the way. He finds standing takes more effort than usual as he does so with a grunt. Nervously patting him on the back, Lupe asks him if he’s alright after the spill, buzzing around him with concerned pleasantries. Alan doesn't quite hear her as he instead inspects his own body. His clothes are tighter. He stretches and pulls at them, presuming them to just be falling weird on him after the fall. But close inspection shows otherwise. Looking at his cardigan it is clearly strained by his chest and stomach. Blushing at the idea he’s put on weight, Alan crosses his arms and notices how snugly his arms fill the sleeves, how his wrists hang out further than they should, not only that but they are unmistakably darker. Not brown, but without a doubt a few shades darker than his usual porcelain tone.

Recovering from being lost in his thoughts he looks to find Lupe staring, “Oh! Lo, uh sorry. Did you uh, ask me something Senora Carvajal?” Looking down at a sharper angle than he did earlier, he sees the abuela looking at his head with a tilt. “Did you do something different with your hair mijo?” eyes narrowing with concern and suspicion he thrusts his hair into his new curls. He immediately gasps in shock before reconsidering. This is how he’s always looked right? 

Thank god his hair is naturally curly so he can just leave them as they fall without much ado. He smiles and shakes his head at Lupe and she nods happily in return. Reaching up she puts her small hand on his bicep and squeezes it, Alan can barely hear her as he is struck with just how powerful his arm seems next to her small hand as she continues, “Well I like it mijo.” With that she aways and leaves Alan be. Having the floor to himself his expression grims as he pulls out his phone to look for a picture of himself. Something is off. His mind tells him everything is normal. When he looks at his hands he sees them as they have always been right? Why would he have a buzz cut when his hair is so naturally nice? Something in his gut screams out that something unnatural is going on. His camera roll should hold proof. Going through his phone he barely holds back a gasp that would surely summon the docent back as he is immediately greeted by a folder of his own nudes.

“Que chingado…” He whispers under his breath as his face burns redder than the scarlet beads on the coyote. He didn’t take these did he? Zooming in he is once more floored to see tattoos on his body. Looking down at his arm he sharply inhales as there's a sting and suddenly his wrist matches the image on his phone. Or no. He’s had that tattoo for years?

 Aghast at himself he still feels he wouldn’t have taken these photos of himself. Vain in many ways, his appearance is not one of them. He wonders if he’s been set up or hacked or something before he reminds himself no one would be able to do so without his knowledge. He’s a pro after all. Mind going to his technical skills, his chest puffs with pride as it grows to match the one he finds in the nudes soft-core and otherwise on his phone. Alan quickly shoves it in his pocket, finding it a much tighter fit than when he retrieved it. 

Looking around nervously, he walks close to the coyote once more. Narrowing his eyes he feels new memories come to mind from his childhood. Memories of hearing story after story of the trickster, he tilts his head as the slightest whiff of something amiss hides behind them. Staring into the eyes of the beast with suspicion the image of reading Greek mythologies by himself fades away to be replaced by his mother telling him stories from her own childhood. The coyote playing tricks and la Llorona terrorizing their little town just to make sure he stays in line. Alan smiles as he shakes out of the reverie, my mom wasn't morena was she? Headache rising as seconds pass standing near the beast he wanders away, muttering to himself without awareness, “didn’t want him in the main hall anyway.”

His hair continues to thicken and curl darker as he moves deeper into the exhibition space. Scratching at his stubble lost in thought he finds it defining itself into a goatee with a matching mustache. His phone still unlocked in his pocket shifts displays his form as he continues to change unawares. He feels himself begin to sweat intensely as his cardigan grows even tighter. His body decides to ramp up his masculinity as he starts to outright swell with muscle. His whole body twitches larger as he briefly recalls Lupe playfully flexing, “un joven fuerte!” He clicks his tongue and grins as he sees his biceps strain his sweater, almost enough to see his button up through the threads. He fights back a smirk feeling his shirt underneath hug the sides of his chest as his soldiers expand. Feeling his thicker pits start to sweat through said shirt and into the jacket he resolves to remove the cardigan.

His struggled grunts echo through the museum space as he struggles to get the cardigan off over his chest. The sound of fabric tearing rips through the room as stitches finally give way down the whole front of the garment, his pecs bursting larger into the open air. The top few buttons of his dress shirt also explode open as he is finally freed from the constricting sweater, “ayy dios- fuck…” He whispers to himself as he appreciates the ice cold air of the museum on his sweaty skin. The white dress shirt may as well be sheer with his sweat soaking it, allowing any gawkers to easily see tattoos running down his arm and the nipples almost poking through the shirt.

Only briefly does he wonder why he’s not self conscious about being exposed in the gallery before he notices a side-exhibition hall. “Ah si, uh. The temporary exhibit,” he whispers dreamily. Keeping quiet as any respectful museum-goer does. Though he doesn’t quite have the bodily awareness to mute his increasingly loud footsteps, each one growing louder as his upper body expands. He looks up to read the title of the exhibit as the sound of his shoulders widen enough to tear the back of his button up. Marichismo: Taking Back Latino Masculinity. He smirks as he finds the idea compelling, he’s uh, not hispanic of course. Nor has he ever been intrigued by ‘art’ in the slightest, he thinks. But something draws him deeper. Something pulls him further. Something in him begs for more.

His pants creak as he crosses the threshold into the new space, his ass expanding beyond the pale. Similarly does his crotch demand both more room and his attention as Arlad is immediately face to face with a deliberately provocative statue. The blush burning his face is just as soon hidden as his tan grows darker as he’s overwhelmed by everything in front of him. It’s as if Tom of Finland were Chicano. Bulges beyond belief force their way out at every angle. Rigid thick mustaches hang stoic on every face as Arlad feels his own stubble grow darker, thicker, itchier.

The student is torn between instincts, just as he feels increasingly torn between two worlds. His body continues ballooning and his shirt bursts clean off, buttons scatter to the floor and sharp tears launch down his arms. He can’t help but hungrily scan the floorspace as the bright lights bore into him, exposing him as if he were a piece of art on display. He looks down just in time to see his cock burst large enough to blow his zipper out which only addles his mind further, “Tal vez, just a minute…” He wanders into the exhibit hall proper as his eyes finally make the jump into a rich chocolate brown. He trips over his feet, gasping as he feels them stuffed uncomfortably tight in his oxfords before kicking off the shoes altogether. Just as soon do his pants rip off and he is left almost entirely nude in this exhibit hall.

His mouth hangs open as his cock acts almost like a dowsing rod in between pieces. The language in which Arcad thinks rapidly begins to change altogether, already a bilingual medley, with each starved look at photographed vaqueros or bulge forward paintings does English drift farther away. Maintaining fluency in both of course, the man would never let that tongue take predominance over that of his madre y su madre before her. His pecs pump even larger with pride as thick curls begin itching up from his crotch. He scratches at his stomach as he smirks at his body finally getting on brand. This whole show is about displaying masculinity and he needs to be the apex. He needs…

Arcad twitches as these definitive thoughts cut through the fog in which he has been going about. Why does he care so much about this place? He doesn’t like art. Certainly not this uh smut. He twitches as he argues that being provocative is the point, sexualization of the male form is the point. Why could he know that? How does he know anything about this exhibit? Looking around at the photographs he sees men who are almost a parody of masculinity. Fighting back the overwhelming pervasive horniness issuing forth from balls bulging larger he takes a deep breath and ignores the temple to the male form around him. 

It’s impossible for him to notice as his thoughts crest fully into español. After all it simply is the language in which he has always thought, no matter what his teachers demand of him. Back to the matter at hand he is struck with the urge to create. Mierda- this exhibition really inspired him, he should really write an essay about this. Or, no. He moans and clutches at his temples as the shining lights out of sight gleam even brighter, sparkling off his sweaty muscled form as he’s racked with the pain of opposing realities. No, that isn’t right. He doesn’t do essays anymore. That’s not how he creates. 

Memories of long hours at the lab and in dark rooms sitting at a keyboard dissipate. Haughty superiority over fields and forms he deems insignificant thankfully blast away as images of the photographs and artworks around him come to mind with an ease that makes him uneasy. Creeping in from the edges of his lived memory are other exhibits, many that he has visited, some that he has put on of his own accord. 

Tattoos continue to drip down his arm as his treasure trail rushes onto his chest, blooming out to cover his pecs. The space in between his mustache and goatee is quickly filled, as are the entirety of his cheeks as his eyes shut even tighter. Independent muscle groups twitch as his body struggles to forge him even larger, to be more. The lengthy curls on his head fall away as his head returns to a buzz cut, this time black as the night. This time impossibly deliberate. 

Arcadio buzzed it himself, he loved his curls. But he knew for this exhibition he had to sacrifice. Anything for his art. The phrase burns across his mind, Marichismo. It, it was his exhibition. Arcadio opens his eyes to find himself standing across from an oppressive statue staring down at him in disdain. His blood boils as his fight or flight activates. Though staying strong he just clenches his fist as his body bulges larger one last time. “Papa.” He made that statue, he isn’t about to be shoved around by his own art. The feeling of confidence filling him at standing up against the domineering statue is more than he could have held within him as Allan. Reverbs of confidence go through his psyche as he finally gets it. Turning around the confidence that fills him rapidly dissipates as he sees a man posing like a dog.

He exercised complete creative control of the exhibition, but did he take this? Memories of being behind the lens of the camera dance through his mind for most of the images, this one seems obscured. He ignores the cold sudden sting of a nose ring as he leans in close to inspect it, smirking all the while. Who’d he get to model this? Looking at the jockstrap he nods approvingly, mierda it is certainly hot though. His underwear stretches to its absolute limit as he forces his large hand down to paw his cock at the image. Looking down at his hairy forearm he gasps as he sees the tattoo on his forearm perfectly matches that of the model. 

At that moment his underwear burst free from his body and he suddenly realizes that being nude in this space is far worse a breach of etiquette than touching that coyote. Arcadio sprints to his bag and digs around for anything he could possibly use to hide his still bulging cock at half mast. “¡Gracias a dios!” he whispers under his breath as he wraps a towel around his waist, perfectly mimicking a photograph behind him. He smirks at the man thinking how proud Jose will be when he gets to see himself on a gallery wall. Arcadio grunts and clenches his head as memories of the man ahead of him fill his mind. Lightheaded he leans against the wall grimacing as he leads a sweaty handprint on the pristine white wall.

Turning around seeing the exhibit hall as a whole he almost falls over with a rush of memories. Advanced math and the life he once lived as Allan are dust in the wind as his childhood growing up the son of first generation immigrants in San Antonio rises to take their place. Living alone with his mother before his abuela moved up from Mexico to help raise him as if he were her son. Understanding himself and the world around him as he discovered who he was and what he had to do. Finally achieving success, winning grants, booking galleries as an artist. Not too bad for a maricon eh? He winks at the statue of his father, smirking as he feels his power as a man and artist grow.

Looking down at some engineering homework scattered from his bag the last pangs of a headache buzzes through him before he shakes his head and the work is gone. The last shreds of a life he once lived dissipate. Walking out into the lobby he sees his abuelita. She smiles at the massive man before adjusting her glasses and shouting out, “¡Ay! ¿Qué estás haciendo? ¡Ponte algo de ropa! (What are you doing! Put some clothes on!)” Arcadio laughs and waves her off, knowing the museum is closed while he preps his exhibition for opening tomorrow. 

His new voice is rich on his tongue as he speaks up, “Espero que les guste. La universidad no sabe lo que pagaron ¡ja! (Hope they like it. The uni doesn’t know what they paid for ha!)” His abuelita clicks her tongue, she loves her grandson more than the world but boy if he hasn’t made her old beyond her years. She digs through the lost and found next to her for something that might fit her larger than life grandson and throws it at him. The man laughs and his abuelita can’t help but join in the reverie. She wouldn’t dream of going through his exhibit- que obsceno, que cachondo! But he could do no real wrong in her eyes. So far he’s blown her expectations out of the water with his success and she can’t wait to see what Arcadio gets up to next.

[rosiesmuts]

Conviction

TWICE Sana & Mina

Words: 4,800

The moment they walked through the door you knew you were in trouble. Sana and Mina. The pair waltzed in like they owned the place.

And frankly they did.

When you're that famous, you're set for life as long as you do the right things and look good doing them. So those two were definitely doing that. They owned the party by the very act of walking across it.

Now what's life without a little danger? So you gave yourself a pep talk and did the opposite of everything your gut was telling you to do. It was stupid—completely and utterly stupid.

You went up to Sana and introduced yourself for no other reason besides the fact that Sana seemed like the more personable of the two.

"And who might you be?" Sana looked at you quizzically, like she couldn't have a single memory that could associate to you if she tried. It was the exact thing you expected, yet her overwhelming persona sent an arrow through your heart.

"I'm just the help." You joked and did a pretentious fake bow. Sana bursted out with laughter and your fake confidence went through the roof.

Perhaps it was your boldness, but Sana seemed to take a liking to you because soon she introduced you to Mina, and now the three of you were having quite the time.

The night wore on and you found yourself ever increasingly convinced the world's sweetest duo were looking for fun—and a little danger.

That smile you swore Sana flashed your direction every time the opportunity rose. Sometimes she would stroke and squeeze your forearm for no reason—just cooing something about how muscly you were when you questioned it, or when she'd send a wink that burned through your chest the more she looked.

Mina was much more subtle, clearly the shyer of the two, but she wasn't above being sly. Her gummy smile flashing every time you told unfunny jokes—a certain purr lacing her voice whenever you said something that should have garnered no such reaction. The slight hooking of her arms through yours and the intense stare that followed. The final coup de grâce was when she elegantly pressed her juicy peach right up against your crotch and whispered a cutesy 'oops!'—her pink cheeks giving away the actual intention of the whole ordeal.

That one you didn't need help with understanding.

The phrase that reached your ears when the party came to an end is one you will never forget.

"Room 102015," Sana whispered, cupping your groin for just a second with a wink before hooking her arm into Mina's—the glorious view of their backsides swaying side to side as they walked off without another word.

—

It took nerves of steel, but now you're finally here. Two knocks at the door of room 102015 across an achingly quiet hotel lobby that reaches back into the endless corridors of a penthouse.

"You made it..." The door is open just slightly ajar, a tantalizing gap as much a mystery as the dark veil between Sana and Mina's hotel door. A sweet lilac aroma emanates from inside, the door opens wider and wider until...

They're both there, standing there, just as beautiful as you could have ever pictured. Still in their fancy party clothes—expensive as hell and looking the part. Not a smidge of hair out of place, makeup pristine and perfect smiles plastered over their faces. You swear you can see Sana's bare shoulders glowing from the fluorescent lights, a single bead of sweat glistening under her collar.

"Follow me," Sana whispers, leaning into your space, and placing her hand into yours. Sana guides you, giving you a small glance back with a mischievous grin, those brown eyes giving way to a cheery twinkle you'll be more than happy to let drag you further astray.

"You must be wondering why you're here..." Sana already has Mina's straps off her shoulders when she says it, a quick and practiced motion she seems all too used to. "We just thought... maybe we could play with you for a little. Just the two of us... and you. Is that okay?"

A dim-lit penthouse bedroom lies astray ahead of the two, and your gut twists with so much more than butterflies. Two Japanese angels eye you and stand in wait, and you'll be damned if that isn't a look meant to seduce.

You'll follow. No matter where Sana and Mina go, you'll follow. It could very well be into the depths of hell, and you don't think you could care any less—not with them standing before you with looks so sweet and mischievous you wouldn't hesitate for a moment.

The question is mere rhetorical, Mina's dress slowly gets peeled further away by Sana's soft, pale hands. Every piece of flesh she reveals makes your chest flutter harder and faster—another part of her body for your eyes to crave and desire.

"Ooops..." Sana giggles, licking her teeth as a sliver of Mina's lingerie is revealed. Dark black silk contrasting her porcelain skin is enough to make anyone lose their heads. The lace and tightness leaves next to nothing to the imagination as her smooth tummy leads your eyes further southwards.

Sana reaches back and gives Mina a light spank and a squeeze for good measure. An indignant, embarrassed moan erupts from Mina's lips. "Look..." Sana says to you, with a sinister and impish look as she caresses Mina's flank, squeezing one of her cheeks like a thick pillow, then turning the shy girl around. "Look at how meaty Minari's ass is."

There it was, Mina's tushy, bared and flaunted right before you. A lacy g-string frames Mina's ass in all the right places, leading to a slender waist and a gorgeously wide butt that quivers the longer you stare. "Well...?" Sana coos, "do you like it?"

"I'm embarrassed..." Mina murmurs and Sana responds with a cheek pinch, then a playful little swat that doesn't seem to faze her in the slightest, save from the subsequent jiggle and subsequent whimper that fills the air.

"Just what were you planning tonight, Mina? Were you wanting our boy to see how naughty you are?"

You still can't manage to make a sound, unable to even understand just how you ended up in a place like this. You'd have imagined getting this close with any celebrity would be a near impossibility.

"Wanna know a secret?" Sana teases and hooks her fingers into Mina's waistband—the final piece of fabric keeping her from being fully exposed. "Mina might be all proper and cute, but deep, deep down... she loves being put on display like this—just begging for some attention. Don't you, baby?"

"Sa-na..." Mina whispers, and the only sign you can detect is the barely noticeable flex of her buttcheeks and thighs as you watch it. She looks over her shoulder, eyelashes fluttering—looking into your eyes and never once breaking contact while Sana finally tugs that fabric downwards and gets a moan from her best friend.

Her meaty rear quivers and jiggles as she's revealed and Sana's hands give her a tender pat with a mirthful laugh, "Yeah! Just like that!" Sana cheers and grips the cheeks apart, making Mina yelp and bite her bottom lip—it's clear they're not strangers to one another's bodies.

Mina shakes her booty from side to side, almost too close to believe. How soft those plush and fluffy pillows might feel in your hands, the prospect of sinking into her ample rear is almost as tempting as it is mad.

"Come here. We won't bite. Unless you want us to~" Sana gives a teasing giggle and Mina does her part, holding her hair over her head and striking a sexy little pose. With how seductive they were being, it's as though she really were asking to be looked at.

Not that it took much convincing to get you over here, but there was no stopping the speed you raced towards the girls as you practically pounce upon the chance. Your hands graze her supple, firm rear, sliding lower and lower—more than ready to embrace her full backside with a touch that ached for her, all this time.

"Oh? Wow. Look at that..." Mina makes a sultry laugh when she glances over her shoulder and sees a raging hard-on that struggles within your pants, "What are you going to do with that?"

Sana seems to be quite the helper, unbuttoning your pants and tugs them down. In seconds you're half naked in their company and every pair of eyes is staring straight at that raging beast. You didn't even have time to fully process just what was going on before Sana wraps her lips around it, squeezing you in her grasp—the warmth is delightful and unbeatable.

A quick and dirty blowjob—a minute at most, but by the gods it was just what you needed. Sana knows her way around a cock, so good in fact she barely gives you any time to react. When she pops off and sees the confused and pleasured face you wear, she just laughs and beckons her girl-crush forward. "C'mere, Minari. His cock's nice and ready for you now."

With an unsure sigh and a blush so adorable you'd go so far to call her shy, Mina bends over the bed. Her full, perfect butt presented at eye level, and her back so gorgeously curved into the most seductive view you'd ever laid your eyes on.

"Go ahead. You wanna fuck Minari don't you? Come get a piece of this fat tushy of hers."

Your hand comes down against her fat backside, a tentative attempt at spanking the perfect idol before you. When she responds with a soft yelp and a pout directed your way, it's all the confirmation you need. Another slap—you spank her and marvel at how quickly she gives in and wiggles her buns.

Your tip is lined up, slowly sliding down the length of her cleft, soaking in Mina's warmth and that incredible, aroused breath that rolls out from those lips of hers. If that's not the perfect indicator, nothing is—with a last squeeze to Mina's backside, you gently press forward and ease your tip in.

So much heat and warmth, every inch you penetrate Mina feels as though it melts a bit more of you away.

Sana runs her fingers down Mina's body. Starting from that thin neckline of hers, past her shoulder blades, and a caress of her arched back, finally down to her full bottom where you continue to feed Mina every inch that's her due.

"Can you feel him in you, Minari?" Sana teases and purrs—making circles and gently rolling against Mina's plump cheeks and making the horny idol stifle a breath. You can't believe what's happening: having the goddess of your fantasies wrapped around your cock and begging you not to stop would be too much of a temptation for the devil himself.

Your first thrust is a shallow one, just enough to feel that pleasant resistance she has, but also enough to give the shy Mina something that made her moan like no tomorrow. That perfect ass rolls back to your next movement, driving you further within the confines of her narrow and oh so tight walls.

The lewd look and lewd smile upon Sana's lips make the pleasure you're feeling much more intense than before, your free hand digging into Mina's asscheeks as the other tangles into her hair and holds her like reins to a horse. Mina bites her lip—face contorting, her breathing grows more ragged as the bed starts to squeak the further you push into her.

Mina starts to whine, unable to hide a slutty smile—her teeth clamping onto her bottom lip.

She moans like an angel, and her body undulates along your rhythm. "Fuck me please. Yes! Just like that... Oh, god I didn't know it would feel so good..."

Those pleading whines are the most arousing sounds that you've ever heard—satisfaction can't be ignored now. This is as close as heaven can be, with that petite little thing bent over in the most perfect, ideal, and lewd positions with a dripping wet mess of a cunt begging you to continue.

Every push is a slap against her full bubble-butt, one that makes her and Sana grunt, or moan—whichever sounds louder as you're swept by an unmistakable rush. Faster, quicker, a feverish pace to pound the sexy little diva that begs to be taken, and Sana does her best to encourage the behavior.

"Good job. Nice and deep." The petite Japanese girl strokes her lover's hair—cooing all the while as Mina is worked raw, your hips crashing into her big meaty booty like a stampede and pounding away at her insides with wild abandon.

"After Minari cums..." Sana starts to unbutton your shirt—her hot, impatient and eager hands taking no time to caress and run down your chest. "...It's my turn." Her voice lowers and she leans in. Your lips meet her sweet ones for the first time, and the hungry little minx is practically salivating—droplets of spit coat your lips—letting you take just a tiny taste of the sweetness you knew her lips hid.

"Mmm fuck…" Mina moans and pulls your attention away from that oh so tempting kiss. Your hips pick up, working overtime—Mina's groaning, squirming, her breaths coming in faster and harder the closer to her limit you bring her. "Right... there! Keep going!"

The breathy, sexy moans that grow louder and louder each time your hips smash against hers brings a clarity to this scenario—of how an absolute goddess needs your cock inside her like life itself—how Sana caresses and traces your shoulders while your focus is completely absorbed on Mina and how tightly she squeezes your shaft.

Mina holds in a scream, unable to do anything except cover her mouth as she is rocked back and forth with a furious and wild passion. Everything starts to quiver: her legs, her thighs and belly, every inch of her flesh tenses and coils until that tightly wound knot is released—there’s no stopping Mina once that limit is surpassed and she finally begins to cum.

The prim and proper princess who strikes fear into any and all men is shaking and moaning louder than anyone could ever imagine her being. Her orgasm is hard enough to leave the normally elegant and collected singer a drooling mess upon the sheets. Her sweaty bangs cling to her forehead while her hips bounce and shake while her heavenly liquid flows out.

Sana gently moves to guide you away from Mina's welcoming entrance, a giggling chide telling you to give Mina a little bit of time to rest.

"My turn now," Sana says with the wettest, cutest, and most unhinged tone she's ever used. Her lips come down on yours like the strike of a viper—her tongue snaking and wrestling with yours, drinking you in and stealing as many breaths as possible.

When she pulls away, there's nothing slow about how quickly she undresses. Unlike Mina, she had no qualms at throwing everything aside while leaving her body as the centerpiece to everything you wanted. Her fingers inch their way through her swollen clit—her small feet lift up one at a time, shuffling out her lacy thong.

"How do you want me? Doggy style, missionary?"

This woman will be your undoing, of that you are absolutely certain. The eagerness with which she asks leaves no space to comprehend a world where a drop of resistance comes from Sana.

"How bout I ride you? You spent a lot of energy fucking Minari didn't you? I could ride you if you'd like."

You'd be a fool to say no. Your back meets the bed as Sana straddles your hips, guiding her beautiful form upon yours and grinding her wet folds.

She takes a moment to pause—to make sure she has your attention. Looking deep into your eyes, the pale and pretty Sana smiles before holding your shaft and lifting her hips high, angling herself just right.

Sana slowly guides herself downwards—just enough to allow the slightest pressure, letting you sink into her hot cunt. You feel it too: the little shivers and rippling muscle tension—her wet hole contracting as her soft petals spread themselves and greet her new lover.

"Nice and slow. I'm gonna enjoy this." There's a musical tone to the way Sana moans, as though the simple sensation of your meat is enough to send the happy girl to the stars.

Her slow descent into pleasure does little to subdue the reactions her body shows, the way those well trained, dancer's thighs tense. Her lips shiver, and her lower abdomen, full of tone muscles clenches. You can tell: the second she relaxes is when your cock slides into the warm paradise that Sana is.

"Grab my tits." Sana takes your hands and guides them to her waist—gently dragging the edges of your fingers over her shapely figure. You find a tender spot on the underside, and immediately start rolling and twerking her nipple between your fingers.

Sana's always so well behaved for an idol, she keeps her lust well hidden—now, you watch as the oh so precious idol whimpers as her nipples are pinched, pulled, and tweaked by a mere nobody she found at a random party. A common plebeian like you are absolutely in no way worthy of such a gorgeous specimen that was sitting on your lap.

Sana rolls and shakes her hips, while your head tilts upwards to lock eyes with the seductive and utterly radiant woman as she pants and grits her teeth—dragging herself back up just a little, then eases down, fucking you nice and slow and keeping you steady the entire time.

A smack to Sana's pale and perfectly plump rump makes Sana squeak and giggle with delight. Every bounce and hop she takes is a test of your willpower and the last bastion to your impending loss of self-control.

"Hang on tight. Gonna really start fucking you now..." Sana rises, only your very tip is nestled in those soaked velvet walls, you groan the moment she drops and stuffs that dick back inside her tight, hot, and heavenly snatch. Sana repeats, raising herself—almost to the very brink until that delicious, dizzy moment when her hips collide back down.

Watching those bouncy, full tits jump and shake with every downward thrust sends your heart beating out of your chest. Every bit of her is unreal, so much more than just some attractive lady: it's the stuff of the gods, so enticing, so precious and sexy.

And just when you thought you couldn't handle anymore, a graceful ballerina seems to have regained her energy. Mina climbs on top of your face, her freshly orgasmed snatch oozing and dripping all over the lower half of your face, begging to be tended to.

And you certainly don't mind, no, not at all, with two soft thighs closing down around you.

"Eat me out." Mina's tone is soft and cute, a huge contrast from the dirty words that come out of her lips. Yet she has a right to command it—she looks down, her smile warm, her thighs squeezing against the side of your head.

You give her folds a long lick, she's still sensitive from her previous fuckfest. Just a simple little swipe of the tongue seems to send Mina squirming over your head—even for an idol, it'd seem like Mina has more sides to her than even you can keep up with.

"Your tits are so fun to play with!" Sana reaches around for Mina's tiny rack, never stopping her bouncing even as her head leans in to suck on Mina's neck.

She fucks you like her life depended on it, her hips not relenting for a moment—they pound and thrust at a fevered pace, moving at an absolute machine gunning rhythm of carnal pleasure. Either one of these beauties would be enough to satisfy you for the rest of life, and now you have both at the same time, a dream come true you didn't imagine you'd get a taste of.

It doesn't take long for Sana either, her sexy little noises reach a fevered peak—that giddy laugh of hers being swallowed by a stifled moan.

"I'm gonna cum. Gonna cum..." Sana whines and warns, grinding her hips into your pelvis at a crazed, fervent pace. Mina feels your tongue writhe into her at a similar pace, moaning right into your ears—a symphony of mutual orgasms coming closer and closer.

The bed squeals and quakes at an unholy level, it's a surprise no one comes rushing into the room by this point. Mina's fingers tangle themselves into your hair and pulls, coming closer and closer to the sweet climax—squeezing your skull tightly while rocking back and forth.

"Fffuuucckk. Yes, just like that."

Your legs buck and flex, the air is sucked clean out of your lungs—these two idols are in a race against each other to see just which one could cum harder. You're an observer caught in the middle—right in that final moment before it all builds up and erupts.

Sana's stomach is the first to tighten—your eyes snap open the very moment you feel a final squeeze, a climax ripping right through her sweet sexy body as she freezes atop you, her eyes closing while a final, shaky exhale rolls right off her lips. A single droplet of sweat travels down the corner of her forehead and lands upon her cheek.

Her hands pinch and squeeze Mina's dark brown nipples—it's like a switch that Sana seems all too familiar with and all too fond of tuning, as Mina follows right after, spasms rolling right up her belly the instant she receives the painful jolt.

Mina gasps, and the orgasm runs rampant throughout her body—her cheeks puffed out in a soft O-face, her eyes glazing over as her inner walls crush and wring your tongue.

They have you completely at their mercy, two tight cunts holding you hostage while they both ride that post-climax bliss.

As the orgasm subsides and their muscles loosen, they each roll off of your body. Mina's bare flesh rests by your side, and she slinks closer to you with a look you've never seen from her. You could swear it's something akin to love, but the warm smile that crosses her expression is quickly covered when her lips meet yours for the first time.

"Amazing... you really are amazing, you know." Her hands trace your chest and her feet brush against your legs, almost like the idea of personal space isn't present. She feels soft and warm, like home.

"He really is." Sana interrupts by leaning forward and pushing her lips to yours with a heated, urgent passion, tasting Mina's juices on your tongue and shuddering in joy at how it rolls around your mouth.

"Now..." The pair slink down on the bed until they're face to face with your cock. You've almost forgotten that you still haven't released, but are quickly reminded as two tongues slowly lap their way up your shaft while two pairs of hands rub and caress every inch of your thighs and stomach. "Let's give our boy something nice to think back on."

Mina giggles and takes the first dive. Her hot mouth is followed by her hand pumping the shaft in a languid manner, swirling and kneading your balls as they get nice and wet. She's lost in her work, making little moans as she gently sucks on the skin—bobbing up and down before pulling back with a satisfied pop of the lips. "You love it when Minari plays with your cock, don't you?"

"I'll take it from here." Sana reaches forward to pinch and squeeze the head and tip, then quickly follows by shoving her face close and slathering it in wet kisses, moving down the length, trailing her tongue over every little ridge and detail, a sense of urgency to get all she can in her mouth. Her hot tongue swirls, slathers the very tip while she holds Mina's hand still—sharing a smoldering look of the utmost desire, you could see the mischievous wheels turning.

They're both on your cock, licking from base to tip, holding your head between their lips as their tongues duel to see who can pleasure you more. Sana wraps a hand around Mina's face and pulls her close, and their mouths collide and move, suck and lick away—until finally their lips join together and form a circle around your tip, sucking and lashing in the most deviously skilled blowjob you ever have been and will ever receive for the rest of your life.

Nimble tongues move against you at a rapid-fire speed, giving everything they got and barely slowing even as you grunt and grow nearer. That heat, that wet feeling is too much for you to bear. The strain that had been kept under lock and key has finally broken and is about to release itself.

Fingers quickly massage and squeeze whatever spot they can reach, tugging at your sack, massaging your legs, their kiss still unmoving—despite how messy they seem to get. Saliva and fluids and God-knows-what-else makes them messy.

It hits, and your body jerks, the rush of pleasure spreading right through your nerves—and right into the wet kiss those two Japanese women share, cum spurts right into their waiting tongues as they roll around your head. They swallow, almost by reflex—pulling away, the thick strings that connect them look incredibly erotic before they quickly revert back to kissing and sharing your load.

They don't let even a single drop go wasted—licking and caressing one another in a sensual display.

You can do nothing but simply fall onto your back—all that energy spent, but with not a shred of regret left in your mind.

Two world famous idols, Sana and Mina, fuck and service a complete nobody.

"Delicious." The words slip off from Mina's mouth as a line of white clings to her swollen and saliva-ridden lips, Sana is a quick one, making it vanish in the blink of an eye as the sticky substance is slurped right off.

Mina gently rubs circles onto your leg, never letting that pretty smile fade. Sana's fingers trail a path around your chest before nuzzling into the crook of your shoulder.

"How was it? Fun? Did you have fun?" There is a lighthearted and pleasant smile to the beautiful idol you are currently tangled with.

"I had fun. Lots of fun." Mina answers for you and mirrors Sana, who nestles into the other side. Their lips press and hold to your neckline and chest, trailing hot kisses from the side to front and back, nibbling and playing with your flesh as they are enamored and drunk on your after-sex fragrance.

It's difficult for your heart not to speed up when their faces are right next to yours—their hair tickling your shoulders.

"Get lots of rest. Round two in the morning. I'm sure Chaeyoungie will have tons of things to do with you." Mina whispers into your ear before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Sana merely smiles and closes her eyes with a mischievous twinkle—her fingers draw slow and soft patterns across your skin and gently guide you to join those two into a deep and heavenly slumber.

You've landed yourself in heaven, there is nowhere else better to be.

...What a hell of an experience.

And so the most insane night of your life comes to an end—but with a promise that this adventure is nowhere close to being over.

You're definitely going to need some rest…

[sommerbueckers]

hey baby! so i couldn’t really come up to some scenario, but i would realllyyyy like to see smth like reader is a professional ballerina and has a 🤏🏼 age gap w Paige, (P could also be r’s older sister’s friend if thats sits well with you) and like they have a situationship or Paige tries to hit on r, but P keeps her playboy attitude (ifykwim). I would be really happy to see this especially when i’m in love with everything u do, but its alr if you don’t feel like itt! Love ya and forever grateful 🫂♥️

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭

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✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟏.𝟓𝐤

✰ 𝐡𝐢 𝐦𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 !!

✰ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲

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THE MUSIC CEASED, AND the entirety of the theater was submerged in a thick silence. You panted softly, your gaze casted downward while your hands were raised above your hand in an 'O' shape. Seconds passed, seconds that felt like hours, before the audience erupted with cheers.

People stood, people whistled, people clapped, and you felt your body finally relax. The man beside you, Theodore was his name, smiled proudly to the crowd before he gently took your hand and led you backstage. Once the two of you were concealed by the thick, black curtain, you leapt into his arms.

"We did it, Theo! We did it!" you hailed, your voice muffled as you spoke into the fabric of his leotard.

Theo chortled in his own disbelief, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist.

After months of rehearsing and previewing the performance, you and Theo had finally brought it to the stage. Pas de deux was no walk in the park, you had many bruises to attest to that, but the hardest part was over: Opening Night.

You fanned your face after Theo set you down, your lips permanently stretched from ear to ear as the people backstage repeatedly congratulated you. A while after you retreated to your dressing room, wanting nothing more than to see your family who had been waiting to see you all night. You and Theo walked out together.

"You were amazing out there, Svea."

"Me?" you gawked, a laugh following afterward. "You were incredible! When we first started rehearsing you didn't even have the strength to lift me! You remember that?"

"Yes, unfortunately, it's hard to forget," he sighed, shaking his head.

You playfully nudged him arm with your elbow, "You've come a long way, so you better celebrate tonight."

"I will. I'm gonna 'get turnt' as you say," he smiled.

The two of you reached the front lobby where it had begun to clear out. Though people still lingered, as people usually did, it wasn't hard to spot your family amidst all of them.

Your mother waved excitedly, rushing toward you with the largest of smiles on her face. She took you into her arms just as Theo had done, her grip was much weaker than his.

"Oh honey, i'm so proud of you!" she cried, her brown eyes going glossy with tears.

"We, Sonya," your father chimed in from behind her.

"Yes, yes," the woman waved dismissively. "That young man was great too, I thought he handled you with so much care."

"We! We thought that," your father had stepped forward now, wrapping his thick arm around you and drowning you in his cologne. There was a bouquet of red roses in his hand, secured together with a silky black ribbon. "We got these for you. Your mother picked them out, of course, but I paid."

You laughed lightly, "Thank you dad."

"Alright, outta the way! My turn!"

Your head snapped in the direction of your sister's voice, grimacing as she pushed your father aside and pulled you in for a hug. She was a few years older than you, but the top of her head stopped just above your shoulder.

"You looked like a spec of dust flyin' around out there, I wasn't sure if it was really you," she said, squinting upward. "Look like you could use a donut or two."

You patted your stomach, "Definitely could."

"If you ride with me and Paige, we'll take you to Krispy Kreme or something," she winked.

"Paige?"

As if on cue, Paige appeared behind your sister. She also had a bouquet of flowers, but these were different from the ones your father had gifted you; these were special. It was a bundle of hibiscuses tied together by a pink ribbon, Paige had always known what you liked. You stared at her in awe — of the gesture of course.

She presented them to you with a smile, the smile that she often gave you whenever she did something remarkably sweet but didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

"You got me these?" you tilted your head at her.

"No," she frowned, "your sister did. She jus' didn't feel like holding them."

"Actually I gave them to you when I went to the bathroom and you refused to give them back after that," the shorter girl argued.

"Oh." You hid your disappointment well, nobody seemed to notice it as you thanked your sister for the flowers and followed the group out of the building. Of course Paige hadn't gotten the flowers for you, the gesture was too grand, and Paige often preferred to keep things clandestine.

You, Paige, and your sister separated from your parents, heading toward the parking garage where the two had parked.

Paige fell into step with you, her hands stuffed casually into her pockets as she smiled down at you.

"You looked pretty up there," she whispered, "You look pretty all the time, but, especially when you're dancing."

You blushed at her compliment, shaking your head and keeping your eyes steady on your sister's back.

"Not gonna thank me?"

"Thank you, Paige."

"That didn't feel genuine," she sucked her teeth, "I think you'll have to give me a kiss to prove you meant it."

You flashed her a disapproving look, "You know I don't kiss people i'm not dating."

"You kissed me before," she reminded you, lowering her voice a bit.

You sighed slightly, glancing up at her to find her giving you that signature smirk. "Maybe later."

That answer seemed to satisfy her enough, she nodded triumphantly and began to walk ahead of you to assist your sister in finding the car.

Did you want to kiss Paige? Of course you did, what girl didn't? But that was the problem, any girl that wanted to kiss Paige got what they wanted. You knew you couldn't have her all to yourself, so you tried to find peace in the little piece that she'd given you.

"LEMME TAKE A PIC OF YOU WITH YOUR FLOWERS."

Everyone had gone to bed except for you and Paige. The two of you were standing in the kitchen, the light to the fan above the stove hardly illuminating your faces.

You swallowed a bite of your donut, "Um, why?"

"Because they're pretty," she shrugged, "and you're pretty. So, why not?" She always knew exactly what to say. She grabbed the bouquet from the island and handed it over to you.

"Say 'Paige' on three," she smiled.

Your shoulders slumped, "I'm not saying that shit."

"Fine. Jus' say 'Cheese' then," she rolled her eyes.

"Cheese..." you repeated, cradling the bundle of flowers in your arm. Paige's finger rapidly tapped the button, taking more pictures than she needed. "Can I see them?"

"If you want," she shrugged, "but you gotta give me somethin' first." She was childish wiggling her eyebrows at you.

You scoffed, moving back toward the counter to set the flowers down. "Can you ever just be nice without a price?"

"Bro c'mon," she sighed, tilting her head. "You can't really sit there and tell me you don't wanna kiss me."

She was right, you couldn't. The truth was you bad been waiting all night to kiss Paige, you just wanted to seem stronger than you were. She was staring at you with those bright blue eyes, those perfect pink lips pulled into a smirk, she knew what I was doing.

She stepped closer, her phone lying abandoned on the countertop. "How 'bout this," she started, "i'll ask you one last time, and if you say 'no' I won't ever ask again, okay?" She was pretending to be sweet, like if the thought of her kissing me actually made me uncomfortable then she would stop if I asked her to. She knew i'd never ask. She knew I wouldn't say 'no', not to her.

She was towering over me now, her eyes low, gaze determined to break me. I pressed my hands to her abdomen, I tried to find the strength within me to push her away but all I could manage to do was keep her there. She trapped my wrists in her fingers, snaking them under her shirt to lay against her skin.

"Tell me," her voice was low, and she was breathing hard through her nose. Like she was trying her hardest to contain herself.

You couldn't look her in the eyes, but you could feel her breath hot on your forehead.

"C'mon, Svea, tell me. Tell me you don't wanna kiss me."

"I can't."

"Why can't you?" she urged.

"Because I do wanna kiss you," you sighed out, having accepted your defeat.

Paige stepped back from you, nodding her head with a victorious smile. "I know."

You had fallen for it, just like always. She'd steer you away from your boundaries, right until just after you broke, and then she'd play you like a fool. Just like she had done just now.

She tauntingly pointed her finger at you, breaking off a piece of your donut and tossing it in her mouth. "Next time, don't be so stubborn."

She retreated up the stairs to your sister's room, leaving you alone in the dimply lit kitchen with your lips parted and a tingly feeling between your legs.

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[selineram3421]

*is tired*

Courting Pursuit

Part 3

Part 2

Alastor X Deer Reader

Warnings ⚠

⚠ mule deer reader, gender neutral (gn) reader, assuming Alastor is a marsh deer, Spanish translated, cussing, blood, Valentino's dialogue is pink italics in quotation marks, mentions of aphrodisiac(drug), italics= thoughts ⚠

"Where's Gentle Giant?", Angel asked looking around for the tall deer.

"They have a name you know.", Vaggie sighed.

You were not seen at all today by the others and caused some slight worry among some of the group. Of course, Alastor could care less.

"I know but really, where are they? I didn't see 'em this morning."

Husk turned to look at the spider demon with a raised brow.

"They wake up at five in the morning to start breakfast early. You've been wakin' up early?", the cat demon asked.

Angel raised his arms up. "How could I not!? Have you seen them make breakfast? That's a whole meal on its own! Shaking their ass around to the music they put on, half buttoned up shirt, and those leggings.", he crosses his arms. "I didn't get to see shit today! Kitchen was empty!"

"I didn't get my bugs today!", Niffty piped in. "They usually give me bugs that they find in the kitchen after cooking."

The group continued to wonder where you had gone until Charlie came into the lobby with Sir Pentious.

"Oh, I gave them an errand.", the Princess said.

"WHY!?", the arachnid cried out.

"Shut up Angel.", the white haired woman sighed.

"They said they wanted to do something outside, so I offered them to pick up something from a shop. It's not that far.", Charlie reassured.

"Charlie.", the porn star dead panned.

"Yes?", the Princess smiled.

"How long have they been in Hell? I mean out there, not in the hotel."

"Less than a day..."

Everyone is quiet before rushing out of the hotel.

"Damn it Charlie! They might die!", Angel shouts.

"I didn't think it'd be that bad! Oh no no no no no-!", she apologizes as they all run down the road into the city.

Alastor just sighs and follows calmly behind the group.

What a way to start the day..

.

You were getting groceries for the Princess.

She said that most of the food was gone and with the help of Vaggie, you got a list of the things you needed to get.

At the store, you were a bit confused but you met a nice older woman that helped you learn what the aisle signs said.

"Muchas gracias." (Thank you very much.)

"De nada!", the woman waved her hand. (You're welcome!) "Qué demonio tan atractivo eres." (What an attractive demon you are.)

After paying and carrying all the bags, you made your way through the city and tried to go back to the hotel quickly.

But a tall bug stands in your way once you make it to the entertainment district.

"Ah~ The deer that appeared on the screens.", the tall moth demon smiled wide and approached you. "Valentino is my name and I want you to work for me. A face like yours is well liked among the sinners.", he said and reached out to hold your face.

"No quiero lo que me ofreces.", you quickly moved your head away. (I don't want what you are offering.)

"Ah, pero imagina todo el dinero que ganarás~" (Ah, but imagine all the money you'd be making~), he continued. "Todas las delicias pecaminosas que podrás darte.", his eyes glowed as he circled you like a snake, leaning in close to whisper in your ear. (All the sinful delights you'll get to indulge in.)

You grabbed the moth's face roughly and brought him down to eye level with you.

"I said. I don't want it.", you glared, shoving him away after feeling the groceries shift in your hold. "Adiós. Espero no volver a verte." (Farewell. I hope to never see you again.)

"¿¡Quién te crees que eres!? ¡No puedes darme la espalda!", Valentino hissed out and pulled you back by your arm, making you drop the bag. (Who do you think you are!? You don't get to turn away from me!)

Some of the groceries spilled out onto the street, now no longer edible as blood and grime soiled it.

The moth continued to yell and shout vulgar words, but you just frowned at the loss of food.

"Are you even listening!?", the tall demon shouted in your ear as he tightened his grip on your arm.

"No.", you said and looked at him with a dead stare.

It was the tipping point for him, his anger boiled over and he went to strike you with his hand.

Quickly, you lowered and tilted your head down just a bit before lunging forward. Your antlers stabbed into his chest and blood sprayed onto the top of your head and shoulders.

"¡Pedazo de mierda!", he shouted and grabbed your antlers, slamming you back into a brick wall. (You piece of shit!)

You felt your back sting with pain as he held you in place to remove your antlers from his chest. He managed to kick your stomach, knocking the air out of you. You tried to hit back but he moved out the way.

The moth demon sprayed some pink liquid on you before escaping.

It got in your eyes, making you close them as it felt like burning. The smell was sweet but strong, like a syrup that was too sweet. To the point that it made you feel sick.

After cleaning off the liquid, you salvaged what you could and continued your way back to the hotel.

.

"Where are they!?", Angel cried out.

The hazbin group returned from their search and met up in the lobby. Sir Pentious was still out with his egg minions.

"I didn't see them anywhere! I went to the grocery stores, checked alleys, and bars! Do you know how many bars there are in Hell!?"

"At least we didn't find a body, so we know they are still alive somewhere.", Vaggie muttered.

"Perhaps they've been eaten!", Alastor smiled cheerfully.

The group looked at him in horror.

Niffty not so much, but she was still upset about not getting bugs.

"That's not-", Charlie started.

"WHAT IF THEY WERE EATEN!?", the spider screeched.

"DAMN IT ANGEL, THEY WEREN'T EATEN!", the white haired woman yelled back.

"BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE!?", Niftty jumped into the conversation, smiling.

"You ain't helping Nift.", Husk grumbled.

"I swear to Satan-!"

"Calm down!"

The others stopped screeching at each other when hearing the entrance door open, all turning their heads to find the mule deer dragging their feet as they walked into the hotel.

Covered in blood, holding a bag of groceries.

"Hola..", they waved with a tired smile.

The spider called their name in relief and rushed over, checking them for injuries.

"Holy shit! What happened to you!?", Angel grabbed their head and brought it down to see their blood soaked antlers. "You've got blood all on top of your head!"

"Estoy bien, estoy bien.", the deer mumbled. (I'm ok, I'm ok.)

"¿Qué mierda paso?", Husk spoke up. (What the fuck happened?)

"Nada demasiado importante.", they gave a small reassuring smile. (Nothing too important.)

"Where are my bugs!", Niftty ran over and tugged on their pants.

"Glad you're ok.", the Princess sighed.

"Yes, yes. We're all glad that they aren't dead.", Alastor says as he walks over. "Now, lets have them cleaned up and well-"

Before the Radio Demon could touch them, the mule deer flinched back.

"Lo siento. No me encuentro bien.", they said and handed the grocery bag over to the spider. (I'm sorry. I don't feel well.) "Voy a descansar en mi habitación. Perdonadme.", they managed to get out before heading upstairs. (I'm going to rest in my room. Pardon me.)

Curious.. He thought as the others dispersed, but then noticed that the arachnid stayed put, staring where the mule deer was last seen.

"What is it now? Aren't you satisfied that they are safe and sound?", he asked.

"Somethin's not right.", Angel said. "They smelled like aphrodisiac was poured all over them."

"A what?", the deer demon replied, a bit confused. "That is a drug, correct?"

"Yeah.. And right now, it ain't a good one.", the fluffy demon stuffed the grocery bag in the fridge before running upstairs, shouting out the mule deer's name.

Curious indeed...

As I was writing this during break, coworker walked up and asked what I was writing and I immediately hid my phone.

~Seline, the person.

Part 4

Taglist@

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ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌

[alastor-simp]

Hugging Them Out Of Nowhere - Hazbin Hotel Gang x Female Reader

Charlie🌈 -

🌈EEEE! HUGSSS! Charlie doesn’t even question why you are hugging her right now. She will instantly hug you back.

🌈She had just gotten back from a failed attempt at getting some patrons to come to the hotel. Feeling upset, she was sitting on the couch in the lobby by herself. The thundering of footsteps alerted her, and soon enough a pair of arms had wrapped around her body.

🌈She was expecting it to be Vaggie, but she noticed the lack of silver hair and bow. Realizing it was you, she questioned why the sudden hug before she shrugged her shoulders and squeezed back tightly, smile on her face.

🌈Letting go, you gazed straight into her eyes, shy expression on your face. “Sorry for the sudden hug. You seemed sad so I figured a hug would make you feel better. Did it?” Oh Charlie’s heart was squealing at the cuteness. She didn’t even answer your question, as she hugged you even tighter, yelling out so many thank you’s

Vaggie🎀-

🎀This one almost got you a spear in the gut. Vaggie wasn’t use to affection from anyone but Charlie, so don’t blame her for nearly killing you. She would calm down knowing it was you, but wouldn’t hug back until she knew the reason why.

🎀It wasn’t her day today. Alastor was bugging the hell out her with his numerous dad jokes. Niffty nearly speared her with the needle, chasing after a cockroach, and Husk had passed out drunk at the bar, leaving him not doing his duties as the hotel bartender.

🎀It left her fuming, but she didn’t want to instigate it more and end up using her spear, so she walked outside to the hotel rooftop to get some air. After a few minutes and taking some calming breaths, she heard the sound of the roof top door opening. She turned expecting Charlie, but she was then pulled into a hug.

🎀 “Que carajo!!” She was about the grab her spear, until she recognized it was. She stood confused as you were still hugging her. “Umm Y/N? Why are you hugging me?”

🎀Removing your arms from her, you stepped back and looked at her. Rubbing the back of your neck, you turned away shyly. “Sorry! You looked upset about something and hugs always make me feel better so I figured you needed one. Sorry if I overstepped, I know you don’t like being touched by anyone other than Charlie so….”

🎀Vaggie’s sharp gaze softened at your reasoning. She’s been in hell for a long time, and she has grown to distrust a lot of them, except Charlie and Angel Dust, a bit. She realized that you were much different. You cared about others and your friends, and you were kind and supportive.

🎀Looking back at Vaggie, you realized she was smiling at you softly, which is what you didn’t suspect. She got closer to you and gave you a slight shoulder hug. “Thanks Y/N. You’re a good amiga.”

Angel Dust🕷️-

🕷️ “Heh toots, if you wanted to jump me, all you had to do was ask~” His first reaction would be to flirt with you. Figures, but he was a porn star so he was used to stuff like this, yet more aggressively.

🕷️He entered through the hotel doors, muttering a groan. His body was aching from the amount of times he was doing it with some random john’s in Valentinos new porn video. Not only that, he had to suffer through the abuse that his boss gave him after he told him if he could stop since it was starting to hurt, but that earned him a slap on the face and cut lip.

🕷️Bypassing everyone in the lobby, he made his way upstairs and headed towards his room. Once he entered, he picked up Fat Nuggets from the floor and laid on the bed, with his pet pig lying in his chest fluff. He was given a bit of peace, until it was interrupted by a knock at the door.

🕷️ “Who is it?” Angel leaned his head up to stare at the door. He heard from the other side that it was you. Heaving a sigh, he placed Fat Nuggets on the bed, and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw you standing there. Crossing his arms, he leaned against the door frame. “Whatcha want toots?”

🕷️Suddenly, he was pushed back inside of his room. You flung yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his back, face placed into his fluff. Dumbfounded, he stood frozen, wondering what the hell was happening. After a while, a smirk appeared on his face, and he wrapped two of his hands around you while using the other two to tilt your head up at him.

🕷️ “Well well, you wanted to cop a feel that badly~.” He pulled you further inside the room, using his long legs to close his door. Shaking your head, you told him that’s not what you were trying to do. Confused, he let you go, giving you time to step back and stand in front of him. Raising his eyebrow, he asked what you just jumped at him like that.

🕷️Blushing a bit, you looked away at the ground. “ I noticed that you looked very upset when you passed the lobby. I figured something must of happened at your job, given the slight cut on your lip. I wanted to cheer you up so I thought a hug might help.” His eyes widen at your reasoning. Mushy gooey stuff like this always annoyed him, he rather just get down to the business. But, you were changing how he felt about it.

🕷️Looking up at Angel, you gaped a bit. He was wearing a sad smile on his face, eyes a bit watery. “Angel are you ok-” Your words were cut off as Angel grabbed you again, hugging you tightly to himself. He motioned himself back to his bed and sat down, positioning you to sit on his lap. “Thanks toots” You hummed a response and hugged him back.

Niffty🪡

🪡Niffty would be ecstatic when you hugged her. Despite how scary she could be at times, she was an affectionate demon.

🪡She always was beaming with energy, smiling wildly with her large eye beaming. Today was an off day for her. She was in a cheery mood, but less than usual. The pesky cockroaches kept escaping her and not only that Husk accidentally vomited on her, ruining her favorite dress. She was lucky Husk was her friend or she would have mutilated with the kitchen knife.

🪡She was in the hotel laundry room, washing her dirty dress, and wearing a different one. She heard the sound of the door opening and saw you walking in. Excited she greeted you, “Hi Y/N!!” She waved her hand, and zipped up next to you. She saw you bend down to your knees, which confused her until she felt you lift her up and gave her a hug.

🪡Niffty was still for a second until she hugged back, giggling. The both of you stayed like that for a bit until you set her back down. “Sorry for hugging you out of nowhere Niffty. You liked slightly upset even though you are still beaming with excitement so I thought a hug would help.”

🪡The smile on Niffty face got almost as big as Al’s. She jumped up and hugged you again, repeating how cute you were.

Husk🍺-

🍺 "Hey kid, what the hell you doing?" Husk would react a bit rudely at first. Don't blame him, he lost his ability to love years ago, so stuff like that threw him off a bit.

🍺Grumbling to himself, Husk was wiping the bar stand aggressively. He had to deal with Al telling his annoying dad jokes for 3 hours, and not only that Angel had come after that and constantly flirted with him. He was able to tell Angel to f✪✪✪ off for the 40th time, to which Angel did leave. He was getting to old for this sh✪✪.

🍺Grabbing a bottle of cheap booze, he started to guzzle it down. His ears perked up at the sounds of feet tapping behind him. Turning around he saw you walking towards him. Confused he questioned you, before he was pushed back a bit by you hugging him

🍺The bottle he was holding nearly fell from his hand, but he was able to hold on to it. He was standing there dumbfounded, wondering what the hell was happening. "Oy kid, the hell are you doing? Ya better not be two sheets to the wind." he heard you chuckled against him, before letting him go. "Sorry Husk, you looked a little more grumpy then usual so I figured a hug might help out a bit."

🍺Well that made his heart ache a bit. Stuff like affection he's pushed away for a long time and numbed it with alcohol, but the act that you did was making him feel those again. Feeling that you made him angry, you apologize and went to leave, before your were pulled back into another hug by him, wings wrapping around your back. "Heh thanks kid. You're a good one."

Alastor🦌

🦌Yeah this one was gonna be very difficult. Alastor detested being touch, and he rather prefer if he was the one initiating the contact. Anyone who would even think of touching him would be sucked up into his microphone, never to be seen again

🦌Alastor was pacing back and forth in his studio. His smile was still on his face, but it was more strained then usual. Some wayward soul had tried to rob rim, resulting in his favorite coat being ripped slightly. Well that sinner was taken care of, but he had ruined Al's good day. The icing on the cake was hearing the piece-of-sh✪✪ television, running his mouth and calling him a coward. Alastor knew better then to pick a fight with an egotistical overlord, that wasn't worth his time, but the insults only fueled his rage more.

🦌His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on his door. Ears perking at that, he walked over and opened the door, seeing you standing there with a smile. "Well hello my dear! Is there something you needed to discuss with me about?" His smile widen as his crimson eyes glowed down at you. Nodding, you asked if it was alright to come in. Alastor moved back, letting you walk inside his private studio. Having close the door, Alastor walked past you and sat on his chair, crossing his legs to gaze at you. "Now then! What would you like to chat about? Possibly a deal perhaps?" The air grew a bit tense at the mention of a deal, but you shook your head no. "No I'm not here for a deal. I'm just wondering if i could....um..." Trailing off, you looked to the side, feeling nervous.

🦌Tilting his head at you, he wonder what exactly you were here for. Looking back at him, you gave him a look of confidence. "May I have permission to do something to you for five seconds?" Arching his eyebrow at that, he wondered what you meant by that. Standing up from his chair, he walked closer to you, peering down at you. His smile looked fairly ominous, and some demonic symbols were appearing from behind him. "Do what exactly?" You felt that you overstepped and wanted to leave, but you stood your ground. "I-its nothing inappropriate I swear! If you don't like it, you can push me back." His eyes gazed down at you, searching for any signs of deceit. He found none, so he relaxed a bit and his powers toned down.

🦌"Alright my dear! You have permission for five seconds!" Alastor stood smiling, hands behind his back. Heaving a sigh of relief, you were happy that Al allowed you to do something. "Ok...um." Moving slowly, you walked closer, wrapping you arms around him. Radio screech, Al was left befuddled by your actions, his arms raised up a bit. Quickly you pulled back. "Okay! All done!" Smiling up at him, you stood back and stared up at him. Alastor couldn't figure out what on earth just happened. You just wanted to hug him? "My dear. May I ask why the sudden act of affection?" His eyes were glazed with curiosity, better then them being glazed with fury.

🦌Flushing a bit, you started to twiddle your fingers. "I noticed you seemed a bit off today. Yes you are always smiling, but it seemed a bit strained. Something had to have bothered you or make you upset, so I thought maybe hugging you would cheer you up. I know you don't like others touching you, so I wasn't going to do it without your permission. Sorry if I had made you uncomfortable with my actions" Al heard you explain all of this to him, eyes gazing down at the floor.

🦌Oh what an adorable creature you were! Alastor found your actions to be quite sweet. He will admit that he was harden by being in hell for so long, and the only time he remembers any ounce of kindness and warmth being given to him was by his own mother. The annoying feelings of anger and fury had melted away instantly at your little action. The silence in the room was killing you. You were afraid to look at Al, expecting to see radio dials flashing on his face. Suddenly arms had wrapped around you back, lifting you up of the ground. "You are such a delight, darling!" He had spun you around, causing you to laugh. Finally he stopped and had set you down, gazing at you with soft eyes. "There were a few inconveniences today that left me in a foul mood. But! I'm feeling right as rain right now! Thank you, my dear!" He had placed a hand on your head, ruffling you hair a bit.

🦌Happy that he was feeling better you smiled at him. Alastor's ears perked at bit, having come up with an idea. "Since you went out of you way to appease my mood, I can offer you a simple wish. No deal attached!" He was leaning down, face moving closer to yours, waiting for your response. You didn't really want anything, as you only wanted to make Al feel better. After giving it some thought, you came up with your answer. "Could I stay and listen to your broadcast please?" Alastor nearly jumped with excitement at your answer. Snapping his fingers, another chair had appeared next to his desk, along with a cup of coffee and some of your favorite snacks. Wrapping an arm around you, he pulled you closer, "Come along my dear! Its showtime!"

Sir Pentious🐍

🐍"MADAM, WHAT ISSSSS THE MEANING OF THISSSSSS?!?!?!?" Pentious was not use to any actions that involved affection. Don't blame the guy, he lived during the era where actions like that were very sacred.

🐍He was inside his blimp that was attached to the hotel. He was sobbing due to his egg minions being taken away by Vaggie and given to Alastor. He loved his minions like they were his kids, and the thought of them being taken away made his heart break.

🐍He shot up in shock when he heard the sound of the door slide open. Turning around he saw you entering inside the room, walking closer to him. "Ahh misssssss Y/N, how may I assist you?" He tried to play it off that he was ok, wiping the tears that were on his face. He wondered why you gave no response back to him, and continued to walk closer to him. He jumped a shock and let out a girly shriek when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He and his hat looked at you in shock, bewildered by what you were doing.

🐍MISSSSSS Y/N????? WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Pentious was literally shaking, emotions running high that you were hugging him. Pulling away, you stepped back, and watch Pentious place a hand on his chest, trying to calm down. "Sorry Pentious. I knew you were upset about losing your minions, so I wanted to cheer you up."

🐍His dark face began to become a pure red, and if he had ears they would be steaming. What a thoughtful person you were. Coming all the way here just to make him feel better? His heart was going a mile a minute. "Oh I see.....Thank you y/n." He smiled at you including his hat that appeared to have a heart symbol in its iris. "W-ould you care to have s-some tea with me?" his nerves were back again, as he was fumbling with words. You agreed and the both of you had tea together.

🐍Luckily for him, Vaggie allowed him to have his egg bois back, leading to him pulling them into a hug, including you, before he let you go quickly, letting out an embarrassed cough before slithering away to his room

Tagging:

@pepperycookie , @yourdoorisunlocked, @ghostdoodlen, @aceofcards0-0, @jyoongim, @saturnhas82moons, @unholycheesesnack , @luujjvi, @forbidden-sunlight, @pinkcrystal44 , @veethewriter , @rains-sleeping @danveration , @demoarah, @cookiekyo , @iiotic, @delectableworm , @91062854-ka , @alastorsgoldie , @lokis-imaginary-friend , @themysteriousslenderman

[wooahaeproductions]

Tracing Time (part one)

Kwon Soonyoung (Hoshi) x Female Reader

Summary: In order to cope with your mother’s death, you decide to study abroad in Rio for the summer just like she did. You come upon the diary she kept during that time, following all that she did 20 years ago. However, you didn't expect finding love would be part of that process.

Genre: fluff, angst, romance, comedy, smut (in part two), strangers to lovers au, neighbors au, college au

Word count: ~4.7k

Warnings: mentions of a family members death and mentions of ways to cope. Part two will have smut and will have it's own warnings.

Rating: 18+ for the completed fic

A/N: It's finally here! I struggled to write this for some reason but hopefully part two will come easier. This fic is for svthub's 2024 World Tour Collab and I am so happy to be apart of another collab. Please check out all the other amazing works as well! I also want to thank my beta readers Summer @beomcoups and Kiki @nonuify 🥰~Maren

You took a deep breath as you stopped in front of the student housing building and started at its gorgeous architecture before pulling an old photo from the front pocket of your bag. You held it out in front of you, confirming this was the building the smiling woman in the photo was standing in front of. You were here, standing in the same spot your mother had at your age when she studied at the very same summer exchange program in Brazil that you were going to.

You slipped the photo back into your bag and took one more big breath before bringing yourself and your luggage into the lobby of the building. You were supposed to meet the student liaison for the university exchange program there to get your dorm keys along with your class information. You looked around the large lobby in awe. It looked much more like a hotel with its grand marble floors and sophisticated ambiance than student accommodations. 

“You must be Y/N!” You heard a woman say in accented English and you spotted her walking across the lobby toward you. She was an older woman wearing a designer pantsuit, and her hair looked like she had just been at a salon. You certainly weren’t in Chicago anymore. Everything was different here, and you had only been at the airport and this place so far. 

“Hi, I am she,” you responded to the woman, feeling a little overwhelmed already. Which honestly wasn’t that unusual given the circumstances of the past year. 

“Welcome to PUC University and Rio de Janeiro. I’m Mrs. Delgado,” she said. She must have sensed how overwhelmed you were because she gave your arm a gentle pat before continuing. She pulls a packet of paper out of the bag she was carrying and hands it to you. “This is your class schedule and some information about the benefits available to you as an exchange student. There are only three classes since it is a summer program, one being the Portuguese class that all of our international students are required to take, Drawing 110, and Brazilian Art and Architecture.” 

After explaining your schedule, she then pulled out a set of keys that jingled on an ornate keychain, one that matched the building. “And these are the keys to your dorm,” she said, handing them to you. “I’ll let you get settled and ready for your first day tomorrow. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact me and boa sorte!” A second later, she was gone leaving you staring at your dorm number on the keychain. 

“203,” you murmured the number, looking around to see if there was any indication of where your room would be. You opted to ask the boy manning the front desk, whose English was actually great. He pointed to the staircase on the other end of the lobby and told you it was up those and to the right. Just as you were about to head up the stairs, wheeling your suitcase behind you, someone just about knocked you over. A guy to be exact, a handsome one at that. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m late. I’m so sorry, but I’m late!” He blurted, briskly brushing past you with a rushed apology. You stood at the bottom of the stairs, blinking while he ran out of the building. You didn’t have the energy to think about him right now despite his looks, not that you ever entertained the idea of a meet-cute this way or god forbid actually falling in love in this scenario.

You shook your head and put the handle down on your suitcase so you could carry it upstairs with you. You turned the key in the door to your room and walked in, your eyes taking in where you would live for the next few months. It was simple, much like a hotel room but you did have a tiny kitchenette that you didn’t expect to have and a window that looked out to the square that was in front of the building.

You brought your suitcase up on the twin bed so you could unpack a few things before thinking about finding dinner. You put a few clothes in the small dresser that was there before stumbling upon the whole reason you were here: your mom’s diary. You picked it up and sat on the edge of the bed with it, fingertips stroking the leather cover.

Six months earlier 

People were coming in and out of the house giving you and your family words of condolences, but everything was a blur to you. You sat on the couch in the living room when you had all come back from the funeral home, numb to everything. Tears had long since been exhausted, and now all you were was an empty shell, an empty shell without a mother. You were vaguely aware that your grandmother had sat down next to you, brushing your bangs out of your eyes before gently placing a book in your lap: your mother’s diary from when she was the same age as you.

You opened the leather book up, looking at the cover page that you had stared at so many times since your grandmother had given it to you. You recognized your mom’s loopy writing confirming that the diary belonged to her and Summer 1985 written underneath. You turned the page to the first entry, the one that had the photo of your mother outside this building stuck in right before it. It was dated June 15th of that year, when she arrived in Brazil and was in the same student housing. 

As you read your mother's account of her arriving at student housing, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were hearing her voice again. It was almost as if you were just on a trip and you were reading a letter she sent you. But of course, you weren’t just on any trip, and she was gone. 

Your stomach grumbled, interrupting your reading, and you closed the diary. You sighed, wondering if you should venture out to find something to eat. You pulled out your phone and laid down on the bed for a few minutes while you looked to see if there was someplace close that sounded decent. However, jet lag took over, and you fell asleep with your phone in your hand, it falling and smacking you on the forehead some time later.

Fourteen hours later, you awoke to your phone alarm going off. You panicked. Was that the first time your alarm went off? Were you late for your first class? You hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all, but that darn jet jag overcame you. Pressing your finger on the phone screen to silence the alarm, you were relieved to find that it really was just your first alarm. It was 7:30 am and you weren’t late, you had plenty of time. Which was a good thing because your stomach had upgraded from the light growling from last night to feeling like it was about to eat itself. 

You had done your research before enrolling in the summer program and knew that the university offered a student cafeteria for meals that was part of the tuition fee. You assumed it was in the packet of information you received yesterday as well, but you hadn’t had time to look over that yet. You got dressed in a simple sundress, one that was classy and suited to the warm weather in Rio. You grabbed the book bag with all your class materials from where you placed it at the small table by the door and headed out of your dorm.

The lobby was bustling with others probably also headed to their morning classes. The university’s campus was only a short distance away, so you opted to walk although it looked like the dorms had bikes outside the building that you could borrow if you wanted to. Your first class didn’t begin until 9 am and you would have plenty of time to get there as well as get breakfast at the cafeteria. 

You walked out of the dorm building and out to the cobbled stoned square. You paused to bring a map up on your phone, making sure you were about to head in the correct direction. You continued to walk on the brownish-gray stones as you passed by a few little shops before the cobblestones turned into a normal concrete street. You followed it up a small hill before you reached a large traffic circle with the main university building behind it. 

Luckily there was a campus map just outside the doors to the main entrance. You looked at it, finding where the cafeteria was and also noting where the international building was for your class afterward. The cafeteria was teeming with students getting food, mostly breakfast at this early hour. You got in line and grabbed some sliced fruit and scrambled eggs, as well as some coffee. They had some items that were also common for Brazilian culture, but you opted to try those later when you were less nervous and didn’t have a class to attend right after.

You scanned your meal card at the checkout which had been in the packet of information that Mrs. Delgado had given you yesterday. You chose an empty table near the windows and ate your food as leisurely as you could before class. Your stomach was no longer trying to eat itself and all that remained was an uncertain feeling in the pit of it. You didn’t even know why you felt all this turmoil, but nothing felt right or even normal since your mother passed.

You placed your empty tray at one of the receptacles by the door and walked out of the cafeteria. You followed the path you mapped out earlier, leading to the international building. You had about 15 minutes before the class started, so you didn’t need to hurry. You looked around at the buildings on your way. The campus looked much like a normal campus but all buildings were made from stucco material and the main roads had a wave-like pattern in them.

You reached the classroom after a few minutes. The door was on the outside of the building and you opened it. Still being a bit early, there were only a few people in the classroom. You chose a seat in the middle, not too far in the front but not too far in the back. You sat your bookbag on the floor next to you, took out the textbook with your notebook and a pen, and set them on the table in front of you. A couple of loud students entered the classroom and you couldn’t help but look up at the noise. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes. The same boy who nearly ran you over yesterday was among the group. You inwardly groaned. Worse yet, when he scanned the room for a seat, he spotted you. You looked down at the desk, trying to hide your face to no avail. “Oh! It’s you!” He exclaimed, coming to sit in the space next to you. You kept looking in every other direction but his, hoping he would think you were actually someone else.

He didn’t seem to be aware that you were trying to avoid eye contact and continued to introduce himself. “Hi, I’m Soonyoung! I’m really sorry for almost running into you yesterday but I hope we can be friends since it looks like we are both exchange students!” Now you couldn’t help but stare at him. How could someone have so much energy and also be so clueless to your anti-social cues? Your brain was tired just listening to him ramble on. 

You weren’t sure what else he was saying but it sounded like he asked a question. “-your name?” Oh, great, he was asking for your name. You contemplated not telling him, but he would probably annoy it out of you anyway. “I’m Y/N,” you responded, your irritation slightly bleeding into your tone. Soonyoung didn’t get to say anything after that. Luckily, the teacher walked into the classroom at that moment, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention and effectively cutting off any conversations happening. 

The teacher, who introduced himself as Mr. Morales went over the class syllabus, and then you started in on the first chapter of the textbook which introduced the different sounds the Portuguese language had versus English. You avoided Soonyoung’s gaze the entire time but you could feel it on you. As soon as class was dismissed, you threw your belongings back in your bag and booked it out of the classroom before he had time to think about catching you. 

You didn’t have more classes today, your other two would happen tomorrow so you had planned to take the somewhat long trek to see the famous statue in Rio, Christ the Redeemer. It would take you about an hour and a half by bus, but your mother had visited it, so you wanted to as well. You pulled out the bus timetable and map (one of the many things in the packet that Mrs. Delgado had given you) from your bag as you walked back toward the front of campus where the bus stops were.

You found the stop for the correct bus number and sat down in a seat under the covered area to avoid the early afternoon sun. The timetable showed the bus you needed would be there in about five minutes and once you got off it, you would have to decide if you wanted to walk to the statue or if you were going to take a tram. 

You sat there watching students walk by as you waited, looking like they were having the best time being at school. You felt so out of place, questioning why you even decided to come here. Would this really make you feel closer to your mother, make you feel better about her being gone? You highly doubted you’d ever feel better about the latter. 

You stuck your hand inside your bookbag, finding your mother’s diary and brushing your hand over the smooth leather surface. Somehow feeling the front of the book, touching a physical item of hers always soothed your thoughts. You knew you would continue feeling like you didn’t belong in a place as amazing as Rio, but you wanted to keep seeing what she saw and hearing her voice through diary entries, even if it was something you could only hear in your head. 

The bus arrived, pulling you out of your thoughts and you got up to get on it. You tapped the bus pass on the pad at the front near the driver and scanned the bus. There were quite a few people on the bus but it wasn’t packed. You spotted a window seat near the middle and took it. The ride was kind of long but you had nice scenery to look at and the bus wasn’t too loud. You took some time to relax a little and soak it all in. 

About an hour later, the bus had reached its destination. You had arrived at the bottom of a somewhat large mountain near the entrance to a rainforest. You looked at how high it was and at the statue at the top. You definitely were not going to hike that today, and opted to take the tram that was available instead. There was a little kiosk nearby where you bought your tram ticket and a schedule posted on the side that said the tram came every 5 minutes at this time of day.

Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long at all since you bought your ticket just a minute or two before the next one arrived. You handed your ticket over to the driver and got on the tram. It reminded you of those trams they had when you went to the zoo or something. The sides were open so you could feel the breeze as the tram climbed the mountain and you could smell the different plants and trees.

The further the tram climbed, the closer the famous statue got, and soon you arrived at the bottom of it. The tram stopped at the park at the top of the mountain that contained Christ the Redeemer. You got off the tram, in awe of how big the statue really was. You knew it was big, but seeing it in person was something else entirely. 

Many people surrounded the bottom of the statue and there were no benches to be seen. You found an empty area on one side and decided to sit on the concrete floor of the platform. Looking up at the statue, you settled in your sitting spot and pulled your sketchbook and your mother’s diary from your bag. You opened the diary to the next unread page, dated a week later than the first. Another photo was stuck in the pages and you took it out, seeing another photo of your mother smiling, with Christ the Redeemer in the background.

June 21st, 1985

Rio has been amazing. I haven’t been here long but it sometimes feels like home to me. I feel like I belong here with all this incredible architecture. And guess what? I met a boy! I came to visit the famous Christ the Redeemer statue and he offered to take my photo with the statue. He was actually in the middle of drawing a caricature for another girl but dropped everything when he saw I was trying to take a photo of myself with the statue. I couldn’t help but swoon a little. I found out he studies drawing at the same university that I’m attending for the summer. And then he asked me out for dinner! I’m really excited to go on a date with him. Will this just be a summer fling or could it be more? 

You took in this entry. Did your mom meet someone here? Was it your dad? You couldn’t help but be curious about this man and you wondered how far their relationship had gotten. Was he the person from whom you got your talent for drawing? You had so many questions and knew that those questions might go unanswered. For now, you opted to try and feel connected by drawing something yourself.

You took your sketch pencils out of the small pocket at the front of your bag and opened your sketchbook up to a blank page. Setting it in your lap, you looked around, deciding what you wanted to sketch exactly. Just the statue or the people surrounding it too? You decided to just sketch the statue to start with and fill in surrounding areas as you saw fit. You drew, looking up every once in a while to look at the small details of the statue. 

One time you looked up and noticed someone busking close to the bottom of the statue a little bit in front of you. He looked cute from just a glance. He was dancing to a little boombox playing near him with a cup next to it, collecting any change people were willing to give. You looked closer and realized who the dancer was. Soonyoung. You sighed in annoyance. Was he everywhere? Was the universe messing with you?

You continued to draw, hoping he was too distracted by his busking to notice you. There were tons of people around, there was no way he could spot you among all of them. As you sketched your eyes couldn’t help but be drawn back to him like a magnet. His dance moves were sharp but smooth and you could see his routine completely consumed him. You kept taking glances while sketching.

You were finishing up the last few lines when you heard your name called. You thought he was too enthralled with his busking to notice you, but you were very wrong. He picked up his cup of change and his boombox and jogged over to where you were. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, stopping in front of where you were sitting and giving you a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“Um, yeah. I decided to do some sightseeing and do some sketching,” you responded, a little meekly. You felt weird around him now for some reason. He was annoying in class earlier, but now he seemed different and you weren't sure what to think. He was still bright and energetic but not irritatingly so. 

“Oh, you draw?” he asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m studying here this summer. Art,” you explained.

“Cool! I’m here for performance arts if the busking hadn’t given you a heads up already,” He offered with a small laugh.

He paused your small conversation for a minute to take a look at his change cup to see how much he had made today.

“Listen, if you are done with what you wanted to do today..there’s a nice cafe near the tram station and if you are hungry, I made more than enough money today so I’d like to treat you,” He rambled. It wasn’t exactly a question, but the way he said it was actually kind of cute.

You were hungry and you supposed it couldn’t hurt, right? “Alright,” you agreed and a smile stretched across his face again. You put your sketchbook, pencils, and mom’s diary back in your bag and stood up, brushing your pants off from any dirt that you picked up while sitting on the ground. Maybe you should take a page from your mom’s book and get to know Soonyoung a little more.

You both walked back down off the statue’s platform and down the stairs to where the tram would pick you up and take you back down the mountain and to where the cafe Soonyoung mentioned would be. Once again, you did not have to wait long for the tram to arrive and you both got on, Soonyoung sitting next to you.

You could feel the breeze again as the tram descended the mountain this time. You looked over to find Soonyoung looking out the other side quietly, the wind ruffling his hair lightly. He had the same smile on his face as earlier, making his face look strangely childlike compared to the manly confidence he had earlier while busking. You liked seeing the two different sides of him. It was cute. He could be quiet when he was by himself, a big difference from when he was with a crowd.

While you were busy staring at Soonyoung, the tram stopped back at the bottom of the mountain. “Y/N?” Soonyoung questioned, holding out a hand to pull you up from the seat.

“Oh, sorry,” you said, not realizing you had spaced out. You took his hand as he pulled you up, noticing how big it was. It felt nice, having your hand engulfed in his. You continued to hold on to it as you both got off the tram. When you both got off, you let go awkwardly, not wanting to give Soonyoung the wrong idea (even if you did really like holding his). You hadn’t even been on a date yet. He gave a nervous chuckle and just beckoned you to follow him. 

You followed him down a few streets from the park area where you guys were previously, to a little hole-in-the-wall cafe that was surrounded by other shops and small apartments. It was small and felt homey when you walked in the door with Soonyoung. You waited at the front for a minute or two before someone came by to seat you. “Oh? I see you brought a friend today!” The waitress said before grabbing some menus and guiding you to open-air seating at a back patio that featured a small garden to the side of it.

She sat you two at a table and sat the menus in front of you. “I’ll be back in a few to take your order,” she said before giving Soonyoung a knowing wink. 

“I take it you come here a lot,” you commented.

“You could say that,” he responded with a sheepish grin, “I usually make enough to come here each time I busk, so two to three times a week?” 

“Two to three times a week?!” You were surprised that he busked that often and that he chose to come here every time.

“Yeah, it’s the only way for me to make some extra cash. I’m here through a special program so they only pay for my tuition and dorm fees,” he explained. You nodded. You were similar, except that you had your grandmother sending you spending money when you needed it. 

You turned your attention to the menu, trying to decide what to eat. There were a lot of options but you decided to try a more traditional Brazilian stew called Feijoada. Something hearty sounded good after the busy day you’ve had so far. The waitress came by and took your order while Soonyoung ordered Moqueca, another type of stew but with seafood.

You made more small talk while waiting for your food to arrive such as where you were originally from (You: Chicago, Him: Seoul) and what types of foods you liked. You passed the time well enough that your food felt like it came out quickly. It looked amazing and your stomach confirmed how hungry you were by giving a small growl. Loud enough, however, to make Soonyoung let out a small giggle.

You start digging in when Soonyoung nervously broaches a topic. “So, when we were at Christ the Redeemer you mentioned doing some sightseeing. I don’t know if I’m reading too much into things, but it seems like it was more than just seeing the sights here.”

You put down your spoon and contemplate whether you want to open up to him or not. You sighed before starting your explanation. “You’re right, it’s not just general sightseeing. In fact, my mom is the whole reason I’m here.”

“Your mom?” He asked, prompting you to continue.

“Yeah…she um, died about 6 months ago,” you said, looking down at your stew like it was the most fascinating thing in the world at the moment.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so sorry,” Soonyoung frowned, his voice turning sympathetic and you swore his eyes had a sheen to them.

“It’s…okay. Or at least it’s becoming okay,” you responded honestly and then continued. “Anyway, my grandma gave me my mom's diary. One she kept while she was here doing this program with the university. So I decided to do it too and see all the same sights she did hoping it might make me feel closer to her or something? I don’t know.” You were rambling a little now. 

“I think that’s neat,” Soonyoung said after a minute.

“You do?” You asked, a bit surprised.

“Yeah, I think it’s cool. You get to go stand where she stood and see the same things she saw with her own eyes. That’s definitely a good way to feel closer to someone,” He encouraged.

“It does,” you agreed.

“This might sound weird and I know we’ve only known each other a few days but would it be okay if we go to the places your mom did together?” Soonyoung asked. His eyes no longer had the sheen you saw a minute ago but instead held a mixture of empathy, excitement, and something else you couldn’t decipher. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself nodding. “I think I’d like that,” you said, a smile starting to tug at the edges of your lips. Then you leaned over the table to give him a small peck on the cheek. He looked a little stunned for a minute but then he smiled back, a wide smile that showed his teeth and you had to admit he was adorable. 

How could you go from being so annoyed by him to liking him a lot in just one day? You didn’t know but maybe your mom would have wanted this for you.

©️wooahaeproductions

All works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works.

[gothicknightz]

family ties | ethan landry

notes: oh boy you guys are gonna like this one. VERY MAJOR SCREAM SPOILERS UNDER THE CUT!!!!!!!!!! I cannot get any more specific than that.

part 2 out now!

When she moved to New York with her best friend, they both had planned on getting an average college education, having fun, and graduating. 

That was it.

Why couldn’t it have been that simple?

The four of them were stranded in the abandoned lobby of the theatre when Sam had gotten a call from the Detective, claiming that he had done some digging into Kirby and that she was let go from the FBI a couple of months ago for being mentally unstable, and he believes she is the killer.

She quickly turned her attention towards Sam, “What?” She snapped, her arm still wrapped up from her paired attack alongside Mindy on the subway. 

Putting a foot down, she crossed her arms, “There’s no way we can stay here.” Attempted to try the entrance in which they came in, to find out it was locked, “Shit.” She turned around quickly to face the, “It’s locked.”

The group frantically looked for a way out of the theatre, as they weren’t going to be trapped with the possible killers. Tara had noticed some sort of fire escape, but that wasn’t until Ghostface appeared and attacked the group, which they fought back. 

Chad decided it was a good time to be a hero, as he fought against Ghostface so that the girls could run. This proved to be a bad decision for him, as a second Ghostface came up and started stabbing alongside the other before ushering the trio back into the theatre.

As the five of them make their way back into the theatre, Kirby suddenly reappears out of nowhere and claims that she was knocked out by two Ghostfaces, but the trio can’t trust her after the Detective’s claims, who arrives subsequently after Kirby.

After what seemed to be a battle for trust, the Detective shoots Kirby, revealing himself as the third killer.

(y/n) screams as she was the closest, her heart racing in anticipation, afraid of what was going to happen next when the other two Ghostfaces de-mask themselves. Subsequently, after the Detective reveals himself to be the third killer, the Ghostface wearing Nancy Loomis’ mask revealed himself.

It was Ethan, (y/n)’s best friend. The friend she had planned on getting a college education and graduating with. The friend she had known for years, the friend who was responsible for their firsts.

Somebody she had trusted.

It was then revealed that Quinn was the final Ghostface, much to everyone’s shock, as they had seen and heard of the brutal murder Quinn had endowed.

The trio was cornered at each end by the three killers, with Sam slowly connecting the pieces that all three of the killers were related to none other than Richie Kirsch, one of the killers of the Woodboro Massacre in 2022.

As the trio was attacked and coerced back to the center of the theatre by the killers, the Detective sighed, “It wasn’t until I saw that photograph of what you had actually done to him, that I knew.”

“That I knew you had to fucking die- that you had to be punished, along with anyone else who stands in our way.”

Pushed and insulted by Quinn, Sam, and Tara were forced to stand in front of the Detective, with Ethan taking hold of (y/n), and holding a knife to her throat.

As the Detective went on about how he indulged in his son’s love for the Stab movies, and how they were a bit dark for him, he explained that there was no deeper bond than of a father and his firstborn.

“Despite the loss of Richie, I couldn’t have been happier after learning of a new addition to our family.”

The look on both the sisters’ faces was beyond puzzled as they watched the detective make grandiose gestures as he waved the gun in (y/n)’s direction.

“I knew it was a bit young for those two to get hitched, but,” the Detective paused, taking a breath for a brief smile, “She made it a lot easier to get us in here, and I’ve never been more proud of a future daughter in law, right (y/n)?”

The Carpenter sisters had another round of fear and shock as they turned their heads to one of the closest friends the gang had had, with even Mindy trusting them.

(y/n) was breaking away from a kiss with Ethan as Tara and Sam watched them in awe, the girl breaking into a fit of giggles and a content sigh.

“You know, Sam,” She said, turning towards the illegitimate daughter of the original Ghostface with her boyfriend slash fiance’s knife in hand, “You should really save the date.” She took a swing at the eldest Carpenter sister and laughed.

“Because it does fucking run in the family.”

[rkiveinmarvel]

pasilyo. - black leg sanji (18+) des. fluff-angst-fluff. you and sanji's relationship is bound for a heavy turn. notes. pre and post-timeskip, mentions of wci and wano island, f!reader is related to zoro, heavily referenced marry my husband (kdrama) at the end. smut (if you squint--minors go away, pls). small mentions of violence. the straw hats shenanigans pt 99999, i miss sanji 24/7.

hello ppl! 'tis i. i just finished my midterms so, here you go. I heavily referenced a scene in marry my husband on this one like the moment I saw the scene i immediately went--what if we make it as sanji--then bam, here it is. the story contains smut (if you squint) and it's my first time writing one, so yeah. enjoy!

Pasilyo is a Filipino term that means corridor or passageway. -- it is also a popular song in the Philippines: PASILYO - SUNKISSED LOLA

w.c: 1.7k

You and Sanji never had anything in common. He likes to smoke, you like to drink tea–he loves  to cook, you love to eat, he uses his legs and feet to fight–you use your hand. You and him never had anything in common, yet the way you called his name–send shivers on his back, the way he calls your name calms the storm in your mind—yet despite the differences and in the deep sea of all blue—you and him have something in common. 

The day you met him at Baratie, it gave away that Sanji wears his heart on his sleeves–the way his eyes lingered at the table where you and Nami sat, the way his hands ghostly shadows your plate as he served the food–he was mesmerising and breath-taking. As he continues to unravel everything about him, he fits perfectly as the cook of the crew. With him being the best cook in the East Blue, it’s not doubt that the future pirate-king needs someone like him in his crew, it’s not doubt that a pirate demon hunter finds the blonde’s cooking amazing, it’s no doubt that the certain liar of the crew praises his cook, it’s no doubt that the great navigator finds his cooking remarkable—and there’s you, it’s funny, how you kept quiet when he waits for your reaction–hell, everyone’s waiting for your reaction, as you gave him a small nod and a laugh.

He wore your laugh in his mind—wishing he could make you laugh every time he cooks. As the days passed by like the straw-hats voyage in the sky, land, and sea; he would notice himself looking for your presence–yes, he falls for every woman he sees, but something about you is pulling him in, that despite him making Nami and Robin smile, he yearns for yours, he wished he can see yours.

He watched in the deck as you spar with the green haired swordsman, how he chuckles to himself that you’re making Zoro sweat and thrive hard yet a part of him was mad that you’re spending time with the marimo and not him. But a part of him is quite warm as he saw you dance in the presence of the crew, that none of them knows that in the middle of the night–you told him stories he never heard off, he made you tea you never knew existed. That side of yours–he’s thankful, he’s the only person who can see it.

So, it surprised him, when he saw your eyes fill with relief when you saw him again at the edge of Skypiea, at Enies Lobby, at Thriller bark. It baffled him, when he saw you looked like you’re about to cry as you saw him–damn, if only he knew who gave you the wound in your head, lips, and arms, he would’ve kicked everyone, including Zoro. But it washed away, when you were alone with him on those nights–as you mutter that you’re thankful he’s okay. That you both are alright. 

With all the fights and wars the crew had faced–the thing that scared Sanji and you the most, was the time when the crew didn’t see each other for two years–he wondered if you have eaten yet, wondered if you sleep okay, and wondered if you would still be the same the next time he sees you; you wondered is he’s doing okay, you wondered if he ever muttered your name, and you wondered if he still remembers the way you like your tea.

–

“You’ve grown taller…” You whispered as you saw each other again after two-years, with a nosebleed, he chuckled. “I did.” 

He loved that he’s back, you’re back. As the night deepens, you’re there with him again.

“How was it?”

“Hm?”

“Two years.”

“I don’t know, it’s great that I got stronger but it sucked.”

“Why does it sucked.”

“You weren’t there, Sanji.”

“Oh.”  He swore to his dickhead dad, he died right there. You chuckled as his red cheeks reached his ears, as he grins deeply.  But before he can say anything in your words–he felt your lips on his as you leaned on the counter as he prepared your tea.

He felt the cup become warm as he stopped pouring your tea. You’re about to pull away as you want to drink your tea–the cook leaned closer, he missed you and he had you, you smiled in his kiss. As you two pulled away for air; he chuckled loudly. “Wipe that stupid grin and nosebleed on your face, curly brows.” You teased as you took the cup and drank your tea. 

That night changed everything, the crew didn’t missed the way he treats you differently the way he treats Robin and Nami, the way he would sit closer to you while enjoying the bliss of sunset in the ship–how he would not let Brook, Franky, and Usopp stare at you for too long. He hates how you still choose Zoro to spar with—

“You know we’re related, right?” 

“You and marimo?!”

God, he missed that.

—

But—his heart breaks as remembers how he stood there in aisle at whole-cake island, he hated it–how your eyes breaks the moment he sees you again: how his heart breaks when he hears you sobbing in his chest when he came back–how you slapped him across his face when you found out that he let Luffy starve–how his chest tightens when you pulled him into a kiss: the deepest kiss you gave him.

As your soft breaths reach his lips–he knew you thought you almost lost him. In the room where it’s just the two of you, his clothes were on the floor and so was yours. As you mutter his name as if he was a saint sent only for you. How his hands marks and caress every part of you as you kiss every inch of him as you memorise everything in his body. You kissed him again, again, and again–how you wish you would still taste him as you close your eyes.

You looked beautiful as he stared down at you, he felt tears as he placed his hand on your cheeks yet you muttered that you love him under your breath, he blamed himself as you cried in this sacred moment, he wanted to stop and hold you but–you want him. 

“Please…’Ji..” You muttered again as he moved with your body in sync, at that moment, his breath got rigged, your breaths were catching themselves, his hands were holding your hand tight, as you felt the heat of the room. He whispered a praise or somewhat a prayer to you.

“I love you too.” He chuckled as he ghostly kissed your neck as you nodded softly. You left some kisses on the crown of his head as he collapsed into you. As your hand dances in his golden hair–he continues to utter his apologies to you in which you forgive him.

—

Things turned differently after that time–after the whole-cake island–and fighting side-by-side in Wano. You felt the sunlight enter the room as your eyes fluttered, you saw Sanji’s sleeping state. With a smile on your face, you listen to his heartbeat as he sleeps, while looking at yours and his intertwined bodies inside the blanket–as the events of last night lingered when you saw your hand marks on his chest.

“Mon amour, what’s wrong?”

You placed your chin on his chest. “Nothing. We won.” He smiled sheepishly and nodded as he gave you a morning kiss. “We won.” He nodded once again. You two laid there for a while as you heard Franky cheering that Zoro and Luffy are awake–with a cheer, the entire city of Wano threw the biggest banquet there is–cheers, beers, and food are present everywhere.

A swamp of girls fell into Sanji’s arms–his eyes lingered to yours. He chuckled as you just raised your cup and gave him a flying kiss. In which, he melted into. As the night dips deeper in the moon, he notices that you and Franky are guiding back the drunk ass of Zoro and Usopp in their room, with a smile, he stole you from Franky.

When he stole you—he walked with you in the forest of Wano as lights of fireflies guided the two of you. You two enjoyed the presence of each other in silence. 

“What’s with the stare?”

“Nothing. You just look pretty, my love.”

“Me? I look like a mess, Usopp was holding dearly for his life on my shoulder as we walked him and Zoro.” you rubbed your temples. In which he chuckled.

As you two sat down and found a nice view of Wano–you leaned your head into his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re fine. You and I, and the crew.” You admitted. In which, he just hummed. As he ghostly kiss, your hand.

“Zoro told me what you told him to do…” There’s a hint of disappointment in your voice. In which, he was about to speak but you cut him off. “If you still think you’re going to lose your mind—just know I’ll pull you back and please, don’t wish for death.” 

In your words, he finds himself not being able to breathe. He just nodded. “I finally found my family in the sea, ‘Ji, and you’re part of them–so, don’t think you’ll get rid of me that easily…” He enjoyed you being like this, being able to take the words out of his mouth. 

“I don’t plan to, darling.” He kissed your head and held your hand tightly. 

“We should get married.” You responded as you turned to look at him. With a smile, you were surprised when you heard him sigh in disappointment—”What?” it left you confused, he pushed you off him.

“You’re unbelievable.” He uttered as he stood up and walked away. You were confused and on the brink of tears. “It doesn’t need to be now! I mean I want to marry you–just—did he hit his head so much?” You asked yourself, as you sigh in defeat and a pout. 

You were surprised to see him walking back towards you with a small flower in his hand. “You always surprise me…” He said as gave the small flower to you.

“You can do anything to me–whatever you want.” You stood up and stared at him as he knelt down on one knee.

“Just don’t ask for marriage–that’s my queue. So, mon amour…”

You felt tears stinging yours and his eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

— FIN

i am having a hard time if i should post angsty luffy or not huhu

⚘ masterlist 1 | 2 | 3

[violettduchess]

Hello Vi! I have a request for you, only if it inspires

Tutor AU! With one or more of your fave suitors tutoring you for your upcoming exams;

Leonardo, Comte, Gilbert, Leon, Silvio and Clavis!

I'd love to see what you come up with ❤️❤️❤️

A/N: I had a very immediate idea for Comte so I went with him for this request!

Comte x Reader, Tutor AU/ Modern AU

WC: ~1.9k

The library looms large as you hurry up the wide, slate-colored steps under a sky exhaling its last breath of evening color. The stars are slowly blinking into existence, determined to shine before they are hidden behind the slow-moving blanket of clouds heading their way. You would pause to enjoy the ephemeral moment when dusk ebbs into night.....

Except Comte is inside, waiting for you.

You’re still not sure how it’s come to this. Comte as your tutor. Your mind travels back several weeks….

Several weeks ago:

One minute you're balancing an armful of books along with your backpack and several bags of uneven groceries that are seriously testing your stubborn decision to do it all in ONE trip. The next, however, everything is falling onto the polished grey tile floor of your building’s lobby, the objects seeming to leap like lemmings out of your arms. As you stand there, staring defeatedly at the scattered mess, lost in the gravity of your poor decision, the elevator doors you were originally trying to reach slide open and like the pearly gates unveiling an angel, Comte de St Germain steps out, in the process of buttoning his elegant camel-colored coat with one hand.

Before you can say a word, he takes in your forlorn expression, the embarrassing pile of your things at your feet, and he is by your side, kneeling, helping you gather up your stray apples and the mini-boxes of cereal you are probably way too old for but love anyway. Your cheeks flush as you stammer a thank you. 

You know him more by reputation than actual acquaintance. He lives in the sprawling penthouse at the apex of your building, the crowning glory of the gothic structure, and is usually spoken about in whispers and sighs by the other residents:

“Comte? He’s a museum director downtown.”

“I hear he is a world-famous antique dealer who has made millions.”

“He’s gotta be a tech-millionaire with all that dough.”

“Well I know someone who knows someone who swears he’s a member of the royal family of some tiny European country.”

“I don’t care what he does. He’s got to be loaded to live up there.”

“I hear he’s never been married.”

“My cousin’s best friend’s neighbor's babysitter says he’s divorced from someone super famous.”

“You know what he is? I'll tell ya. Drop dead gorgeous.”

This mysterious man with eyes the color of desert sands is on the ground in his expensive suit and coat, helping you gather your plebeian things and oh, do you want to melt into the floor and disappear.

Until……

He stops, holding one of the books you had been juggling, a surprised expression crossing his classically beautiful face.

“‘The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ by Edward Gibbon. Fourth edition.” He seems impressed, curiosity flaring to life in the mesmerizing gold of his eyes.

And you take that lifeline, words stumbling over themselves across the knot of your tied tongue as you explain you are a graduate student, majoring in history, mentally preparing yourself for the avalanche of final exams heading your way.

And how he smiles, his long fingers tracing the embossed lettering along the spine of your book, borrowed from the local library. Entranced by the movement, you can't look away from his hand, reverence hushing his voice as he explains how he works for a museum (Points to the woman in Apartment 15B for getting that one), how he also studied history.

And then one thing leads to another and your rambling about the stress of your exams and crunch for time has evolved into Comte St. Germain, the mysterious Bruce Wayne of your building, offering to tutor you.

The Present:

And now here you stand, the night of your final session, heart prowling, turning circles in your chest like an unruly feline.

Taking a steadying breath, you continue up the steps and head inside, enjoying the sound of your heeled boots across the polished wooden floor. Past towering shelves filled with books you go until you reach the narrow iron staircase in the back, the one that spirals upwards to the second floor. Your feet follow the path they have gotten used to over the last few weeks, through the racks, down a narrow gangway until you reach the small cluster of tables at the western corner of the library, the ones underneath the imposing arched window that allows you a clear view of the darkening sky and the pale orange glow of the streetlamp across the street.

Comte looks up from the book he has been reading and offers you a smile, at once familiar and exotic.

“Ah, there you are, chérie. Ready for our final session?”

Something inside you constricts at the thought that this is the last time you will be here with him like this, tucked away in the surprising intimacy of a large public library, listening to his honeyed voice as you discuss not only history, but also the mundane: what music he listens to when he goes on long drives, his favorite type of wine, the best tea for a rainy Sunday morning. And it isn't just his speaking….Comte listens. He really listens when you talk, when you ask questions, when you give an opinion. He rests his chin on his hand, head tilted ever so slightly, his entire attention focused on you, whether you are explaining the fine points of one of the many Treaties of Paris or doing your best to convince him that dipping your French fries in your milkshake really does make them taste better. 

With the glow of remembrance in your smile, you slide into the seat next to him, running your fingers along the soft grain of the elegant wooden chair as you settle in.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” you say, returning his smile while looking at the array of books he has spread out across the table. “Let’s do this.”

“Oui,” he says as his smile curves into a grin. “Tonight we’re focusing on art for your art history final. You already sent me the list of pieces your professor wants you to know for your exam so we can work our way through those.”

You breathe in, trying not to get distracted by the warm, earthy scent of his cologne.

“Professor Leonardo is great but it’s such a long list….” Your shoulders slump at the thought of tackling everything on it. And then you feel Comte’s hand there, on your forearm, warm even through the soft material of your blouse.

“Then let us begin.”

He spends hours, guiding you through Girl with the Pearl Earring, The Birth of Venus, Las Meninas, and Water Lillies. You wander through the great masters like an enamored visitor in an enchanted garden, listening as Comte helps you to remember what you have learned about the paintings as well as unlocking secrets you have never heard before. He leads you through the design of the Colosseum, the Parthenon, Hagia Sofia, Notre Dame, his voice a golden thread that spins you across the architectural wonders. And now, in your final hour of study, he opens the book of sculptures. You visit Rodin’s Thinker, Michelangelo’s David, the Venus de Milo. And finally, you come to the last sculpture on your list: Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss by Antonio Canova.

“Ah…” He pulls the book closer, the photograph of the sculpture filling the page. “This….is a masterpiece of….” He glances over at you, brow lifted as he waits for the answer.

“Neoclassicism…but with strong elements of the Romantic, given the subject matter.”

“Bien joué.” The praise falls from his lips softly, slides over you like melting wax, sends a jolt of heat across your skin. He doesn’t seem to notice as he flattens down the pages with both hands, his bright eyes roaming over the image.

“So you know the story of Cupid and Psyche?”

You try to remember what Professor Leonardo explained in class when he had introduced the sculpture. “She opened a forbidden jar and was put to sleep as punishment?” 

Comte nods. “Venus forbid Psyche from opening the jar. It supposedly held Divine Beauty. Psyche could not resist temptation and instead of beauty, she was overcome by the Sleep of Innermost Darkness.” He grins slowly. “Very dramatic. Cupid sees his lover unconscious and pricks her with an arrow, awakening her. This sculpture captures that moment.”

Outside the library window, the streetlamp glows a soft orange. A light rain is now falling, making the light seem as if it is dancing, shimmering against the night.

“Just look at the lines,” he murmurs. He takes his index finger and slowly begins tracing the line of Psyche’s body. It follows the curve of her torso as she stretches up towards Cupid. “Her arms reach back for him.”

You lean in, closer to Comte, watching the path his finger makes along the glossy page. Your heart is suddenly hammering a woodpecker’s song against your breastbone.

“Her hands are in her lover’s hair, the gesture so familiar, so loving.” He traces down the line of Psyche's neck. “And here….she is bent back to him, so exposed and vulnerable, tilting to look up into his face. What do you see there?”

His voice winds itself around you, wrapping you in golden vines of warmth and want. You need a moment to find your own. When you do, it is only capable of expressing itself in a breathless whisper.

“Tenderness. Joy.”

He nods slowly, trailing his finger down Cupid’s strong arm. “And what do you see in him?”

Your thoughts are bright butterflies, sparks that fly up into the haze of your mind and explode in little pinpricks of light. Blinking, trying to control the overwhelming wave of attraction that threatens to pull you under, you reach out and touch the same page, your fingers scant centimeters from his.

“He’s…..adoring. The way he holds her head, his fingers touching her face. And he’s smiling at her, affectionately. Openly.” Your gaze drops down to where Comte’s finger points to Cupid’s left arm. You clear your throat and continue. “He covers her breasts with his arm, shielding her from the viewer, and yet that one hand holds her in a way that’s….it’s so intimate. It feels somehow more intimate than if we would see her bare.” Your voice is a whisper, soft and woven through with delicate wisps of yearning. “He touches her as if he’s done it a hundred times and still revels in it…..” You trail off, pressing your lips together, unable to go on.

Comte’s fingers brush against yours and you turn your head, startled to find that your faces are so very close. Outside the rain gently rolls down the massive glass window. The streetlamp flickers. Comte’s gaze is a steady golden sun.

“He adores her,” he murmurs, his voice rolling through you. You feel his fingers move, covering yours on the page. 

“She marvels at him,” you answer quietly, your fingers curling around his in response.

He leans down ever so slightly, his mouth so close you can feel the warmth of his words on your lips. “He dreams of her……” 

“.....and he is what makes her waking sublime…” The words are hardly more than the breaths between heartbeats.

His mouth brushes faintly against yours, the softest touch, a silken feather, a velvet caress.

“....He wants nothing more…..” His hand tightens around yours, his chest rising and falling with the contained power of his emotion. “...than to kiss her….”

“He should,” you say, soft as a nightingale welcoming a summer evening. "He should kiss her."

And he does, pressing his lips against yours as the wave that has been looming ever closer pours down upon you both. One hand rises, gripping the nape of your neck with tender ardor. You plunge your free hand into the soft wilderness of his tawny hair, opening your mouth to taste him.

Your other hand? It is still tightly holding onto his, a promise you won’t let go.

An echo of Cupid and his beloved Psyche.

Pysche Revived by Cupid's Kiss- Antonio Canova, 1793

Tagging: @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @olivermorningstar @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @ikesimpleton @ikemenlibrary @namine-somebodies-nobody @cellophanediamond @whatever-fanfics @justpeachyteastea @chirp-a-chirp @got7igot7family @kookie-my-little-sunshine @mastering-procrastinating @portrait-ninja @fang-and-feather @bubblexly @kiki-tties

[simphornies]

Hello, I would like to make a request about Husk x male reader, where the Male reader is a sinner who managed to become an Overlord by creating a company selling weapons. The Male reader arrives at the hotel at Alastor's request and, during this visit, he meets the hotel's residents, becoming enchanted by Husk. Once he finishes the visit, he decides to come to the hotel from time to time to relax after a stressful day, bonding with everyone, especially Husk.

Una noche, están tomando una copa en el bar y los sentimientos afloran, desencadenando una noche de pasión (+18). Por la mañana, ambos se alegran de la presencia del otro. Saltaremos en el tiempo al capítulo donde Husk se enfrenta a Alastor y este lo amenaza.

El lector Masculino ve esto y decide comprar el alma de Husk para poder ser libre, pero decide quedarse trabajando en el hotel, ya que le agrada la gente de aquí. Decides quedarte a vivir en el Hotel ayudando.

Husk: Bottom/Uke

Male reader: Top/Seme

A/N: I don't understand/speak spanish so I hope the translation got it right! Apologies if I got some things wrong 🥲 I also could not write Husk as a bottom...I'm sorry it just didn't go that way for me. He gives off such top energy-- If you need me to make a second part where the reader tops, I'd be glad to!

Word count: 2.5k (2,538)

Hell's Blessing [ Husk x M!Overlord!Reader ] NSFW!

MINORS DNI

You walk into your office, absolutely exhausted from your day dealing with the sinners under your control. You knew what the costs of becoming an overlord was but at the end it was all worth it. Power and safety. You decided to get ready to head out and visit the Hazbin Hotel, per Alastor’s request. You put on the best suit and tie you owned, making sure your hair was slicked back, not a hair out of place.

Upon arriving, Alasto greets you at the door with his signature smile. “Y/N! Glad you could make it here. Quite a pleasure. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.” You walk in and he gestures to the lobby, “Come meet our lovely staff. This is Charlie Morningstar, founder of the hotel, princess of hell and heir to the throne.”

Charlie runs over to you, eagerly shaking your hand, “Hi! Welcome! Nice to finally meet you!” She smiles, “This is my girlfriend, Vaggie!” She gestures to the one eyed angel next to her who waves in response.

Another resident walks up to you, leaning an arm on your shoulder with a seductive grin. “Hey there. I’m Angel Dust.” He winks, “You look like a fun night~” He purred into your ear. You quickly stepped away and dusted off your shoulder before you walked over to the bar to meet the others.

“Hello! I am Sir Pentious! Builder extraordinaire!” He saluted you, “It’s an honor to meet you! I adore your weapons.” A smaller figure runs from behind him, climbing up your suit to smile closely to your face, giggling maniacally.

“I’m Nifty! I clean.” She laughs as she stares into your eyes. You laugh awkwardly and put her down on the ground to which she immediately scurries away. You glance at the bar and as soon as you lay eyes on the bartender, you feel your heart pound faster.

“I’m Husk. Bartender. Want a drink?” He hands you a glass filled with whiskey which you take as you sit down.

“Pleasure to meet you all. Please, please, continue on with regular matters. I’m just here to visit and check the place out.” You say. Alastor phases next to you, grinning with what you assume to be delight.

“So! How do you like the place? Charming isn’t it?” He asks you, eagerly awaiting your response. You take a sip of your drink and nod.

“Charming indeed. A good endeavor, I’m sure.” You glance up and observe Husk cleaning a glass before turning your attention back to Alastor, “I believe this is a good establishment for me to invest protection weapons in if need be.”

“Wonderful! I’ll leave you here to settle in! Drink, Y/N!” He gets up and phases away into his shadow.

Husk rolled his eyes, “How do you know the boss?” He asks, leaning against the bartop.

“We’ve done business before,” You nervously fiddle with your glass, “He’s yet to do me wrong so I decided to entertain his invite. The atmosphere here is definitely better than the atmosphere in my side of the city.” You gaze into his eyes, seemingly entranced.

He scoffed, “Yeah? Well that makes one of us. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.” He grumbles. You didn’t pry on his statement, not wanting to push too far considering you just met. Instead you just continued to make small talk, drinking the night away.

After your first visit, you frequented the hotel and always hung around Husk at the bar. You spent time with everyone equally but something about Husk just triggered something in you. You formed a deep bond with him, often ranting about the customers you’ve had to deal with everyday. He always made you your drinks the way you like it, listening to you intently. He went from being closed off to looking forward to your next visit.

After an extra stressful day, you stumbled into the hotel, eager for a drink. Husk had already prepared you your usual before you even sat down. “Rough day, huh?” He chuckled, “You’re late today. I thought you weren’t even coming. Everyone else either went to bed early or fucked off somewhere.”

You groaned, “The customers today were extra annoying,” You hissed, downing your glass immediately. “I need a couple of bottles tonight.” You rubbed your temples and sighed, “I want to just lay down and drink the night away. I don’t want to think about those little shits.”

“Well lucky for you, your closest friend here is a bartender.” He slid a bottle to you, “Didn’t think tonight was a drink-to-forget kind of night. Tell me all about it.”

You ranted about your day from the Karens of Hell to the weirdest orders to the most impatient of customers that insisted they get their order as soon as they paid you. Husk sat down next to you, listening intently. What you didn’t notice during your rants was how he looked at you with admiration.

As the night progressed you both had drank too much a bit too much and shared absolutely anything and everything. “You know…” You begin, “...I’m glad I accepted Alastor’s offer to visit. I’m glad to have met everyone here but especially you.” You confessed, playing with your drink swirling it around in your cup.

“Yeah. I’m glad I met you too.” He chuckled, “I think I’ve gotten used to you, Y/N. I like being around you.” You blushed at his statement, thankful that it wasn’t obvious thanks to the alcohol.

“I like you too.” You spoke a little too fast. You forgot to add in a couple of words but before you could correct yourself Husk spoke up.

“What?” He blinked at you, taken aback at your words.

You feel your face warm up a bit more, “What! I meant…I meant I like being around you too! Haha…” You laugh awkwardly. It was quiet for a moment and you felt your heart begin to sink, scared that he didn’t return your feelings.

Husk grabs your hand and pulls you close to him, kissing you with passion. You held onto him as he lifted you up onto his lap. The two of you only pulled away for air and as you were gasping, he lifted up your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“I thought you’d never say that.” He smiled, kissing you again as soon as you caught your breath. The two of you ended up in his room, kissing with such hunger. Soon enough, both of your clothes were on the floor and the door was locked. He got on top of you and kissed your neck, making his way down to your chest to leave a trail of hickies. You humped up against him, begging for friction to which he chuckles.

He reaches down and strokes your cock, slowly to tease you. You whined at the speed, jerking your hips for more attention. He held your hips down and unwrapped his hands from you. “Somebody’s eager.” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine. You look down and see his own hardon, twitching and leaking with pre-cum.

You get up to give him attention, hungrily taking him into your mouth and earning a deep moan in response. He placed a hand over your head, petting you for your good work. You bobbed your head up and down while your hands reached down to give yourself pleasure.

He pulled you off, a pop sounding from your mouth. You were a drooling mess, looking at him with lust filled eyes. You lay down with your ass up, eager to take him in. “H-Husk please…” You begged. He enters you with no hesitation, your spit lubing him up enough to make the entry effortless. You shivered with delight and moaned as he thrusted into you at a steady pace. His hand went up and down on your dick causing you to moan louder in pleasure.

You felt him twitch inside of you, his rhythm fading away into fast paced thrusts. He moans in your ear and you swear that the sound of him almost sent you into climax. He grabbed your hips tighter, “Fu-Fuck…Y/N…” He moaned, “I’m going to-”

You were drooling in pleasure underneath him, feeling your own climax inching closer and closer. It wasn’t long until the knot in your stomach snapped and you released all over the sheets underneath you. Husk felt your walls tighten around him, sending him to the edge. You feel him fill you up to the brim. He leaned over your body, purring in pleasure. After a while, he slowly pulls out of you, the cum dripping out. He chuckled at the sight of you, a powerful overlord, being a drooling mess on his sheets. He grabbed a wipe to clean you off before cuddling up to you. You sigh happily, nuzzling your head into his neck as you listen to his low purrs.

“You’re…amazing. You know that? In every sense.” You speak softly. You feel him hold you even closer. “I’ve been enchanted by you since I first laid eyes on you. I believe I’ve fallen head over heels for you, Husk.”

“I love you too, Y/N. You melt my cold little heart.”

The two of you drifted off to sleep in each others’ arms, happy and content.

The following day you woke up before him. Your mind was still foggy from waking up but memories from the night before came flooding in as soon as your eyes focused and you saw a sleeping Husk in front of you. Your face flushed a bright red and went even brighter upon realizing you’re both naked. In bed. Together. Husk woke up soon after you and gave you a smirk upon seeing your flustered self.

“H-Husk! Good morning!” You laughed nervously. You turn your head as to not face him but he gently guides your face back to look at him.

“Good morning, babe.” If you could short circuit like the other overlord, Vox, could you would most definitely be short circuiting right now.

“Sorry I-” Your voice cracked, “I’m just…”

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He smirked, pointing to himself. You couldn’t help but laugh at his pun.

“I’m just nervous. That’s all. I just…You know…Last night we.” You stutter out. Before you could continue, Husk kissed you, shutting you up. You closed your eyes and leaned into him happily.

He breaks away from you before getting up, “C’mon. Let’s go take a shower together.” He winked.

After you two dried off and got dressed, you headed off to the lobby so Husk can start his day. You wave everyone goodbye and give Husk a kiss before leaving. You run out, escaping the questioning they certainly gave him, not wanting to meet the same fate, laughing.

.

It’s been a couple months since you and Husk spent a night together. You two had officially been a public couple, even letting your relationship be known to your people. If you weren’t already frequenting the hotel back then, you were certainly turning into a regular now, even coming in during work hours whenever you make a delivery close by. Today was one of those days, you were a couple of minutes away and decided to stop by and say hi to everybody. To your surprise, the lobby was empty of people. Charlie and Vaggie were out, Angel Dust was at work, Sir Pentious was nowhere to be seen and Nifty was most likely chasing bugs on a different floor.

“Hello?” You call out to no response. You head towards the bar to only find that empty as well. You wandered the halls until your ears caught two voices from around the corner. Before you could run over there you hear Alastor yell. You stopped and peeked around the corner.

“How many times do I have to remind you to never mention such things to me?” He growled. On the floor in front of Alastor was Husk, shaking in fear with chains around his neck. You hold yourself back from gasping. “Do not forget. You’re on my leash. And you’re getting quite pesky to deal with…” Alastor wraps the chains around his hand, pulling Husk closer and closer to his demon form.

Before anything could happen you jump out of the corner, “Alastor!” You yelled, your own demon form coming out. His neck snaps 180 degrees to look at you, his body unmoving. “What are you doing?”

His eyes squint towards you, his smile getting wider. “My! Who do we have here?” He speaks, voice laced with his radio filter. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here today, Y/N?” 

“Let’s make a deal, Alastor.” You state, “I want his soul. I will pay you for his soul. Fund this hotel, make it better and promise you my company’s undying loyalty and protection. In return, I want his soul.” Your voice distorted at the last word, staring him down with confidence and pride.

Alastor glances down at Husk, still terrified out of his mind before looking back to you. He phases out of his demon form, turning back to normal and you do the same. “Hmm…” He considered, “Well he is getting a bit difficult to deal with. And I would hate to find a different bartender if I were to get rid of him so…fine.” He extends his hand out to you, glowing green. You shake it and the green chains around Husk’s neck disappear from Alastor’s hand. The chains turn a yellowish white as it gets passed to you. The opacity turned more translucent.

You dismissed it and grinned at Alastor. “Pleased to be doing business with you, old friend.”

“Quite a pleasure indeed! Now! I have a radio show to broadcast. Enjoy~” He hummed before disappearing into the shadows.

You run over to Husk shaking on the floor, “Husk…I am so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’ll give you back your soul, I just…I didn’t know.” He gave you a quiet hug, a hug that lasted a while.

He pried himself off of you and gave you the most heartfelt smile you’ve ever seen him give, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.” He gave you a kiss filled with passion. You felt him melt against you with his wings wrapping around you both. “Keep my soul, Y/N. But…I can’t leave the hotel. I’ve gotten used to life around here and I don’t think I can move in with you…I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, “Nonsense! I would never ask for such a thing. I’ll give you back your soul-”

“No. Keep it.” You blinked at him, confused and shocked, “Take it as my dedication to you, Y/N. I love you.”

Your shock expression melted into a heartfelt one. “Thank you…Husk. Don’t worry about moving anywhere…” You hugged him, head resting on his chest, “I’ll move here. I can run my business away from my building. I want to be with you and the people here at the hotel. I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

He held you, purring as he did so. “Thank you, Y/N. You’re a blessing in this Hell."

[snowdrop-ivy]

Chasing the Clouds: A Journey Back to The Beef | 3

Summary: After the meet, you reminisced.

WC: 2141

T/W: Cursing, unresolved mental issues, trauma, suic!de, angst, and smut.

You stared at your ring while sitting on the coffee table. You wiped the tears that have been streaming down since you left your dad’s place. It’s been streaming non-stop. You hitched a breath and bawled your eyes out till you heard your phone ring. It was Phillip, your fiance, calling.

You took a deep breath before answering. “Hey, honey.”

“Hey, babe,” He sounded happy. You covered your lips so he won’t hear you crying. “Just wanna check up on you. How was the party?”

You bit your lip. “It was fun. Jer had a blast.”

“That’s good to hear. Sorry I had to miss it.”

“That’s okay,” You replied. “There’s always a next one.”

“Yeah,” He sighed. “Well, just called to check on you but I gotta head out now. I just stepped out to call. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe.”

You felt the tears fall down as the call dropped. You went to your bedside and opened it. There you saw the ring Carm gave you. It’s a silver halo ring with your birthstone in the middle. You smiled when you remembered when you got engaged and when you told your families. How happy you both were back then.

“So, you guys, wanna hear the story?” Mikey asked as he’s washing his hands on the sink. You’re at their family house cooking up lunch for the Sunday barbeque.

“Yeah, Mikes, go ahead,” Carm answered. You sat beside Richie on the counter with your hands inside Carm’s jacket so you can hide the ring.

“All right, here we go,” Richie started while munching on chips.

You and Nat both rolled your eyes together before laughing. Nat’s leaning on the counter beside you, topping up the pizza. Richie was already laughing even though the story’s not starting yet.

“All right,” Mikey added. “So we’re at Ceres, right, which was the bar at the bottom of the Board of Trade Building. It was just this little bar in the lobby, right? The place opened at 6:30 in the morning, so that when traders lost their ass when the market opened they could just walk over and just get hammered in this little fucking bar.”

Carm wiped his hands as he turned to listen to his brother’s story. He looked at you before kissing you then leaned on you. You wrapped your arm around his arms and leaned on his head.

“Anyway, the name “Ceres” was named after the Goddess of Agriculture, sorry, and…” Mikey belched.

Nat went up to him. “You and your fucking Ceres…”

“Someone’s jealous you weren’t invited?” Mickey mocked her.

You laughed then gave Carm a kiss on the temples. He stood between your legs and held your free arm to wrap around his waist. You propped your chin on his neck, giving him a light peck which tickled him.

“I would not have gone. Thank you,” Nat striked back and grinned.

“You would have gone,” Mikey emphasized. “Carmy, grate some parmesan.”

Carm kissed your hand before slipping out. “I got ya,” He tapped Mike on his shoulder.

You smiled at them bickering, seizing the moment you have together. After this, you’ll go back to San Francisco for Nursing School. Who knows when you’ll see each other again.

“You’re jealous,” Mikey snickered to his sister. “Anyway, on top of the building, there was a statue of Ceres and her back, for all of you historians, was facing towards the east. And that’s because all the trading had just moved to the Midwest.”

“Oh, really?” You mockingly asked. Mikey eyed you up which made you laugh. “Sorry, go ahead.”

“So, the architect John Storrs, legend has it that he built this statue as like a big ‘fuck you’,” Mikey continues while sprinkling some parmesan.

“Christ,” Richie laughed. “Wake me up when the story starts and the fucking class is dismissed.”

All of you laughed at him. Mikey gave him a finger. He gave one back before drinking his scotch.

“Tell the story!” Nat urged him as she stirred the marinara sauce.

“I’m trying to tell the fucking story,” Mikey said as she tasted the sauce which earned a grunt of Sug.

“Anyway, so, the point is, we’re out all night, we’re drunk as shit, we’re fucking high as shit,” Mikey went on and faced everyone. “We figure the only place that’s still open of course is…”

“Ceres,” You both answered. He gave you a salute and you winked at him. Richie jumped down to taste the pizza Nat made while Carm garnished the beef.

“And being 6:45 in the morning, we are right to assume that the place is gonna be a fucking ghost town,” Mikey implied. “Fuck off,” he grabbed the raisins Nat was waving at him.

“Get outta here with those raisins,” Richie said with his mouth full.

“Mum always added raisins,” She stated.

“We are not doing raisins,” Mikey screeched while waving his hands.

Nat sighed in disbelief before looking at you. You gave her a smile and a shrug.

“Anyway, cousin, was it a ghost town?” Rich asked.

“Oh, we’re not done yet?” You blurted out.

“Baby doll,” Miked called you. “Shush your mouth.”

Your eyes widened and sized him up. Mikey gave you a smile before joining Richie laughing.

“Hey,” Carm called his brother. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. Mikey apologized before resuming his story. “No, it was not a ghost town. Not only was it not a ghost town, it was a fucking rager.”

Carm finished and went back to his previous place. He smiled at you before giving you a squeeze on the thigh. “It was fucking packed,” Mikey bragged, his veins popping out of his neck. “It was just like…” He made an explosion sound. “Right? All fucking Blackhwak fans, and cousin, who’s there?”

“Savvy,” Richie yelled out.

“Get outta here,” You and Carm laughed.

“Dennis motherfucking Savard,” Mickey roared then flexed his Savvy. They both yelled out mundane stuff about who they saw that made you all burst out laughing. Mickey went on to tell that they also saw Belfour and how Savvy was inducted to the Hockey Hall of Fame and they walked to his going off party and when Savvy saw the Ceres pamphlet, he changed his outgoing message as Goddess of Agriculture.

“That’s stupid,” You laughed with them.

“Fucking stupid,” Carm agreed.

“So dumb,” Nat added.

The air filled with laughter as you watched Carm roll the beef and stick it with toothpicks. Mikey continued to tell stories on who they saw, which this time was Bill Murray. You smiled at the view you had. How everything was so light, calm, and you were all truly happy. Nat continued to force smiles and mocked his stories that you sometimes joined. You got down and had a beer with your ringless arm then joined Carmy on rolling the beef.

“Is the story done now?” Carm asked, wiping his hands before turning to everyone. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you tighter. “We have a story to tell as well.”

“Okay,” Mikey crossed his arms. “Shoot, bear.”

You all looked at their eager eyes waiting for your story. Nat crossed his legs and leaned on the counter. You watched as their faces were filled with confusion. Rich held his beer intently. Mikey lightly shrugged with his arms crossed. You slowly showed your left hand with a bright smile along with Carmy who’s hugging you tightly.

“We’re getting married!” You screamed, jumping with joy.

The screams echoed through the wall with congratulatory marks. Rich choked on his beer which splattered a little on Mikey. Nat’s eyes welled with tears as she hugged you both. Mikey had an awe on his face, it took him a moment to say something.

“Aww, guys, this is so awesome,” Nat stuck out her bottom lip as she examined your ring before giving you a hug once again. “This is so exciting!” She exclaimed.

“Mike, you okay, bro?” Carmy called out his brother who had tears in his eyes. Mike slowly approached Carm and pulled him to a tight hug and shut his eyes off. “Woah, okay, buddy.”

Rich turned to you and hugged you as well. “Oh, please, don’t get divorced.”

You jokingly slapped his shoulder and rolled your eyes. Nat hugged you from the back as you watched the brothers hug. You smiled at Mikey when he opened his eyes. You saw the happiness lingering on his eyes and how he’s trying not to let out his tears.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am for you,” Mike said as he pulled out of the hug. He cupped his little brother’s face. “Don’t mess this up.”

You laughed at what he said. Carm shook his head before nodding. “No messing this up,” He acknowledged his brother.

Mike then turned to you and gave you the warmest hugs. You felt him kiss the side of your head as you heard him sniff. “I’m so… so happy for you.”

A smile slowly formed on your face and the tears started to well up on how happy you felt to hear that. “Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered and kissed him on the cheek.

You all went to the Sunday barbecue where you drank champagne, danced til midnight, and had endless laughter from the many stories Mike and Richie had. You went home to your shared apartment and sat on the coffee table that your dad gave as a gift for Christmas. You gave Carm a glass of water while you had a cup of warm milk to help you sleep. Both of you sat in a calm and safe space of silence. Your feet were on Carm’s legs as he massaged your toes from the heels you wore. The only noise coming from you were the sips you both took and the breeze coming from the window.

“When should we get married?” Carm suddenly asked, still looking and massaging your toes.

You let out a chuckle. “When would you want?” You emphasized.

“Up to you, babe,” He answered, giving you a smile.

You shrugged. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not?” He raised a brow.

“You letting me decide,” You raised a brow back. From the beginning, Carm always lets you get what you want as long as it makes you happy. From the movies you want to the majority of the furniture in your apartment. “Oh! I know a fun way how to decide! We should play a game!”

“Are we basing our wedding decisions on a game?” Confusement gazing on his face.

You stuck out your bottom lip. “Maybe.”

Carmy took a sip of water while staring at you. “Shoot.”

“Okay, you go first.” You sat straight. “Clear your mind. Take a deep breath. We get to ask five questions about the wedding and we answer as fast as we can. No thinking.”

Carm closed his eyes and took a deep breath. You asked if he’s ready and he nodded. You grinned at his seriousness. He’s really taking this seriously since he wants the wedding to be perfect. Just like how perfect you are. He wants to give you the wedding you want and deserve.

“Flowers?” You quickly ask.

“Pink petunias.”

“Cater?”

“Mikey.”

“Color motif?”

“Dusty blue and sage green.”

“Food?”

“Italian and Japanese.”

“Date?”

“November 11”

“Carmy!” You called him out. You raised a brow at him while he had this sneaky grin on his face. “That’s all of my favorite things!”

He let out a chuckle. “I know. It’s your wedding day. I want you to have all the things you want.”

“It’s your wedding too,” You stated, eyeing him.

“I know,” He replied, placing his chin on his palm with his elbows propped on the table. “I just wanna be married to you.”

You pursed your lip trying not to smile. Carmen Berzatto is your death. You can’t help but to squeal and jump on his lap. You grazed his head to his chin while looking at his intense, warm blue eyes. Your hands settled on his chin, drawing circles on it. You saw him lean, so carefully slow. You weren’t sure if you two were breathing or now and you know you can hear your hearts breathing. You felt a shiver as we inserted his hands on your jumper and spelt his name on your waist. You can’t feel whether it's cold or not because at the moment, all you can feel is him, everywhere, filling everything with him.

“I love you so fucking much,” He whispered.

Then he kissed you, gently and passionately.

His lips were the softest thing you’ve ever known, soft like a new bought pillow, like biting into a cotton candy, like floating and being weightless in water. It’s sweet, just like how he is.

Taglist:

@eternal-rue @boo8008 @wabi-sabi1090 @isaxbella749 @ren-ni @xeneth99

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part fifteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

this is happening.

a/n: ….I got nothing folks, my askbox is open if you wanna yell about it 😇 this is wildly unedited but it’s late so HERE U GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

word count: 6.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, canon typical violence/injuries/it’s all for the PLOT OKAY

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Since the moment he set foot in Boston, Joel’s been loathe to leave you.

Even when he first arrived, when his head was buried so far up his ass, when he was keeping himself awake at night convincing himself that he didn’t love you anymore, that you couldn’t love him anymore, he still worried. He paced the floor of your apartment until Tess all but forced him to get some sleep.

Those two days you were in lockup, he thought he’d go mad, with the worry. And then when you did come home, dripping blood on the floor and collapsing into Tess’s arms. He had to remove himself from the room, because he knew if he didn’t, he would have fallen at your feet, have held you close and refused to let go.

Now, things are different. He’s yours and you’re his and everything is as right as it can be to Joel, but he worries more. Every run you go on, he wants to go with you. When he doesn’t, all he does is worry. He knows full well you can handle yourself, has seen you in action often enough to know he doesn’t have to put himself between you and the line of fire. But it doesn’t matter how many times he sees you with a gun in your hand, sees you swinging the bat he gave you so many years ago, watches the gears turning in your head when things don’t go exactly as planned.

You’re a badass, and he knows it, but he loves you and he has to protect you. That’s his job. And without Sarah to—

No.

He tries to cut off the train of thought, tries to blink away the memories that threaten to form behind his eyes. Time won’t erase them, and lately, they weave with his dreams, turn them to nightmares. He sees the faces of the people he’s killed, smells the gunpowder in the air. He loses his daughter, over and over again. He loses Tommy, loses Tess.

He loses you. Over and over. Hears your screams, feels the heat of your blood on his hands. He can’t—

“Joel?”

Your voice yanks him out of his head, deposits him back on the broken road he’s standing on. You’re a few feet ahead of him, your brow raised, the bat propped on your shoulder. There’s a smear of dust on your cheek, no doubt from the path you’d taken out of the QZ, squeezing through rubble until you popped out the other side — your least favourite way out, Joel knows. There’s a handgun strapped to your thigh, a knife hanging from your belt. His shirt hangs from your torso, the top buttons undone, the bruise he’d left on your collar the night before visible from where he’s standing, knowing he put it there. Your hair is half-tucked behind your ear, but a strand flutters across your cheek in the breeze.

You’re…beautiful. There’s no other word for it.

“Take a picture, Miller,” you say with a laugh, walking back the few feet separating you. You hook your fingers in the collar of his shirt, pull him forward and lean up on your toes to kiss him at the same time. His hand finds your waist automatically, fingers seeking bare skin, and you’re grinning when you lean back. “It’ll last longer.”

Joel grunts at you, unable to hide his smirk as your fingers twine with his, pulling him forward, boots shuffling across the gravel. “How much time we got?” he asks, falling into step beside you.

You glance at your — functional — watch. “An hour,” you reply, shaking out your wrist, tapping the bat against your boot. “Time to kill.”

“Gonna have to go through the museum,” he tells you, and you nod. You’d scoped things out at the hotel, like always, concern on both your faces when you saw the water that had begun to pool in the sunken lobby. An easily bypassed obstacle, but the decaying city was showing more and more wear, the Infected getting closer to the QZ. 

“Fine by me, there’s a place I wanna check out between here and there anyway.”

“A place, huh?”

You shrug, your face noncommittal. “Yup.”

The place turns out to be a jewelry store, tucked between what was once a coffee shop and a dentist’s office. The entire strip has definitely seen better days, and Joel’s instantly wary, reaching for the gun at his waist while you bee-line for the front door, barely hanging onto it’s hinges. 

You pay him no mind, using the bat to clear the jagged edges of the broken window, making a clear path into the store. You disappear through the opening and Joel follows, calling after you. “Liv, wait a sec.” 

Joel’s sure the place has been well looted, probably nothing of any value left — not that it matters anymore, what good is a diamond ring when you could have a stack of ration cards instead? He can’t even remember the last time he saw a dollar bill out in the open. He still has his wallet, tucked away in one of your drawers in the apartment, still with a twenty in it, his driver’s license, a credit card that expired in 2004. None of it means anything anymore.

“It’s clear, Joel.”

Inside, just as Joel suspected, the place is a disaster. Shards of glass crunch underfoot with every step you both take, display cases turned on their sides, velvet cushions and those creepy hands used to showcase rings scattered across the ground. There’s no light inside, save for the bit of sunlight that creeps through the broken windows, and Joel watches his step, gun still in hand.

You’ve headed straight for the back corner of the store, and it takes Joel a minute to figure out why.

You and Tess have a bet going, of sorts. Every time you go on a run, you try to find the other person something outrageous, always trying to top the last item with something more ridiculous than the last. It started when you brought back this gigantic jar of marbles, then Tess came back with a whoopee cushion. On and on it’s gone, with Tess currently winning, returning from her last run with Tommy with a mostly complete deck of Uno cards.

“Shit,” you grumble, poking through the pile of glass at your feet, pulling the sleeve of your shirt over your palm so you can lift the display case. “It’s all broken. I wanted one of those little glass animal things. Like a turtle or a deer or something?”

“Baby, they bombed the city,” Joel retorts, putting his hand on his hip. “You really think the little glass animals survived?”

You blow out a breath, pouting, and Joel stifles his chuckle. But then your eyes go wide, and you crouch down, bat dragging through the glass as you move, reaching for something in the mess. “A-ha!”

It’s not a turtle. Or a deer. In fact, Joel has no fucking clue what it is, at first glance, until you place it in his palm for further inspection. It’s a fox, no bigger than his index finger, curled up in his hand. And it’s made of crystal, a slight crack up the middle of the tail, but otherwise intact.

“What d’you think?” you ask, laughing as you take it back from him, pulling your bag off your shoulders so you can stow the thing. “Do I win?”

“For now,” Joel says, smirking at the beaming look on your face. “I’m sure Tess’ll show up with a damn giraffe next time.”

You glare at him, zipping your bag shut. “Appreciate the vote of confidence, Miller.”

He offers you his hand, pulls you to your feet, leaning in to give you a quick kiss once you’re upright. “Anytime, baby. You good?”

“Yeah,” you nod, slinging your bag back on and heading back towards the front of the store. “Y’know, I think I might have her beat for a while now.”

Joel only half hears you.

Something’s caught his eye, on the ground. Tucked partially beneath one of the overturned displays, it glints at him, catching the dim light in just the right way. Joel crouches, uses the end of his gun to move the shards of glass away before he reaches for it. Not silver, not gold, but a rosy colour, something he’s not sure he’s seen before. It’s pretty, a flat band, no gems, but flowers engraved into the metal, all the way around. It’s light, in the palm of his hand, has a few scratches but nothing serious.

Instantly, his mind wonders what it might look like on your finger. The thought nearly bowls him over, and he almost stumbles back a step, reaching up and dropping the ring into the pocket of his shirt.

He could ask…couldn’t he? He wants to ask. The feeling bubbles up, crawling up the back of his throat. It’s not the same as it was before, not that anything is. There’s no fanfare or big white dresses — though knowing you and Tess, he’s sure you could find something — or drinking until you forget how sore your feet are from dancing. It’s just a piece of paper, signatures tying your lives together, indefinitely to FEDRA’s eyes. Another note in your file, the first person to be notified should you show up dead somewhere, lucky enough to be recognizable.

But…he wants it.

Fuck, he wants it. With you. For you. You.

“Joel?” you call, your voice laced with concern, and he calls back, jogging towards the front of the store, watching his step as he goes.

“Comin’, baby.”

+

You meet Gwen in the usual spot. She’s been your go-to for some time now. Her drops are always good, always on time, and you’re always happy to give each other something extra. The first chicken you traded for didn’t last long, and you’d tried to extend the life of the second, but the clucking pissed off the neighbours, and Tess makes a mean chicken casserole.

This time is no different, at the start. There are faces amongst her crew you don’t recognize, a couple younger guys that are clearly just getting their feet wet. The trade is for first aid supplies from Gwen, produce seeds and a few boxes of ammo from you. The pharmacy in Boston has been running low on things for weeks now, with no promise of anything coming anytime soon. Deanna’s been worried as hell, grumbling at you any chance she gets, and you know this’ll help some.

“Who’re the newbies?” you ask, jutting your chin towards the two guys, your bag filled with Gwen’s supplies, zipping it shut once more. They’re young, maybe mid-twenties, and it makes you uneasy to see unsure hands on such a large gun.

“My brother, Trevor,” Gwen offers, and you lift a brow. “And the other, Noah, just arrived in Hartford a few weeks back.”

Joel glances at the men before turning to Gwen. “Not wastin’ any time, huh?”

Gwen’s face goes dark as she look between you and Joel, and it makes your stomach turn. “Hartford’s not what it used to be. I don’t…I don’t know how long it’ll be until we can make another trade, Liv. Things are changing.”

“Meaning?” you ask. From the corner of your eye, you can see Joel’s jaw go tight.

“FEDRA’s making it harder and harder for us to live in peace. Let’s just leave it at that.”

Her tone tells you you’re not getting any more information besides that, so you just nod, thanking her for the supplies. She offers a hand to shake, and you take it, nodding to her. “Stay safe, Gwen.”

“You too, Liv.”

“SHIT!”

Everyone whirls at the same time, watching as Noah goes toppling backwards. You’d met up at one of the intersections near the remaining chain link, same as always. A crater left by the bombs takes up the right half of the road, and Noah falls straight into it with a loud yelp. As he goes, his gun goes off, spraying the wall of the crater with bullets, and your heart sinks into your toes when you see where they land.

The crater is filled with cordyceps.

It’s taken a while, for FEDRA to figure out just how the fungus operates. They still don’t totally know, that much is for sure, but it’s not just in people. It’s underground, everywhere, branching out for miles in every direction, sprouting up through the earth in strange patches that you would almost think beautiful if you didn’t know firsthand the devastation they’ve brought. Disturb a patch in one place, and all you could do was pray that the Infected you’d awoken were too far away to get to you before you could get away from them.

The crater is lined with it, the cracked asphalt painted like a canvas, tufts of grass poking between, signs of nature taking back the earth. The sound of the bullets rings through your skull, the noise almost muffled as it breaks through the fungus.

Not a second later, you hear the screams.

There’s seven of you, total. You and Joel, Gwen, four of her men. Well, three, since Noah is now at the bottom of that crater, and hasn’t reappeared. You’re not optimistic.

Joel grabs your arm, pushes you behind him, towards the drugstore on the corner of the road. “Inside!” he barks, and you obey, purposeful strides carrying you towards the storefront, pulling your gun from the holster at your thigh as you go. Gwen waves her guys towards the building as well, and as soon as you’re through, Joel presses you into the wall, keeping himself between you and the outside.

Your heart is beating so hard you can hear it, your jaw solid and your grip on the bat so tight your knuckles are screaming in protest. Joel’s chest is heaving, his face a hard mask. You reach out, wrap your hand around his arm, squeeze lightly.

I’m here.

The screams echo through the city. It’s nothing new, to encounter Infected on a run. You’ve killed dozens of them at this point, bat, gun, knife. Whatever works. It’s become second nature, an unfortunate old habit. But the sound of them, no matter how many times you hear it, you still feel your spine bristle, like a cat that’s been cornered, making you want to hiss and spit.

Joel covers your hand with his, the other brandishing his gun. Slowly, he moves you back further, your back against the wall, inching away from the storefront. Maybe you could slip out the back, take the long way around back to the QZ, lose the Infected that way. 

You open your mouth to suggest it to Joel just as the swarm of Infected sprints past the front of the drugstore. It’s unnerving, how fast they are, the way their bodies move in that almost-inhuman-almost-human way. Nerves rise in the back of your throat as your boots slide backwards on the tile, Joel still leading you backward.

It all happens in one instant.

There’s a door, towards the back of the drugstore. An office, break room, you don’t know, but it swings open, and something lunges at you, knocking you to the ground with insane force that pushes all the breath from your lungs, your head smacking against the ground, bat flying from your grip, ringing when it lands beside you. You slide into a long-empty shelf, metal cutting into your shoulder.

You hear Joel shout your name.

You feel something rip into your side, tearing flesh. You scream.

You smell blood.

You see flash of Joel’s gun, the barrel bright silver. Has it always been that bright?

The gunshot rings loudly through the drugstore, and all the heads that had turned to you — Joel, Gwen, her men — all turn back towards the outside. Most of the horde had gone straight to the crater, bodies tumbling into it, but some, maybe ten of them, all turn their heads towards the drugstore.

Joel stares at you, his eyes wide as dinner plates. You shove at the now-dead Infected, ignoring the drips of blood down your shoulder and side as you scramble to your feet, pulling your handgun from it’s holster. Your arms are shaking as you lift it, cover one hand with the other to steady your shots. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening.

As the Infected start to draw into the drugstore, you all start shooting. The sound is piercing, echoing through your head, every nerve in your body pricking with pain with each shot that’s fired. Bodies drop, screams bounce off the walls, but you’re focused, picking them off one by one, ignoring the way your stomach turns with each one, the way you know what just happened, but you don’t — you can’t address it. Not yet.

This is happening.

Your clip runs out, and you drop to a knee, grabbing another from the holster, letting the empty clatter to the tile as you reload. For just a minute, Joel looks at you over his shoulder, his gun still raised, something you have no name for in his eyes.

This is happening.

Your blood is thrumming in your veins, birdsong you haven’t heard in a long time, making your ears ring, making your heart race. You keep pulling the trigger, half a mind to grab your bat off the ground and charge headfirst into the swam.

What difference would it make, anyway?

Gwen and her men move forward, brandishing knives to pick off the stragglers that climb through the broken windows. Joel lowers his gun, you shove yours back into its holster. He’s on you an instant later, turning you towards him, pulling at the fabric of your shirt. “Let me see.”

“Joel—” you start, pushing at his hands.

This is happening.

“Let me see,” he growls, and you relent, feeling your lip start to quiver as you let your arms drop, turning your head as he lifts the hem of your shirt. You hear his sharp intake of breath, see the crease between his brows deepen, and you know it’s exactly what you think. You felt it, different from the scratch Dean had given you on Outbreak Day. This was much different. Teeth, tearing, blood, saliva.

Infection.

Joel turns away, his face now pure anger. He kicks at the wall so hard his boot goes through, and you lift your shirt again, peering down at the wound. It’s a bite, no question. Teeth marks at the edge, blood seeping down your skin, turning the waist of your jeans dark.

This is happening.

Slowly, Gwen walks towards you. Joel cuts her off before she can get close, watching you inspecting your wound. “Oh god, Liv,” you hear her say, and behind her, someone cocks a gun. It makes you gasp, the sound choked, and Joel lifts his own gun.

“Get out of here,” he barks, his voice a terrifyingly deep register you’ve never heard before. “Now. I’ll deal with it. Go.”

Gwen just nods, gives you a sympathetic look before she’s herding her guys out, all of them picking their way around the bodies littering the floor. You let your shirt fall back down, the blood making the fabric cling to your skin. Your shoulder aches, blood soaking your shirt there too, but you’re too busy starting to lose your shit to really notice.

This is happening.

“Liv,” Joel says, his voice softer now, cracking around your name. Your chest aches. You just got him back. You can’t leave him, you can’t go, you can’t turn into— “Liv.”

You sink into a crouch. You bury your face in your hands, feeling the tears pour down your face. It’s done. It’s over. There’s no getting out of this. I’ll deal with it, Joel said. Meaning he’ll deal with you, meaning he’ll put you down. Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the kinder way to go? What’s the better way to let the love of your life kill you?

Which one will haunt him less, when you’re gone?

It’s not fair.

But it’s happening all the same.

Joel sinks down with you, slides his bag from his shoulders. You peek between your fingers just enough to see him pulling out bandages, a bottle of water, an alcohol wipe.

“Don’t waste it on me,” you mumble, pushing at his hands when he reaches for you. There’s blood on your hands, streaked up your forearms. “Don’t, Joel.”

“Stop it,” he says, shaking his head. His hair’s gotten longer, you notice, watching the dark curls ruffle along his scalp. “I’m gonna fix it.”

“You can’t!”

You scramble back, out of his reach, until your back hits another shelf. The metal rattles, your skull along with it, and you pull your knees to your chest, wrap your arms around them. It makes your side sing with pain, but it just adds to the mix, to the riot in your head, the ache in your heart.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely above a whisper. Your voice is thick with tears, and they won’t stop. You know they can’t stop. You can’t stop.

“Liv—”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

The bottle of water slides from Joel’s hands, and your eyes track it as it rolls across the floor. You don’t want to spend the time you have like this, hiding from him, keeping your distance. It’s not fair. You just got him back, just got comfortable. Why did you let yourself get comfortable?

You want to die in his arms, to breathe your last breath with his eyes on your face, you want to—

“I saw Anna.”

The name makes you stop short, your head snapping up, eyes glued to him. Your heart skips, you’re sure of it, every drop of blood inside you freezing for one singular moment. He stares back at you, those dark eyes impossibly shiny, lined with silver tears that haven’t fallen yet. 

“Anna?” you repeat. Are you going already? Is the fungus already in you, creeping up your spine, taking over your brain? You’re supposed to have more time, you’re supposed to—

“Anna, Liv. Anna, your sister. Six months after the outbreak. I saw her, when Tommy and I were on the road. Some makeshift shelter FEDRA set up in Cincinnati. She recognized me, nearly bowled me over when she saw me and Tommy.”

Your mouth drops open. “My…sister.” My sister, my baby sister, Anna, my little sister. Your mind whirls, Cowan’s voice in your head, the radio room before the walls went up. There is no record of Anna. Your heart is shattering in your chest, you’re sure of it. “She’s alive?”

His head drops. “A few of the soldiers got infected, started turning, started biting.” Joel swallows hard, and your eyes flick down as his throat bobs. “She got caught in the chaos, fuckin’ soldier bit her ankle. I put him down. And she hid it, at first, asked me and Tommy to get her to some guy outside the city. I can’t remember the name, said it was her boyfriend or something, I can’t…it doesn’t matter.

“We were planning to leave the shelter, trying to gather supplies to get the hell out of dodge, when she got caught. Someone walked in on her changing the bandage on her ankle, saw the bite, screamed for help. I tried to stop them, but FEDRA doesn’t take chances.”

“So they killed her,” you say, the words blunt, laced with tears.

“They took her away. I never saw a body.”

You shake your head, let your eyes drop closed. “Then why tell me, Joel?”

He slides across the tile to you, pulls at your limbs until your legs are spread either side of him, your arms limp in your lap. Before you can even try to shrink away, he’s got your face in his hands, wiping at your tears, warm palms pressed to your cheeks.

“It was three days, Liv. Three days between her getting bit and FEDRA taking her away. She never showed any signs, never turned, never fuckin’ twitched. She was immune. What if…” He leans forward until his forehead touches yours. “What if there’s a chance? What if you are too?”

Your mind is racing. The pain in your side throbs with every beat of your heart. You don’t have words, you can’t bring your lips to form them. Your brain offers up images, only making your thoughts move faster. The infection running rampant through you, replacing your blood stream, clogging your veins. Your sister, bruised by the outbreak, the loss of your parents — did she even know that they were dead? — but alive, those eyes bright as you remember them. 

Her ankle, Joel had said. The soldier bit her ankle. In your head, she hides the bite beneath thick socks, cleans it and pulls her jeans down over it. Her eyes snap to yours, big and filled with tears.

“It’ll be okay, Liv. Just wait.”

Wait. Wait it out, wait to lose your mind, wait to turn into one of them. Wait to feel like you’re not in control of your body anymore. Would it still be you, buried beneath all of that? Does the fungus keep you alive, turn you into a puppet, make you watch the harm you cause, the violence that ensues?

But Joel wouldn’t let it get that far, would he?

Knife or bullet, bullet or knife. What’s the better way to go?

Your mind cycles through everyone back in Boston, Tess, Tommy, Emily, Henry, Deanna. Hell, even Cowan shows up. You see their faces, hear their voices, immediately imagining the reactions when Joel tells them what happened. And Emily, she—

Your brow goes hard, more tears slipping down your cheeks.

Emily watched her father kill her mother, after he turned. In the mall, before the wall went up, when you were still considering leaving. Contaminated food, they said, moved you to the apartments, made you wait it out. Six other people turned, FEDRA put them down without batting an eye. But you never did. You’d ate the same food as Tim, Emily’s father, the night before he turned. You both wanted Thai, Marcy and the kids had soup instead. You still remember Emily’s giggles when you slurped your noodles.

But you never turned.

Anna’s voice is in your head again. It’ll be okay, Liv.

You curl your fingers in the collar of Joel’s shirt, pushing at his chest slightly, enough that he pulls back, enough that your watery eyes can meet his. “We wait it out,” you tell him, and his brow crumples completely, a sharp sob in your ear as he collects you into his arms. “If I start to turn, Joel, I swear to god, you put me down and you don’t think twice about it, you understand?” You keep your gaze on his face, watch his eyes slip closed, and he nods. “You put me down, and then you go back to Boston. All right? You promise me. You go back, and you tell everyone I’m sorry.”

“Liv—”

“Promise me, Joel.”

He swallows so hard his throat bobs.

“I promise.”

+

You wait it out.

Joel feels like he can’t breathe. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off you, doesn’t want to miss anything. He’s memorizing you, all over again, trying to paint you in his mind. Something clear, something pure.

Something to remember.

In case he’s wrong. In case he has to put a bullet in your head before the sun comes up. In case he’s about to lose you. He wants to remember you as you are, not what you might become. Alive, intact, whole.

Liv.

You let him tend to your wounds, after a bit of convincing. Joel cleans the blood from your skin slowly, meticulously, tapes the gauze to your shoulder, to your side. He clears out the office your attacker had been hiding in, makes it as comfortable as he can. He can feel you watch him, just like he’s watching you, and one it’s safe — as safe as it can be — he sinks down beside you, puts his arm around your shoulders, pulls you against his chest.

And waits.

There aren’t many words. You flinch with every sound that echoes through the city, the creak of buildings, the shrieks of the Infected. Joel shushes you each time, hauls you closer until you end up across his lap, one arm banded around your back, the other hooked behind your knees, keeping you close. Closer. As close as possible.

Eventually, it gets so quiet that he can hear the thump of your heart, feel the flutter of your lashes where you face is buried in his neck. He rubs his hand up and down your arm slow, pushes his nose into your hair. You stretch out a bit in his arms, roll your head onto his shoulder, your eyes shut.

“Sleepy.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Get some rest, darlin’. M’right here.”

You blink once, and your eyes are so shiny that Joel’s heart jumps in his chests. “What if I…?”

You trial off, the rest of the question left unsaid, but Joel finishes in his mind. What if you turn? What if you bite him? What if you take him down with you? He doesn’t care, he thinks, and is suddenly acutely aware of the ring sitting in his pocket.

“You won’t. I’ll stay awake. I won’t let you…I won’t let you turn, okay?” He leans down more, brushes a kiss across your mouth. You whimper, tightening your grip on his shirt. “I’m right here, Liv. Not goin’ anywhere.”

Your brow furrows as your eyes drop shut again, and Joel lifts his hand, drags his thumb over the crease in your skin. “I love you, Joel.”

He moves his thumb again, over and over until your face softens, but keeps it up even then. “Love you.”

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep. Knows he shouldn’t, knows he should be keeping an eye on you, but as the sky outside gets darker and darker, his lids get heavier and heavier. You’re a warm weight against him, your own eyes twitching as you dream, your breath hot on his neck. Dreams take hold of him — dreams, not nightmares — and he dreams of you, in a pretty white dress, his scavenged ring on your finger, a smile on your lips. He holds you in his mind, too, keeps you impossibly close, kisses you until he’s not sure where he ends and you begin.

And then he wakes.

To you.

To you, shoving at his shoulder, climbing into his lap, curling your fingers in his shirt. You’re crying, your hair a mess about your face, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself out of the dream version of you, to the real version.

“You were supposed to stay awake, you jackass!” you’re shouting, your voice breaking on the words. Your fist thumps against his chest. “I could have killed you! I could have—”

He’s very awake, suddenly. It’s…daytime. He can see the sunlight through the little window in the office door. Joel catches your wrists, stops you from hitting him again. You suck in a breath, freezing, and your head lifts, hair falling away from your face, fresh tears on your cheeks. He can’t stop himself from smiling, and his chest explodes with warmth when your grin matches his.

“But you didn’t.”

He pulls you against him, and you kiss the air from his lungs. Your mouth is hot and insistent on his, yanking your hands from his grip so you can dive them into his hair. His own drop to your waist, curling around your hips, pulling you closer, closer, closer.

You’re alive. You’re you.

He’d sit there and let you kiss him all day, but the echo of an Infected scream makes you both freeze, and his instincts kick into gear. With one last kiss, you disentangle from each other. Joel’s back screams in protest from sleeping sat up against the wall all night, and he groans as he gets to his feet, helps you to yours. You wince at the movement, one hand gripping your side, and Joel inspects you, lifts the hem of your shirt and peels the bandage back.

He’s seen bites before. Seen the strange, spidery lines the spread from them, the infection curling beneath the skin like a raised tattoo. Your wound is still angry, still seeping blood, but not enough to soak through the bandage. You might need stitches, Joel’s not sure. You wince again as he presses it back into o place, smooths his fingers along the tape.

“We need to get you home.”

You just nod, leaning against him, and he kisses your temple. The relief in the air is palpable, unbridled joy laced with nerves and worry. You have to keep this a secret, that much Joel knows. He still remembers the terror on Anna’s face, when they took her away. He tried to fight them, tried to stop it, but they put a gun to his head, to Tommy’s. Anna told him to stand down, to let her go, and then she was gone.

He won’t let them take you. Never.

It’s slow going. He takes you out the back way of the drugstore, avoiding the bodies littered at the front. Joel’s learned the city a little more with each run, he knows your shortcuts, the long and short ways, the quickest way back to the QZ in a pinch. He knows which routes you favour, which ones are last on your list.

He keeps your fingers laced with his, lets you lean into him as you walk. The pain you’re feeling is clear, but you grit your teeth and carry on, squeezing his hand tighter every few miles. He asks you if you need to stop a few times, and each time, you just shake your head.

It’s even slower, getting back over the wall. It’s midday, by the time you’re nearing the gate, and the ideal path — the one that takes you right under the wall — is too dangerous in broad fucking daylight. So you take the same path you’d lead Joel and Tess in with. Your chest is heaving by the time you reach the top, and Joel lifts the hem of your shirt to see you’ve bled through the bandage, drops of blood sliding down your hip.

You stop inside, Joel forcing you to wait a goddamn second so he can clean you up, replace the bandage. He grits his teeth; he can’t take you to the clinic, can’t involve Deanna in this. Can’t involve anyone in this.

“What the fuck are you two doing?”

Corporal Nick fucking Cowan is standing at the mouth of the alley, gun hefted in his hands as Joel lands on the pavement, holding his arms out as you climb slowly down the ladder of the fire escape. It’s a good five foot drop down, and he knows even landing on your feet isn’t gonna feel great.

Joel stumbles back as you drop, your boots sliding against the asphalt. He tries to support your weight as much as he can, and you let out a sound that’s not so much a wince as a sob. You bury your hand in your side, gripping tight as he slides his arm around your waist. 

“Nick,” you breathe out, and Joel looks up to see the soldier glance down the road before jogging towards you, concern on his face.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, and you heave a breath, your head lolling onto Joel’s shoulder. “Tess came to find me last night, asked if I’d seen you, if you’d gotten yourselves thrown in lockup.” His brow hardens as he looks at you, looks at Joel. “You were out all night?”

Joel tightens his grip on you. “Didn’t plan it like that.”

“We got cornered by a fucking horde of them,” you breathe out, hissing as you take a step forward. Cowan holds a hand out to you and you wave him off. “I got…”

You trail off, and Joel bristles, scared you’re gonna say it.

Bit.

Cowan wants answers, pressing harder, and Joel can see how he’s inspecting you, his eyes darting all over you. “You what, Liv?”

“I got hurt, asshole,” you spit through gritted teeth, trying to angle yourself away from him. “Is that really not obvious?”

“I’ll take you to the clinic,” Cowan says instantly, and reaches for you again. Joel nearly growls. He knows you made your peace or whatever, but he still doesn’t like the guy. Doesn’t like that he acts like he’s got some kind of claim on you. “Deanna’s working, she can—”

“No,” you both say at the same time, nearly shouting, and Cowan takes a step back, staring between you, trying to meet your eyes. Joel can see it, the wheels working in the soldier’s head. You straighten a bit, staring back at Cowan. “I’m fine, I just wanna get home.”

For a minute, Joel thinks Cowan will accept the answer. He pulls you tighter against him, tries to sidestep the soldier, taking you with him. But he’s still blocking your path, and everything in Joel turns over as he reaches for the handgun on his hip.

“Show me.”

You freeze, your entire body going taut in Joel’s grip. “What?”

Cowan doesn’t lift the gun, but Joel sees his thumb pull back the hammer, cocking it. He reaches for his own gun.

“Nick, what’re you—” you start, but then the soldier lifts his gun, aiming for you.

Joel steps in front of you, shielding you with his body, holding an arm out, lifting his pistol, aiming right back at Cowan. “Cowan, stop it,” Joel grits, and the soldier just stares back, his eyes wide.

“You are the last fucking person who gets to give me orders.”

“I know that,” Joel replies, and lifts both his hands, something like surrender. He points his gun at the sky, feels your hand curl around his hip. “I know you hate me. I’d hate me too, if roles were reversed, and I don’t expect you to do me any fuckin’ favours. But I know you care about her. So, please. Do this for her.”

The gun wobbles slightly, but Cowan shakes his head. “Don’t.”

“Please, Nick,” Joel hears you say, a waver in your voice, your nails biting into his skin. “Please, just let us go. We’ll leave the city, we can just—”

“No!” Cowan shouts, the sound echoing down the alley. “You know I can’t.”

“Nick, please,” you say again, and the gun wobbles again, Joel moving to put himself in front of it, to keep it away from you.

“Put the gun down, Cowan,” Joel says, his hands still in the air, trying to force reason into his voice. “Just put it down, we can fix this, we can talk this out, just—”

“Shut up!” Cowan yells, and Joel’s heart is in his throat. “You don’t deserve her, Joel. Look what you did, you put her in harm’s way, over and over and over again. You nearly got her killed, and still she chooses you over me.” 

“Nick, stop—” you cry, and Joel can hear the tears in your voice. The gun points at you again, and anger, fear, terror rises in Joel’s gut. He points his gun back at Cowan, finger twitching on the trigger.

“You don’t fucking deserve her.”

“And you do?”

Joel’s not sure which one of them fires first.

PREV | NEXT

[longliveblackness]

What Happened When A White Man "Became" Black In The 1950s America?

John Griffin had previously served in the U.S. military, where shrapnel caused him to go temporarily blind. However, in 1959, Griffin would do something even more trying: He would live for six weeks as a black man in the South.

It was blindness that inspired John Howard Griffin, a white author and journalist from Dallas, Texas, to write about color in the United States. In 1956, Griffin, blind at the time, sat in on a panel discussion in Mansfield, Texas about desegregation. Unable to tell the speakers' races from their voices, Griffin began to see color anew.

Under the supervision of a New Orleans-based dermatologist, Griffin would spend a week under a sun lamp, up to 15 hours a day, soaking up UV rays. He would also take Oxsoralen, a prescription drug meant to treat vitiligo, which would aid in expediting the darkening of his skin.

With darker skin, and a shaved head and arms, Griffin set out to the American South - starting in New Orleans and ending in Atlanta. Griffin had a few rules for this journey: Namely, that he would stay at black-only hotels, eat at cafes run by African-Americans, and travel with African-Americans. If anyone asked him what he was doing, he would be honest.

Just as his skin color changed, so too did the treatment he received from others. Describing what he called a "hate stare" he received in a bus station lobby, Griffin wrote:

"I walked up to the ticket counter. When the lady ticket-seller saw me, her otherwise attractive face turned sour, violently so. This look was so unexpected and so unprovoked I was taken aback.

'What do you want?' she snapped.

Taking care to pitch my voice to politeness, I asked about the next bus to Hattiesburg. She answered rudely and glared at me with such loathing I knew I was receiving what the Negroes call the hate stare'. It was my first experience with it. It is far more than the look of disapproval one occasionally gets. This was so exaggeratedly hateful I would have been amused if I had not been so surprised."

John Griffin wrote a book called Black Like Me about his experience. The book was published in 1961 and was later translated into 14 languages and a film. The harrowing stories within its pages, coupled with Griffin's own transformation, generated strong public responses.

•••

¿Qué sucedió cuando un hombre blanco "se volvió" negro en los Estados Unidos en la década de 1950?

John Griffin había servido previamente en el ejército de los Estados Unidos, fue aquí donde la metralla le causó ceguera temporal. Sin embargo, en 1959, Griffin haría algo aún más difícil: por seis semanas, viviría como un hombre negro en el sur.

Fue la ceguera lo que inspiró a John Howard Griffin, un autor y periodista blanco de Dallas, Texas, a escribir sobre el color en los Estados Unidos. En 1956, Griffin, quien se encontraba ciego en ese entonces, se sentó en un debate sobre desegregación, el cual fue llevado a cabo en Mansfield, Texas. Al no poder determinar la raza de los oradores basándose en su voz, Griffin comenzó a ver el color como algo nuevo.

Bajo la supervisión de un dermatólogo de Nueva Orleans, Griffin pasaría una semana debajo de una lámpara solar, hasta quince horas por día, absorbiendo rayos ultravioleta. También tomaría Oxsoralen, un medicamento recetado que es para tratar vitiligo, lo cual ayudaría a acelerar el oscurecimiento de su piel.

Con piel oscura y con la cabeza y brazos rasurados, Griffin se dirigió al sur de Estados Unidos, comenzando en Nueva Orleans y terminando en Atlanta. Griffin tenía un par de reglas para este viaje: se quedaría en hoteles para personas negras, comería en cafeterías operadas por afroamericanos y únicamente viajaría con afroamericanos. Si alguien llegase a preguntarle qué era lo que estaba haciendo, sería honesto.

Así como cambió su color de piel, también cambió el trato que recibía de los demás. Describiendo lo que el llama “una mirada de odio”, la cual que recibió en la recepción de una parada de autobús, Griffin escribió:

“Me dirigí hacia la taquilla. Cuando la mujer que estaba vendiendo los boletos me vio, su rostro, que de otro modo sería atractivo, de una manera abrupta se volvió amargo. Esta respuesta fue tan inesperada y sin provocación alguna. Me sorprendió.”

“¿Qué es lo que quieres?” me preguntó de manera grosera.

“Asegurándome de mantener la voz en un tono cortés, le pregunté cuando saldría el próximo bus a Hattiesburg. Me contestó de manera grosera y me estaba viendo con tanto odio, simplemente sabía que estaba recibiendo lo que los negros llaman “la mirada de odio”. Esta fue mi primera experiencia con ella y es más que la mirada de desaprobación que le dan a uno de vez en cuando. Esto estuvo exageradamente cargado de odio y me hubiese divertido si no hubiese estado tan sorprendido.”

Griffin escribió un libro sobre su experiencia, llamado ‘Negro como yo’. El libro fue publicado en 1961 y luego se tradujo a un total de catorce idiomas y se hizo una película. La historias desgarradoras y la transformación de Griffin, causaron una fuerte respuesta pública.

[mariamariquinha]

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Fourteen

Summary: A letter for you.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: Bad words, slight violence, more daddy issues, fluff, mention of sickness, some angst and... did I say fluffl?

Author’s Note: Oof, I really thought about how would I say goodbye to this story. There's so much I want to say, but for now I hope the words I wrote here makes some difference in what we build as a small community of mutual interest in writing and appreciating what we had of Carrillo.

Quite a journey to get here, right? And I should thank everyone for each conversation, each comment and appreciation towards this. As a non-English speaker, bring all of this here had been a challenge, but one I accepted with love.

As always, I hope I could give a good end for this love story. See ya!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

******

I wish I had done it differently, yes, but I don't think you should forgive me anyway. You don't know me and, by extension, you have every right to doubt my nature. Honestly, I recognize that that letter changed my life, as it reaffirmed that even though I’m in front of bullets or knives or big violent men every day, I’m still my father's daughter, which makes me a coward.

The Sun was burning your scalp a little, so you scratched the top of your head now and again because the heat was bothering you. From afar, you saw the small commotion in front of the building: people going out and about, fuzzing over each other. He didn’t exactly tell you where he was staying (you didn’t ask either), but the badge could do some convincing, such as your name. At least you hoped so. 

You looked at both sides of the street before crossing and, when you did, you ended up bumping into a girl – you apologized, even if a little bewildered, and she said everything was fine with a smile that you hadn't seen in those surroundings for a long time. That caught you a little by surprise, so you watched her go with a dumb expression in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“Permiso,” Excuse me, You said, approaching the doorman who was sitting in the empty lobby with his arms crossed.

He was cooperative and friendly, but said he wasn't sure if there would be anyone with that name there because the Americans were already leaving. Still, he called the hamal in apartment 15 (you saw him do it over his shoulder) and, shortly after, said that you were lucky and could come up.

Your father was already at the door when the elevator arrived and, for a moment, the two of you stood there for almost a minute just staring at each other without saying anything, as if you were meeting for the first time. He knew there was something you wanted to say that was unconventional, at least by the way he looked you up and down suspiciously, but he didn't give in to asking the question. With a gesture of his head, your father suggested (not offered, suggested) for you to come closer and you did so, just like when you were a child and had to ask permission to sit at the dinner table to eat. 

The apartment itself was already empty, except for a few pieces of furniture that were still scattered around and would probably be collected later. The floor creaked a little because it was made of parquet and the walls were obviously old – weird for someone with so much 'caliber', but you understood that maybe it was just a disguise for the neighbors.

“I still have a bottle of whiskey around here somewhere,” He said, even if not moving a muscle to reach for the said thing. 

“I’m good,” You shook your head, in time to see him agreeing silently. 

An awkward silence followed the decline. With that, you gave yourself another chance to look around and find something to comment on before going straight to the point. 

“When is your flight?” 

“In about three hours,” He shrugged. “I believe that the Embassy didn’t ask you to give me a ride like the first time.”

“You would know if they did,” You smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. He saw that and responded the same way, even pulling a chair out of the small table in the living room to make himself comfortable for a confrontation. 

“What is it then? Did I forget to file some paperwork or something? Because if that's the case, I have to let you know that I-” 

“Were you the one who killed Juan Marcos?”

The question caught him off guard, but not in a harsh way – he probably felt more outrage for the fact that you interrupted him, something he never took quite well. For a moment, then, your father just stared back at you, then scoffed as if you were stupid. 

“Thinking about leaving flowers on his grave before you leave?” 

“I don't think your moral compass is adjusted enough for you to remember which ditch you used to dispose of his body,” You crossed your arms over your chest, not failing for a moment to spit out your thoughts. 

“Don't be moralistic.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve just been in this hell for so long, right? Catching criminals, doing the dirty work… that’s enough for you to give me some answers.” 

Again, a bit of quietness, but a contemplative one. He had that easy expression on his face, as if you two were discussing the weather, one that always put you on the edge of pure rage. You waited patiently, tho.

“... I did.”

“How.”

“You saw him, you know how.”

“Is this the kind of thing you would do for a daughter?” 

“It is, because I did,” He said calmly. “Is this some kind of intervention? This is what you want? Resolve all the frustrations you have with me now, hours before I, what’s that you said? Disappear from your life?” 

You looked at him with pursed lips, feet tapping on that stupid floor to prevent any more unwanted feelings. It felt like the Sun was burning your scalp again, so you unconsciously scratched that area again before rolling your shoulders and staring at him with a stone cold expression – one you certainly got from his side of the family. The question was there, burning in your lungs and throat, ready to leave your mouth and make him lose that sarcastic smile on his face. 

“... Would you do that for a son?”

The decline in his comfort was gradual, progressive, millimetric. The corners of his mouth lowered into a straight line, his jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened intensely. You flexed your fingers discreetly, trying to hide your defensive posture with the possibility of another aggressive approach on his part, but all he did was access you cautiously while looking for the justification for your question in the way you stood there, in front of him.

“What did you do?” He frowned, probably not sure of the end of that topic. 

“Me? Nothing,” You shrugged, head shaking. “Your son did.”

Your father rose from his seat with a harsh scrape of the chair but you kept still, glaring back at him. He could come closer, could do what he did in the office; it wouldn’t happen, though. You both knew, somehow, that someone was his weak point, the thing that couldn’t make him have good nights of sleeping for a reason you’ll never understand. 

That made you scoff a laugh before averting your gaze. 

“Now you know how it is.”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? Revenge?” His voice was so harsh, so taken by reticence and rage, that it made him static in a certain type of fury. 

“I think my best revenge was knowing that you got what you wanted most and he was nothing like what you expected,” You took one step closer, then another, and you two stood there, eye to eye. “Can you imagine? Being your son and having decency?”

“You better-”

“I better what? What, dad? Shut my mouth? Stop talking about Jorge? Or should I wait until you give me the first blow?”

Nothing. He stood there like a bull, fuming and grinding his teeth – no hand raised, no closed fists. 

“You asked what I want with all this, with this drama… I never expected anything I discovered about your life to be ethical or clean. You do whatever you want,” You shrugged again, this time going full exaggerated with a fake coy expression. “What I want is for you to take that plane, go back to the States and spend the rest of your days thinking of how your beloved son couldn’t be any more different than you in anything, better than you in anything and a man you’ll never be even closer to be. All that while being raised by a whore.” 

The slap was a familiar feeling, like that specific side of your face had a shape to fit his open hand like a glove. Even the movement of your head, the mixing of your insides, it had a natural way to flow, to go this way or another. Still, you’d been caught by surprise, so next thing you knew, your gum was bleeding – you could taste blood on the tip of your tongue, see it on the tip of your fingers when you assessed the small damage. It had the sting, the sharp pain, but that didn’t get a rise out of you. 

“That’s what you told him? That I’m your bad father who didn't beat you enough to give you good manners?”

“... Why would I need good manners? I’m a whore, right? Good manners wouldn’t make me fuck Carrillo like I wanted to and you couldn’t do shit to stop it,” That came out with such a force. “In all my life, nothing made me more happy than to trespass your limits as much as I could, to make you show your true colors and still put that scary expression on your face.”

With this, you took a few steps back, adjusting your clothes and smiling, the inside of your mouth and your teeth probably red from the blood. 

“Take that plane, go back home. I know that you’ll lie in your bed tonight knowing that you’ll have the same future as that damned Juan Marcos, alone in a grave that no one’ll visit.” 

It was as if thousands of years and hurt had finally created the courage to leave your shoulders, as if all the suffering he put your mother through had transformed into a controlled and punctual fury in your heart. A return. An end. And you left there knowing that, with that, you closed a cycle that gave you a happiness more sincere than Escobar's dead body on that roof.

******

Two days before…

You weren’t with your work clothes, so the heat was more bearable with the tank top. The worn out jeans were still there, just as the old boots, and just as the gun and badge. Habits. Carrillo looked at you beside him in the car, arms crossed with the stance of that old self, full Colonel mood of his. 

“Are you sure the info is relatable? Safe?”

“I am. Do you want me to bring all of the Colombian Army to this when you all should be celebrating something out there?” You turned to him with a teasing smile, seeing the frown on his face getting even more deeper. “Horacio-”

“Some of them are still out there. You should at least let Trujillo do a-”

“You’re already here with me, Horacio, and this is already too much. There’s people who need you right now.”

Instead of answering, he let you hold his toned arms, then both sides of his neck to melt some of his stubbornness in avert your gaze. Not getting a reaction, you tilted your head to get a better look of his face, jaw tightening in insistence, which made you sigh and let him go. 

“You don’t know him,” He said. 

“I’m aware.”

“And we’ve been through enough to be suspicious.”

“I’m aware,” You insisted, brows raised. “To be honest, I don’t know if I wanna do this but… If it’s him, if… I need to be sure.” 

“Why?” 

For a moment you just stared at his confused expression, not knowing the right answer to that – not sure if you had one. Then you pursed your lips, shook your head and averted his eyes to look through the window, where you could see the small house from afar. 

“... When my father left, my mother kind of disappeared. Mentally. It was as if the lights were on but no one was home,” Your tone was recoiled, way too low for someone so confident about their decisions. “He said some things to her, said this country was hell but even some cheap pussy could give him what he wanted. I honestly didn’t even know why he needed so much to have a son.”

You could feel Carrillo watching you carefully while you used that false calmness to explain what you wanted to say clearly.

“This made me spend time with my paternal grandparents because she couldn't bear to see me. I was a very complicated, restless child, so when my grandfather started using the old methods he used with my father and uncles when I messed up, I understood why he wanted a boy.”

You felt a weight on your chest, one that almost made you cry.

“At least I think I understand. He wanted to take out the frustrations of what he went through on someone and I was a girl, so naturally I couldn't handle punishment or fits of rage. I would have marks like my mother had and that would make things more complicated for his conscience. A boy could be molded to be strong, resilient. I was always too emotional for him.” 

Like the perpetuation of the species to whom he could transfer descendants or something like that. Bullshit. 

“I understand. Well, at least I think I would be that kind of person if things weren't different.”

“I don't think it's the same thing,” You shook your head. “You're here, that's more than he's ever done.”

“Because I love you.”

“And if you had children, you would love them too.”

Carrillo didn’t say anything. The idea of ​​children only crossed his mind when he was younger, as soon as he married Juliana, and it seemed so distant that he forgot what it would be like to imagine a life with children. You didn't want that, that's for sure; Given the life you two had, it would even be selfish to bring a child into the world. And even if the car was so quiet, so… calm, Carrilo always had the feeling that someone was lurking, and he felt bad for thinking that, in another time, he would be the same type of father as your father was.

You could feel, little by little, how his hand sneaked closer to yours, the tip of his fingers carefully passing through your knuckles before going up to your wrist. It was so soft, the way he touched you to test the water, to not invade your space, that when his hand reached for your forearm, pulling you just enough to make you turn to him, nothing could stop you from hugging him as if your life depended on it, pressing against his body fiercely. 

He didn't say anything because he didn't know how to say anything, because it wasn't like hearing the news that your father was coming to Colombia. Horacio was never good with soothing words. He knew how to act, that's for sure; in that case, if it were possible, if that sliver of humanity were to come away from him once and for all, your father would become a ghost like everyone else.

Well, but you already knew that – he had told you that when he recovered you from another low blow from your father. Selfishly, Horacio would always do his best to create miles of distance between the things he truly loved and those who risked any trace of peace he had achieved. And maybe you didn't know this, but he had made this promise to himself.

I'm not going to lose anymore, Horacio pressed you tighter against him, staring at the wall with the coldness of his decision. I don’t accept that.

“Let’s do this.”

******

I imagine to this day that you would never like Horacio. You always seemed too ‘communist’, progressive enough, but you would laugh until your stomach hurt at how stubborn he was. Still, I don't want to convince you to like him; I just want to tell you that it wasn't him who told me to leave before I could see you that day. You were fine, you were beautiful (I still know you are) and you were holding a baby in your lap, which I later realized was that of one of the patients you saved during an emergency birth. I was only there for 30 minutes and I heard people say more good things about you than they could ever say about me in my entire life. That's when I knew I had to leave you alone.

I cried in his arms later; I would cry a lot more in the years that followed, but I reserved every minute of my future life, the life I never planned for myself, to gather all the memories of what I could tell you one day. No, I'm not dying, at least not from my health, because you know that everyone dies one day, but I've been writing to you because I want you to know that you don't deserve the family you have because you're too good for us.

I want to tell you about Horacio. I want to tell you what we did and how I miss some things in life. I want to tell you this because I know he could be a solid bridge between the two of us, the person who would interpret you for me and interpret me for you. My mother would never be able to do it because of resentment, our father because of disregard and we because of ignorance.

Horacio, however, was my surprise during the time I spent in Medellín. If I want you to know me, I want to be able to reveal my best side, what I truly achieved when I decided I would love him.

******

It was strange not having plans, but you got on the plane alone. Horacio couldn't go with you, not at that moment; there was love between you, yes, but there was also responsibility, and he would never leave his own country behind. You understood. During the time you spent in Bogotá (not in Medellín), the two of you did things together: went out to dinner, visited places, had sex… Things that couples did. When you got on the plane, it was with the uncertainty that things would one day be okay, and that you would be able to reconcile life in Los Angeles with what had happened to the two of you in Colombia.

This was our father's fault and I'm completely sure of that. I was disallowed from having any further contact with the case, which I understood as private revenge for what I did, as if he wanted to take away more of the happiness you could have had if you were to work with Peña and Horacio later. I always resented him for that, I still do. Maybe it wasn't the worst thing he had done and today I know it wasn't, but it was as if every minute of my life, he took away a little of my happiness.

The letters you exchanged were always long, which went quite against his personality. It was as if, finally, he said in words everything he thought, did and gave his opinion. On your part, there were important descriptions, such as how much your mother was fond of him and the cases you worked on at the DEA. He, on the other hand, mentioned the well-known day to day life with Peña, what they worked on and how he missed you, above all, which hurt your heart.

“God, you have to put an end to this. I want to see you happy again, my daughter, and I want to meet him.” 

In one of them, which was a call, he told you something that he kept so deeply within himself that he was certain that, one day, he would come back to you for good and that there would be no turning back.

“I want to marry you. I see no other choice and I have no other way out. I need to assure myself that I’ll no longer have to tolerate this ordeal without knowing that I’ll come home and find you.” 

“Don't be so dramatic... I know people who would find our obstacles small compared to what they go through. I’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“So wait. The next time we see each other, I'll have a ring to put on your finger.” 

You know, I always thought he was a brute, but Horacio never failed to keep his promises. In fact, he came back with a ring, and we actually got married, which was a simple thing that meant enough to both of us. We moved to El Paso. It was close to Peña, in fact, and sometimes we spent holidays together, which I never thought would happen. Maybe, thinking about it now, it's those moments that I miss most.

“Is that white hair?”

“Fuck off, we both know we’re getting old,” You elbowed Javier in the guts, puffing smoke in the Texan hot air. “By the way, you’re getting a belly down there. Don’t come at me.”

“What I gained, you lost. Have you been eating?” 

No was the proper answer. He knew it was, and that was why he asked. Still, you shrugged, taking another drag. 

“... Yes.”

“Hey-”

“I am, Javi, I promise. It's just been different.”  

“I hope so. One of you needs to remain standing.”

It was around the time our father passed away. Well, I can't say for sure if it was too close or too far, especially since he fulfilled his own mission of dying alone. I didn't have the opportunity to talk after he got sick; I didn't even know if he had someone. Today I'm almost the same age as he was when I was in Medellín and I can't see him in myself, while I don't know if I would live my life differently if he asked me for forgiveness. Below I leave exactly where he is buried and, if you want, you can visit him. If you're the praying type, decide if it makes sense to give him the privilege of prayer; God knows I'd like that too.

******

At that point of things, you made fun of Horacio for not actually marrying you like the tradition said, just giving you the ring he promised he would, but you understood that the world didn't survive on big events like that.

When he found out what the diagnosis was, you went straight to the computer and did your research. It wasn't that you didn't believe the doctors, but the first step to acceptance was denial, and you knew how to do that very well. At the time, you had just been promoted to an important position in Mexico. You found a good doctor there who could treat him, and the offer didn't get as much back-up as you thought it would – it was like he thought he was going to die.

It was a very different change than it had been when you went to Colombia years before. There was no urgency, no hustle, just the tranquility of a bureaucratic job with a good house, space for a yard and a good salary. 

“It's in the early stages, so it's a relatively simple treatment. The change in routine and habits will be more severe, so I would be more attentive to that.”

You decided to stop smoking along with him because of this and, deep down, Horacio was a little upset at having to stop this habit.

“I don't know, I just feel embarrassed,” He said one night, you two sitting on the porch because he wanted to take a look at the street. “I didn't imagine that my life would end without emotion.”

“You won't die like this, stop being an idiot.”

“How can you know?”

“Well, because I just know.”

Not every day was easy and, honestly, coming to Mexico was the acid test for many things in my life. Interestingly, I never thought about giving up Horacio, and if I was honest with myself, I also thought that one day I would die from a gunshot or something that would make newspaper headlines. He would never admit it, and neither would I, because it seemed inconceivable, but having that life made us feel grateful and, most of all, lucky.

It was also at this time that I decided to get back in touch with you. He made a promise that if he was cured of cancer, he would include forgiveness for his own past, so we started slowly. I met Juliana (and the three children she had), and I started visiting our father almost religiously every year. We went back to Texas to see Javi, and sometimes we went to Miami to visit Steve. Horacio had reservations about my country, but he could appreciate some things that I think you might like too.

Jorge, I know that our life could have been different and I, as an older sister, feel responsible for being able to give you some glimpses of life with a family up here that loves you, because I would like that too. Along with these letters, I also send tickets to the capital, for you and your husband, if you want to visit us. Horacio is a great tour guide and I, interestingly enough, learned to be a great hostess.

I apologize for having done all this so late. Well, apologies are never enough, but I feel that this phase of my life, the phase of gray hair and wrinkles on my face, terribly nicknamed 'better years', is the right time for the two of us to reconcile for someone who left us behind.

I miss what we didn't have. Even if you don't want to, which I understand, know that my life is only complete because I know that a part of me is also in you.

******

“Appealing to nostalgia?”

Horacio barely raised his head from where he was staring at a box full of old trinkets. Through the mess of the office, he went straight to the memories of Medellín, rooting around and reliving the years in the dust, and he seemed focused enough to barely pay attention to you.

You could say that the guests were already arriving, that he should take a shower soon to welcome them, but the scene seemed so peaceful that you were afraid to interrupt and decided to participate.

“You have that perfume again,” He murmured right when you touched a framed picture of him and Trujillo alongside other stuff. 

“Does that bother you?” You eyed him over your eyeglass lenses, to which he tsked and shook his head. 

“You’re also appealing to nostalgia.”

“Huh, I remember that was the first thing you noticed about me when we met.” 

Horacio then looked back at you and, seeing your mischievous smile, smiled back, leaning back on the chair to give you full attention. 

“You drove me crazy, that's what.”

“I didn't know that was the effect it had on you. In fact, I was sure you hated me.”

“Because I couldn't want you and I wanted you.”

You left the frame in the box and walked over to him, walking around the table to sit on his lap, which he gladly accepted. For a few moments, you stood there, motionless, staring at his face, not knowing exactly what to say, just… admiring him, the grays on his hair and the lazy grin splattered there. 

“What are you thinking?” He asked then, always eager to get inside your head. 

“I always imagine that we wouldn't be here if we didn't live what we lived there,” You pondered, a hand massaging the side of his neck. “And it's weird because people have lost so much. Do you think we deserve it?”

“Is this part of your reconciliation process?”

“Yeah, I guess. I've been thinking about some things... I'm writing you a letter, even.”

“But I'm not going anywhere.”

“I know,” You pecked his lips softly. “Who knows, maybe I can express it with words instead of hiding it on paper.”

Horacio stared at you for a bit, his brow furrowed and the mechanisms moving in his head. You thought it was strange.

“What?”

“I want to read you something.”

You got up so he could look for what he was finding, and when he did, he took a notebook out of a box, accompanied by yellowed sheets of paper.

“I wrote these things while we were in Colombia.”

“And what exactly is it?”

“In the beginning, it was a diary of missions and operations that we carried out. The day you arrived, I ended up writing 'perfume' instead of 'precision', which made me realize that the feeling wouldn't leave my head. I didn't stop thinking about you after that, so I started… I don't know, writing down things about you, what you did, what irritated me and what I liked.”

There was no way to react, more out of shock than offense at him having kept it in for so long. You imagined a Carrillo from the past, a thousand times more stubborn and stubborn, taking the time to write about a woman he couldn't stand. Maybe sitting alone at night in the office, cigarette in one hand and whiskey in the other, mumbling swear words while saying he liked something about you, disbelieving his own feelings.

Then he took that photo that Steve had taken, which he stole and caused temporary chaos with your colleagues. You, younger, tired but with a spark of life, an eagerness to do the right things. 

You watched him as he looked at the photo and felt a warm feeling in your heart that seemed more frequent since you started having more moments together.

When he started reading what he wanted, you could barely move.

“I don't know what this woman did to me and I try hard every day not to ruin everything because I think about her so much. The perfume drives me crazy, the defiant eyes impress me and, oh my, lately I've noticed how incredibly mind-blowing those jeans make her. I have no one to express these feelings to, perhaps because I can't say in words what I imagine when I think of her.”

“Today she told me to go fuck myself. I had to suppress my satisfying smile when I saw that fire in her eyes when she spat those words in my face, because I purposely provoked her into being angry with me, thinking I wanted a reason to get her away from me. In the end, I know that that exact reaction was what I wanted, that she will never give up because she is too stubborn to do so. She goes to the end. She is true to what she believes. I'm sure I'm in love.”

“If nothing were as it were, I would ask her to dinner. I would see her eyes light up in the candlelight, I would make all the romantic moves and show a side of me that no one knows. I want to see her confused, I want to surprise her, and then I want to kiss her, make love to her, and feel every inch of that sweaty skin beneath my fingers while I see her sigh with the pleasure I'm going to offer. I want her, I want her so much, and I feel bad for every kind of thought I might have about her.”

“I call these verses, then. Versos de Placer, in my mother tongue, one that she knows how to say and that is even more beautiful when it comes out of her mouth. Verses that I will never be able to recite out loud, not to her, but I will be able to remember as the spark of a good memory of the complicated days we spent hating ourselves because the world we are in is destroying us. Always her, and never anyone who isn't her or who even looks like her.”

“Always her and her perfume and her accent and her presence. Always.” 

******

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

@seaweeden

[nomelwelloy]

Childe watching Zhongli from his window upstairs, head in his hand, elbow resting on the sill, his gaze goes wherever the consultant walks- the flower shop, the bakery, down the street past the fountain. To his dismay, Zhongli disappears from view when he strays into a stationery store, but only momentarily, before reappearing with a small paper bag in hand.

Childe watches Zhongli stroll leisurely down the street, taking in the pastel buildings, meandering waterways and lush flower-sprinkled shrubbery.

Zhongli remains unbeknownst to Childe's eyes. His steps are unhurried and relaxed.

A smile tugs on the corner of Childe's lips, taking in the sight of his lover making his way back to their accommodation with flowers, breakfast and a quaint package in his arms, like he would on occasional weekends back in Liyue. His smile widens till it hurt, and he presses his face into his hand as his gaze seems to blur. He quickly blinks, clearing his vision to catch the last of Zhongli disappearing into their building lobby.

Zhongli appears not long after. A fond expression graces his features at the sight of Childe coming up to greet him. "You're awake," Zhongli kisses his forehead. He runs a gloved hand over his bare shoulder, lips chasing after with another kiss to his skin.

"You've been busy," Childe returns the smile, setting aside the flowers and bakes. "What have you got there?" he peers into the paper bag and retrieves a copy of Fables de Fontaine.

"If you're not busy today, I was thinking we could read this together." Zhongli sheds his coat and gloves with an air of elegance that makes Childe's heart flutter, with envy and admiration all at once.

They put aside the flowers in a vase and take their time with breakfast, before squeezing onto the settee by the window. They make it one-third into the book, but Childe eventually doses off, head resting in the crook of Zhongli's neck.

It is a slow, lazy day in Fontaine- a rare one amidst Childe's hectic schedule. They take their time drifting through the hours as Childe basks in the attention of his lover, soaking up every second and leaving none to waste.

[katsukikitten]

Tw: Suicidal themes and description of attempt. Pt2

The American Hero commission is just as shady as Japan's, if not worse. Run in an obvious front to hide the "classified" floors that ran deep beneath the city, right under the feet of unsuspecting or uncaring citizens. The government is so desperate to hide secret divisions that not even heroes should know about it.

But Katsuki does.

Only because he can't let sleeping dogs lie.

Remembering Izuku spilling his guts to him one day, figuratively and literally, having had far too much to drink at his own birthday party. Izuku excused himself outside, vomiting up his anxious feelings that didn't mix well with his twelve shots of tequila.

Lady Nagant

And all that Izuku knew of her before that dumb ass passed out into Bakugou's arms. It wasn't unusual for this to happen when Izuku drank too much, hell even sober he'd call Bakugou in the middle of the night to tell him some dark secret he couldn't bear to keep with himself any longer. Katsuki was used to hearing things he shouldn't, normally he'd file it away and hardly gave it second thought.

But the name rang in Katsuki's ears until he searched it up himself, finding that she was part of something the hero commission tried so desperately to both cover up and "disband." A division that took care of threats to hero society no matter who or what the person was.

Any threat.

Bakugou was sure he fell under the category of any. Especially with his big mouth, accidents could happen, even to the strongest heroes.

Or so the virtuous society claims.

The irony of the city skyscraper isn't lost on Bakugou. Named after some long since dead hero who's estate paid for the construction of it but it doesn't take a genius to figure out that not a single cent went to anything that would actually help the community.

Instead living and dead hero's families all did the same, desperately clawing to ingrain and immortalize a hero into society in hopes to make a killing in profits.

Times like these Bakugou realizes why asshole villains like Shigiraki and Dabi wanted to send it all to hell.

Hero society was just another form of capitalism which bred nothing but greed.

The fuck was he fighting for anyway?

Nothing was going to change it and it was obvious every move he made was the wrong one.

Bakugou's leg bounces as he sits in the corner of the embassy lobby waiting to be called back into the shrink's office. Right arm pressed snugly into the wall before he grips onto his knee tightly to make it stop moving. Mind jumping back and forth between the day's earlier events with the hero, who's name he still didn't bother to remember, and how everything seemed to be askew.

Tilted, blurred or blacked out in globs of sticky ink, his view on life turning that much more nihilistic with each passing year while everyone around him felt the opposite.

He digs the heel of his palm into his left eye as if that will help him adjust. Spiced caramel scenting the air and he can feel eyes on him again.

Listen not with your ears but here.

Stupid fucking woman, why was she popping up into his head now as his heart races. Right eye burning, giving him a throbbing headache as he tries to force sight into it. Tries to will it.

But as it has been for the past eighteen years he can't see any more than he could yesterday.

Until he holds his breath to count and then for a fraction of a second he can see it. Can see the rough outline of a person, like a black silhouette on an even blacker backdrop.

"Bakugou Katsuki." He opens his eye with a squint as he stares up at the last minute appointment the old hag insisted he take. The doctor was young, around the same age as him, his thick file in her manicured hands has him grinding his teeth.

He hadn't had a mandatory session in years, probably since Kirishima couldn't hold up the rubble any longer, passing out while Bakugou watched him faint, his jagged cliffside skin turning soft and smooth before being nearly crushed to death under a half standing building. Kirishima was in the hospital for weeks and Katsuki struggled to eat.

It was the first instance of quirk failure, of losing his grip on the tightly wound fuse of his temper.

He leveled an entire block.

The second was with Izuku, when the emerald haired man was stabbed through his solar plexus, blood flying from his mouth, staining his chin and throat. And what did that dumb ass Deku say, "Are you alright, Kaachan?" before falling to his knees, further impaling himself on the rod that lodged in his body.

Katsuki blacked out after that. Not that his body fell from the sight, oh no. His mind switched off and Katsuki worked on rage and instinct alone.

The crater Bakugou created is still there today, record breaking and comparable to that of an atomic bomb or sizable meteor from space.

The media dubbed him nuclear after that.

But they didn't fucking know what it was like, watching your friends cheat death over and over again. In more horrific ways than the last.

But how many times could his friends win, even with a padded hand? Each time they cheated the meticulous god they raised their chances of losing the next time.

Katsuki knew from experience, with each brush with Death, he became closer than the last.

The ignorant public, the apathetic hero commission, they didn't understand.

Couldn't understand that Bakugou has an undying need to win. Not for bragging rights or to be the best, although those were welcomed, but because Bakugou Katsuki refused to have blood on his hands.

He needed his complete victory.

And having it since his first year at UA. Of saving his friends, his co workers time and time again over the decades despite the doctor's speaking of him never being able to do pro hero work again.

He saved them, he had to save them. Denki, Mina, Ochaco, Shoto, Kirishima, all of them. Yes, even Shitty Deku, especially shitty Deku, idiots all of them, pushing themselves too hard and never asking for help.

"Bakugou Katsuki." She repeats and this time Bakugou stands. His presence already making a hush fall over the lobby, more eyes on him except this time he could glare from his good side.

Snarling his teeth at their eyes fixated on him and their mouth agape like dead fish. They suddenly find the floor or their phones interesting as he stops in front of the woman.

He has to look down at her, even in her four inch heels, she gives a tight smile but turns in her long pencil skirt until they reach her office. She's smart and enters first, letting Bakugou stand by the door while she comes around her desk and sits.

Her hand gesturing for him to shut the door and take a seat, silently he obeys. But not without a suck of his teeth.

It smells like cinnamon and paper in the office, it's sparsely decorated, her degree and accomplishments hanging on the same wall as the door, had Bakugou's eye not wandered around the room he wouldn't have seen them.

So she liked her accomplishments but didn't wanna brag? Or was it one of those psychological tricks therapists do?

A box of tissues sits on her desk, a small crystal candy bowl that looks more like it belonged to an old woman. He snorts seeing the assortment of random candy. There was a three musketeers for Shitty hair, a twix for Icyhot and Deku, the couple always wanting to split, and even a lemon warhead for Dunceface.

He leaves the sweets alone as she settles.

"Coffee Mr. Dynamight?" She asks as she places her reading glasses near the tip of her nose.

"No." He spies the keurig, knows he doesn't want any of that shit.

"Well, I'm glad you're here today, when Clair-"

"Clair?" Bakugou scoffs, leaning back in his chair. She lets her dark eyes rove over his relaxed body language. How his arm slumps over the back of a chair and she almost misses his calculating eyes.

"Clair, Clairity, your hero mentor." She tries to keep the bite out of her tone, tries to remember Bakugou would sometimes use arrogance as a defense or wall but something tells her he really didn't bother to remember this time around considering the circumstances.

"Hmm." A non committal hum, a milky and sharp eye coming back to look at her. Burning gaze making even the professional shift in her seat.

"I'll get straight to the point then and won't waste your time but I believe we should start you off on a low dose of your old prescriptions again. Just to try to level you out."

"Why? I'm not suicidal?" He scoffs, glaring at his thick file, he hates that goddamn thing. Most doctors like her pushing for drugs first, although he'd never had it happen so quickly before.

Guess she could take the record for that.

"You were at one point, that doesn't just go away." She flicks through the papers, pretending as if it was a small thing she could have misread before looking back up at him. He returns her glare, snarling lips before he shifts in the chair, a more defensive stance, feigned arrogance thrown out the window in favor of full on agitation.

It wasn't like Bakugou thought medicine was pussy shit, he knew it wasn't. Was happy to hear it was working out for Kaminari's anxiety and especially Izuku's panic attacks but almost every brand he was on made him feel worse.

Less than.

Less than a hero.

Less than a man.

Less than Bakugou Katsuki.

Even if he'll never admit he set the bar at an impossible height.

"Maybe for me it did." Ironic he would lie when he hates a liar the most. Maybe because they remind him of himself sometimes.

Spreading half truths that he was fine when he wasn't. His blistering anger burns everyone around him, especially himself. Although he was on the mend until this past year.

Soon Katsuki's scent overpowers the cinnamon candle in the room. She gives him a long knowing look.

"Medicine paired with talk therapy is quite effective. It put your outbursts in remission and -"

"No." He barks, "I ain't taking shit. I'll talk to you til the fuckin sun explodes before I ever take another god damn zombie pill. Drop it." His quirk flares at the end, the smallest pop on his chest and several down his right arm. He stands, giving her his back as he leaves since he had nothing more to say.

Typical of Bakugou's luck it pours down sheets of thick freezing rain and there wasn't an umbrella in sight.

Not that he wanted one, hands angrily in the pockets of her hero suit that clung to him even tighter now thanks to the wet weather. Pressing his face in the high collar of his winter suit as he lets gravity pull his posture downward. Feeling as if he was walking through sludge, as if the steel of his knee plates and boots were attracted to the Earth's magnetic core making his legs feel as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

Still he pushes on, slowly as the cold sinks into his bone marrow until he's home.

The apartment complex smells worse when it rains, the old heating system of the building smells like it's burning something. Most likely the hair or paws of the scurrying rats Bakugou had heard last night and all he can think about is how badly he wanted a long hot bath and to never wake up when he went to bed.

Or at least be able to sleep in til noon, if his internal clock would allow him.

On the bright side his couch should be here, needing to be assembled but there none the less. As he comes into the narrow hallway of the sixth floor he snarls when he doesn't see a couch or a mattress, frame or box spring, anywhere to be found.

Quickly he pulls out his phone, droplets of water from his hair making it difficult for him to navigate the sensitive touch screen before he's biting off his thick gloves to tuck under his arm. Pulling up two emails. One saying his couch was delivered and the other claiming his mattress was delayed.

What the fuck? Delayed and delivered. Where the fuck was his couch?

He thinks maybe he should try to ask a neighbor if they'd seen any delivery guys or who walked off with his package.

He hears shuffling coming from apartment 6D and figured he'd start there.

Your door opens slightly before he can even knock.

"Oh my friendly neighbor." You let the sarcasm shine through, "I-"

But before you can finish Bakugou's already spying the oversized cardboard box propped up against the wall by your kitchen, a picture of the couch he ordered plastered on the side.

"Why is my fuckin package in your apartment?" His voice is a growl, strong hand gripping the door just above the chain. He's broken plenty of stupid little door chains and this cheap one that was probably on its last leg was going to be the last thing that stopped him now.

"I took it from the hallway so it wouldn't get stolen????" Your voice goes up at the end in disbelief.

"By you ya mean?"

"Wow." You bark out a humorless laugh as you unhook the chain, "I was trying to be nice. I was going to buy us takeout at the only nice place round here and help you build it but nooooo!"

"Noooo! Now my neighbor gets to try to build this complicated as fuck couch by himself, get frustrated, quit and sleep on the couch cushions wishing he'd been nicer to me." You hold open the door for him to drag the couch box out. He rolls his eyes as you speak. His gloves fall from under his arm onto the floor of your apartment as he grabs onto the box and lifts. Carrying the heavy and awkward couch on his own with ease before you slam the door the second the last of that cardboard clears your threshold.

"Asshole!" You call through the front door before he's fighting with his own to get it open.

Not even bothering to change as he rips open the box, flipping through the instructions. There were only pictures, the words in a language he wasn't familiar with.

"Fuck." He separated everything the best he could. Easily holding up the heavy metal as he tries to assemble but somehow the wrong leg or screw is used and after his fifth attempt at step four he loses it.

Letting it drop with a loud thud and a cuss. His downstairs neighbors quick to bang on the ceiling with their broom and he hits his fist back in response.

Rising to take a shower like that may be the solution and when he comes back the couch will be built on its own. Letting the hot water burn into his skin as he stands under the stream, using the last of his travel sized shit and thinking about the train stops from hell he'll have to take to find what he needs.

He comes back to the project at hand after dressing in a long sleeved shirt and boxers. There was just no way in hell he was going to be able to have the patience to do this tonight. His right eye and arm burning before he digs in his small bag to place two numbing drops into his eye to hopefully last him until he finally falls asleep.

"Sleep on the couch cushions"

Growling at how true your words turned out to be as he rifles through the box for the soft portion of the sofa.

He lies on the dark cushions on the floor. The half put together pieces of furniture, mostly incorrect, sits facing him. As if mocking him with a half smirk to remind him of another one of his failures. Because who the fuck couldn't put their couch together, the soft linen of the dark couch already suffering from a hand print singe or two as he needed to put the couch together for something to sleep on.

He checks his phone again and the mattress is still very much lost in this hellscape of a city. Makes Bakugou toss his phone roughly and the screen cracks even more.

What the fuck am I even good for? Can't even build a fuckin couch.

The late night thoughts creep in as they always do and now he's regretting not asking for those sleeping pills he used to get. Although she probably wouldn't have prescribed them considering what happened the last time he had them. Taking the orange bottle out of the medicine cabinet with blurry vision, reading his useless name before he titled the full month's worth into his mouth and swallowed thickly. Apathetic to the bitterant coating that stuck to his tongue and back of his throat. Forcing him to swallow mouthfuls of saliva as the small white pills struggled to make it down past the lump in his throat.

He only did it because he felt his double dose wasn't going to cut it, far from able to get a peaceful sleep. And it sure as fuck wasn't going to stop the sour, toxic voice in his head that monologues about everything he'd ever done. Forgiven or not.

Remember when Shoto got fuckin skewered because you couldn't respond fast enough? The pills made you sluggish as hell and icy hot almost died cause of it.

Remember when you had to tell Mina that Kirishima might not wake up because she was too hysterical to understand the doctor? You just had to take the weekend off because of your 'mental health' didn't you. Couldn't hold it together long enough for the doctor to clear you for the week.

Remember when you let yourself get taken by Touya and your friends put themselves in danger and almost got expelled because you're too weak?

Remember that little girl you couldn't save? It couldn't have been that hard to catch her, she was only four blocks away.

Remember when you were the downfall of Allmight?

You know you're not living up to Edgeshot or Beat Jeanist's legacy, they wasted their time and lives on you.

Remember when you told Izuku to take a swine dive off the school building cause he was quirkless? It should have been you, you worthless piece of shit.

What's the fucking point? Why fight? It never ends, just lie down and die like the pathetic dog you are.

Oftentimes Bakugou found himself agreeing, he wasn't living up to their legacy, his chest scars screaming at the thought. He picks at the fabric of the cushion as his mind marinates in his failures. In the fallen faces of his friends, of the quiet nights of sitting with their unconscious bodies and how he should have been with them and not on another mission. Of the aftermath of unspeakable shit and knowing exactly how the human body shouldn't bend or break.

Tears prick his eyes and slowly fall from his nose but he does nothing to stop it, he feels numb if anything, hollow feeling in his chest where the anger rotted away everything until his chest cavity was empty.

Nothing but a weighted nothingness, a void, or black hole that gnawed away at his insides, sharp cold teeth scraping at his bones until there was nothing left.

The smallest part of him, the part that took decades to give a soft voice to, whispers that he's glad he didn't have the pills right now. Because he would tip the bottle back and take as many as he could.

And this time Izuku wouldn't have a weird feeling to come check on Bakugou in the middle of the night.

Even if he did, he wouldn't make it in time thanks to the massive ocean and land mass between them.

The thought brings him some comfort as twisted as it was but at least he wouldn't have to gag around Izuku's panicked fingers just to vomit all over his friend again.

Stupid fuckin Deku.

Bakugou's phone rings once, then twice. Illuminating the living room with harsh artificial light, Bakugou waits for it to go to voicemail. If it's important they'll leave one and if it's from Japan they should be smart enough to do the math for the time difference and realize he was probably asleep.

At least he should be.

Fingers grabbing at the broken glass and letting his faceid open the phone. Palming his right eye where the tears burn when they escape in fat drops. Wiping them away with a stone cold face as he plays the one voicemail

Izuku: Kaachan, I just wanted to check on you, you don't have to call back. I know it's late. I'm just having a weird feeling. Eijirou-kun said he hasn't heard from you either. Which isn't unlike you but I know how you can be. Well not how you can be. Just- just you usually check in with one of us or you text fuck you in the group chat and-

Izuku's laugh rings out in the small space when he realizes what he's doing.

Izuku: I'm rambling! I know you hate that. …… I'm just worried about you, ev-everyone is. Anyway just a call or text away! Bye Kaachan. I love you. Oh uh that's weird I know but Dr. Yuki suggests I be more open about what I'm feeling, so I'm telling my friends I love them now. Since that whole thing with Shouto-kun. Hopefully it won't make you too uncomfortable. ….. even just a middle finger emoji, to let me know you're alive, would be enough. Bye Kaachan, I'll see you soon.

Finally that nerd shuts up, Katsuki's fingers moving against the fractured glass finding Izuku's direct chat at the way at the bottom of his logs. He clears his throat before tapping the mic symbol to send a voice memo.

Katsuki: Dumb ass Deku, do you know what time it is? Course I'm livin'! Ain't shit gonna kill me. Now fuck off if ya don't have anything better to do.

Three dots pop up quickly making Bakugou think that Izuku is glued to his phone while Shouto prepares cold soba for the pair.

Izuku: Sorry Kaachan I know it's late. Thank you ❤️

Katsuki: ❤️

Katsuki: 🖕

Katsuki shoots Kirishima and then the group text a quick reply, telling them America was as shitty as all the other times he's been here and that he hadn't had time to find a new hole in the wall restaurant to tell them about.

He locks his phone.

Thinks as he is shrouded in the darkness under the comforter he bought on the way home, couch cushions trying to slip as his hulking frame turns.

He thinks he should buy you coffee as an apology for his asshole behavior.

And maybe, just maybe, he won't choke on his pride as he asks you for help.